p r i n c e .

Alex leveled her gaze at him, her wide doe eyes narrowing into thin slits. “Well,” she deadpanned, “if my stalker wanted me to stay hungry, maybe he shouldn’t have sent so many cookies before dinner.” She gave a pointed shrug. “What was I supposed to do? Just look at them?” She folded her arms across her chest and settled deeper into the leather seat, angling her face toward the darkened window. “And just because we're being nice to each other for the moment doesn't mean you've earned the right to tell me what to do.” She exhaled slowly through her nose, the corners of her mouth threatening to betray her. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m still mean. There’s probably not enough therapy in the world to fix that.” A delicate half-smile finally won, drawing the familiar dimple into her cheek. It felt, in some unspoken way, like a test whether he had intended it or not. If he took it from her, would she comply? Control had always been the invisible thread woven through whatever existed between them. Neither surrendered it easily. Still, there was an intimacy in choosing to relinquish it, particularly to someone whose adoration you desperately wanted.

Looking back, even their ugliest arguments had often ended the same way. Her love had never been measured by grand declarations but by the moments she stopped resisting. After the anger had burned itself out, or after he’d managed to disarm her with nothing more than the warmth of his touch, she would eventually relent, allowing him to lead. It was rarely easy. It demanded more of her pride than she cared to admit. Yet somehow, with him, it had almost always been possible. If this could be considered an assessment, it produced an inconclusive result. Alex wasn’t resisting him, but she wasn’t surrendering either. Zach seemed to recognize that she was teasing him and the conversation drifted onward with an easy cadence as they continued toward whatever mysterious restaurant he had chosen. Despite the strange circumstances, the drive was... unexpectedly pleasant. She had promised civility for the duration of the weekend, yet none of it felt forced. The laughter came with little effort. They spoke as though no years had passed between them. As if the hurt had never occurred at all. It reminded her of the beginning, the version of them that had existed before the world was invited in.

When she had lowered every defense she possessed and allowed him into the quiet places she rarely shared with anyone. When she’d been swept into the intoxicating honeymoon phase she’d once alluded to on their very first date. Before everything became impossibly complicated. Before the drugs. Before the competing egos. Before publicists, managers, expectations, and twisted narratives began dictating the rhythm of their lives. Once, they had something undeniably beautiful. It just hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. It was all she had ever wanted.

Alex stepped from the oversized SUV, immediately greeted by the driver’s imposing frame. He rounded the rear of the vehicle, offering a steady hand as she navigated the curb in towering heels before delivering her safely into Zach’s company. Her attention drifted to the ornate sign mounted just beyond the entrance. Bardot. The name seemed faintly familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Then again, the handful of times she’d visited Las Vegas had been before she was old enough to drink. The last thing she was concerned about then was a reservation at one of the strip’s most coveted restaurants. Zach guided her inside. She paused for the briefest moment, allowing herself to absorb the room before following the maître d’. Everything about it felt indulgent. Rich carmine velvet stretched across curved banquettes. Gilded accents shimmered beneath low, amber light. The entire space exuded the sort of old-world romance that felt like it was from another era. A quiet laugh escaped her. She glanced down at the sleek, barely-there dress hugging every contour of her body before looking toward the impeccably dressed host.

A little black dress suddenly seemed far more appropriate for the setting. Not that she particularly cared. Anyone with even a passing appreciation for fashion would recognize what she was wearing. At the very least, she hoped it spared her from being mistaken for an escort Zach Winthrop had plucked from the Las Vegas Strip. As they followed the maître d’ through the dining room, she became acutely aware of the glances trailing behind them. Some belonged to her. She was impossible to overlook in that dress. But most belonged to him. Heads turned almost instinctively. Conversations paused for a heartbeat before quietly resuming. Phones remained tucked away, for now, but recognition spread from table to table fast. It was strangely easy to forget who he was. Once she’d learned to separate the headlines from the man standing beside her, the mythology surrounding Zach Winthrop began to dissolve. To her, he was simply Zach. Her Zach.

So much of their relationship had existed behind closed doors, tucked beyond the reach of curious eyes, that standing beside him like this felt foreign. She found herself wondering what they were thinking. Once again, Zach had placed himself in an undeniably precarious position simply by being seen with her. Even if there was nothing improper about it. Alex’s fingers tightened around the crystal clasp of her clutch. It was the only outward indication of her unease. Everything else remained composed. Her shoulders stayed relaxed, her chin lifted, each step in her silver heels as graceful as the last. The cool metal links of her dress skimmed the backs of her toned legs with every stride, its short hemline leaving little to the imagination. Fortunately, their table was in a quieter corner of the restaurant. The moment she slipped into her chair, she felt the tension in her shoulders loosen ever so slightly.

