The first clear thought that Richard has, when Áine tells him about her stay in rehab, in the midst of his tangled feelings of sorrow and surprise and worry, is "Well, that explains a lot, then."

"Does it now," Áine says, her eyebrows flying up and her voice getting sharp, and that's when Richard realizes he's actually said it out loud, shit and fuck.

He winces, immediately reaching out to touch her hand where it's resting on the kitchen island, relieved beyond measure when she doesn't pull away. "Wait, sorry, that came out entirely wrong, give me a second."

Áine stays quiet, watching him warily, and Christ, he had been seeing this, the wariness in her has been there all this time, behind the smiles and charm and easy chatter.

Richard takes a breath, and tries to gather his thoughts into something coherent. "Listen, I'm glad that you told me. When," he exhales, and continues, "When I say that it explains a lot, I mean that...that for a while now, I've felt you holding back, holding yourself back. Like you always have to be charming and upbeat and 'on' all the time, instead of just being yourself--"

But Áine's face is tight with tension, as she asks, "You think I've been faking it this entire time?"

"No," Richard says forcefully. Christ, he’s fucking this up. There are a half-dozen sentences already forming in his head, but they all start with you should, and that’s not what Áine needs to hear. That’s not what he wants to say.

So Richard looks at her, at her beautiful face and her wary eyes, and he says, “I’m saying that I want you to trust me. I’m saying that you can trust me. Not just with the parts of yourself that you think are the best of you.” Áine’s expression wavers, and even when her gaze flicks away from him, he can see that her eyes are growing wet. An ache developing in his chest, Richard says, urgent and honest, “You’ve seen me fuck up half a dozen times over with Etienne, it’s hardly like I can hold you to some impossible standard of perfection when I’m fumbling around like an idiot half the time.”

Áine lets out a wet-sounding laugh and says, "You? Christ, Richard, you're the most put-together person I know."

"Well then, I'm doing a good job of faking it," Richard replies immediately, and Áine just drops her head and laughs a little more. When she lifts up her head, her face is wet from tears. Richard hesitates, but he reaches out slowly to wipe away the tears on her cheek, relief flowing through him as Áine lets him do it. Her skin is so soft beneath his fingers, and her eyes momentarily flutter shut at his touch.

Richard knows he needs to keep quiet here, and his intuition is proven right when Áine visibly seems to relax in the silence. Finally, she looks at him and says, slowly, "I suppose it...can't hurt for me to be a little more open about things. My therapist says so anyway."

"Expert advice is nothing to be sneezed at," Richard says, and his dry little joke goes over well, as Áine smiles briefly.

But her expression quickly grows serious again, as she asks, "Do you...I mean, if you have questions or if there's something you want to know--" Her hand briefly moves in a have-at-it gesture, and she waits for his reply, shoulders squared as she looks at him.

Richard pauses before answering. "Is there...I mean, is there anything you need me to do? Anything I should do differently?"

"No," Áine says quickly, too quickly, and Richard can't help but quirk his eyebrows at that. Áine grimaces a little, thinking it over. "But...I can tell you if there is, in the future." She looks down at their intertwined fingers and says, quietly, "I'm happy when I'm with you. Seeing you is...it's one of the best parts of my day." Her eyes flicker up to him when she says this, gauging his reaction.

Richard slowly leans in to kiss her, briefly, before pulling back to admit, "Likewise."

They sit there for a moment together quietly, before Áine huffs out a laugh. "Right, okay, that's as much emotional openness as my Irish soul can stand, let us talk about anything else, please."

"Right, of course," Richard says, wracking his brain for a new subject matter. "Has Etienne told you about his friends trying to get him interested in yoga?"

Áine's face lights up, both with curiosity and obvious relief at the subject change. "Oh my God, no. Is that what the youth are into these days?"

"Mm, one youth at least, her mother's a yoga instructor apparently." Richard grins a little and confides, "Frankly, I think it's that she's got a crush on Etienne and is trying to get his attention by any means, but I didn't want to embarrass him by asking."

The conversation moves on from there, less awkwardly than Richard might've feared. Áine seems a lot more relaxed now that they've moved on from the heavier discussions of her history, and Richard does his best to follow her lead, even as a small part of him wonders how good she is at keeping up appearances, what else she might be thinking even as she teases Richard about walking in on Etienne practicing some dance moves for his account on...what is it, Instagram? Twitter? TikTok? Richard really can't be expected to keep up with these things.

But if he's asked Áine to trust him, then the least he can do is trust her in return, and believe that she'll tell him what he needs to know.

Finally, Áine needs to head off--she's got another meeting with James about their next steps for their budding business given the fallout of, well, everything in the world right now, and as Áine puts it, "James is so wound up that if I'm even a fraction of a minute late it'll send him into a tizzy."

"Of course," Richard says, and walks her to the door, but as Áine's about to leave, she hesitates and turns around. "Richard," she says, looking up at him.

"Yes?" Richard asks, and instead of speaking, Áine abruptly moves forward and kisses him, not a quick goodbye kiss, something deep and thorough and filled with enough passion to make Richard almost buckle at the knees, every single thought driven out of his head by the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her mouth on his. When Áine finally breaks the kiss, she barely moves away, resting her forehead against his and murmuring, "I do trust you, you know that, right? I couldn't...I couldn't be here if I didn't."

"Yeah," Richard says, his voice hoarse. "Áine, I know."

Áine pulls back a little further to look at him, her face vulnerable and open as she asks, "And we're good, then?"

"Of course we are," Richard says, stroking her hair. The urge to check himself from saying it out loud, the old fear of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring her off, but if Áine's going to be open with him, the very least that Richard can do is return the favor. "You're the best thing to happen to me in a long time, I'm not foolish enough to let you go."

The slow, sweet smile that spreads across her face lets him know that he's said the right thing. "Okay," Áine agrees, and kisses him once, twice more, before putting on her mask and heading out the door. Richard doesn't close it at first, just stands there in the doorway and watches her leave, the faint smell of her shampoo and perfume lingering, even after she's long gone out of sight.