The Day I Went Bankrupt, My Husband Gave Me Eight Billion

I looked at him, and all at once my eyes burned.

For half a month now I'd taken it all without crying once—the debt collectors and their insults, the friends and relatives who'd vanished. Not a single tear.

But a few words from him, and the tears nearly spilled over.

I sniffed and turned my face away, brushing at the corner of my eye.

Just then a warm hand settled gently on my shoulder, and he drew me softly into an embrace that smelled of cedar.

His arms were wide and warm, damp from the rain, and impossibly steady.

"Cry. It's all right." He patted my back gently, his low voice close to my ear.

"You don't have to hold yourself together anymore, Shirley. I'm here, watching over you."

I leaned into him, and half a month of swallowed grief finally rose up, the tears soaking down into the fabric of his suit.

I cried for a long while before I could breathe again.

Sniffling, I looked up at him. "Max, how can you be so sure eight billion won't just go down the drain? What if Henson really can't be saved—what then?"

He looked down at me, his fingertip gently wiping the tear tracks from my face.

He smiled, that same tender, faintly helpless smile. "Worst case, Gilbert and Henson go under together, and I live under a bridge with you. As long as I've got the person, that's enough for me."

He'd made me laugh, tears still on my face, the laugh coming out a little ugly.

I picked up the dark-blue capital-injection agreement off the table, then looked down at the divorce papers I'd been clutching all this time, and tore them in two.

Max's eyes lit up all at once, stars seeming to fall into those black eyes.

"I want the eight billion." I tipped my head back to look at him, my voice still a little unsteady.

"And I want you too! Max, before this I was blind—I never saw you. So… do you still want to stand behind me now?"

The moment the words left me, the thunder outside the window happened to stop.

Max stared at me for a long while, as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard.

His dark pupils slowly widened, and even the hand on my shoulder trembled faintly.

"Shirley, what did you… say?"

I sniffed, rubbed my cry-reddened eyes against his shirt, deliberately burying my face in his chest to wipe away the last of the damp, then lifted my head and said it again. "I said, I want the eight billion, and I want you. Max, before this I was blind—I never saw that you've been standing behind me for five years. Now… do you still want me?"

This time, he didn't freeze.

Almost the instant I finished, he tightened his arms and crushed me against him.

He held me so tightly I could barely breathe.

But I couldn't bring myself to push him away. I just leaned into him, obedient.

"Want you. How could I not." His voice was buried in my hair, thick with damp, and I could even hear the catch in it.

"I've waited for this day for almost ten years, Shirley. You've finally turned around to look at me."

The rain fell for three solid hours that day. Max stayed to help me sort through the rest of the documents, then made calls to arrange the team that would liaise with us.

When his executive assistant picked up, he probably never imagined his boss would skip the summit in Chicago to come back and dig his wife out of a hole.

He was stunned for a while before hurrying to agree, saying he'd bring the team over first thing in the morning.

By the time we'd packed up and headed out, the rain had eased to a thin drizzle. Max took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders, holding the umbrella and keeping me sheltered at his side as we walked toward the parking lot.

The umbrella stayed tilted toward me the whole way, leaving half his shoulder soaked.

I edged closer to his side, but he pushed the umbrella back over me. "The rain won't hurt me. You just finished crying—don't catch a cold."

Once I was in the car, the warm air blowing over me, I slowly came back to myself.

Watching him start the engine, his fingertips still trembling slightly, I couldn't help but smile. "Mr. Gilbert gets nervous too?"

He turned his head and glanced at me, the corner of his mouth tugging up so high he couldn't hide it. "Mm. Nervous. Afraid you'll change your mind."

I leaned back in the passenger seat, watching the streetscape rush past the window.

For the first time in all these years, I realized that sitting in the car of someone you loved, watching the rainy streets go by, could feel this safe.