She crossed one long leg over the other just as Zach settled into the seat across from her. The maître d’ placed two menus upon the table before excusing himself, leaving them wrapped tightly in a pocket of privacy. Alex looked up at him, pressing her lips together as silence settled between them. How strange to find herself here. Across a candlelit table from the man she had once known better than anyone. Even more strange was the feeling unfolding somewhere beneath her ribs. She couldn’t give it a name but only recognize it for what it was. Dangerous. Her gaze lingered as he spoke, tracing the familiar angles of his face, the subtle movement of his mouth as each word formed in that low, velvety timbre she knew almost too well. She listened more intently than she intended to and what he said caught her off guard.

She had expected another sarcastic remark. Another jab designed to coax an eye roll or a laugh from her. But it was something thoughtful. Something genuine. Alex smiled, unable to suppress it. She wondered if the elaborate first date he’d once promised had been this. He had spoken about having something special planned all those years ago, but the evening had unraveled before it ever had the chance. They’d left the concert early after a confrontation that had left both of them raw, retreating to the privacy of their suite where the night dissolved into hours of lust. She had never considered their date a disappointment. If anything, it had been the moment everything changed. He had rooted himself so deeply within her that imagining a life without him became impossible. She cleared her throat, returning to the present. “Mmm. Well,” she said lightly, “I hope whatever kept you from coming here before was time well spent.” She lifted the menu, letting her eyes drift across the cocktail list. Something told her she might need one. The lemon drop tempted her immediately, but she hesitated. Too nostalgic. Her gaze settled instead on the French 75. Safer.

She went on, threads of him unspooling from the backs of her teeth, proving effortlessly the unrivalled intimacy with which she knew him. He was a language it seemed only she could speak with native fluency–not even Ryan stood as her match. The strange circumstance of the weekend allowed Zach to inspect the nuances of this fact with candidness, to see it for what it was. As long as they lived he was sure nobody would deign to understand him again like she so nonchalantly vowed to. They were second nature to one another, always would be. And yet, his stomach danced as it would when presented with something brand new. Something unknown and dazzling, something with a winking promise to change a person forever. Maybe the romance of it all was tricking him. Fuck it, whatever. “Yeah, well. My appetite has grown…” He paused for a passing second, shaking his head with the stupid, layered truth of it. “Exponentially.” Zach smiled, bolstered by the amusement rippling in her gaze. Maybe it was supposed to happen now. He sat up a little straighter, pushing fast-twitching fists subtly across the table, jolted with urgency. That’s what I’ve been trying to fucking tell you, princess. His eyes flitted to the approaching waiter, slipping in before he reached them, “Good things come to those who wait.” And he winked. It was impulsive, beyond him, as much of his behavior seemed to be in her presence. Maybe it was corny, maybe it was sexy. Who knew, who cared? He had her here, now. She ordered. Zach tapped the closed, leather-bound menu with his fingers, thinking without reading. “And a Manhattan, please,” he tacked on. The waiter nodded, thanked them, and retreated.

Zach turned his attention back to her to be startled by the concentrated manner in which hers was already on him. She looked devilish, leaning almost imperceptibly closer, head tilting like maybe she’d just heard a secret. It was heart-stopping. He wondered if she knew it. He wondered if she’d like it, if she did know. He did what he’s unconsciously been doing for years now, before and after their unbecoming, in which he mirrors her mannerisms as some form of mating ritual he can't unlearn. Maybe even, slightly, a defense. When she spoke, his shoulders relaxed, a soft smile propping assuredly on his lips. Was it peculiar? No. And she knew that. It was the most obvious thing in the whole world, that he would choose her. As if on cue, he sensed the various eyes in the room searching for and focusing on them. Whispers coasting on the rims of martini glasses. Zach did not care. He even stopped, for a second, to check if that was indeed true. That feeling he used to get when he knew he was being recognized, discussed, leered at, dissected; he remembered it like how the body remembers the turn of winter, how it hunkers down and folds in on itself. But he wasn’t feeling it now, not even a little bit. This realization made him want to reach for her, hold her slight, tight jaw in his hand, let his fingertips dip into the hairline at the nape of her neck. But he didn’t. Instead, his smile widened to a grin, and he leaned forward, propping his wound hands on the table. “You know I don’t believe in God,” he said, head tilting in a mirror-image to hers. “But I think this whole set of circumstances is almost a fucking holy amount of peculiar. I mean, it's allowing you to be sitting across from me tonight. Five years later. Exactly like it was supposed to happen.” Without moving his eyes from her, he absently unfolded and flattened out his cotton-rich napkin over the table, inked chest fluttering beneath the tasteful gold chains layered atop it. “For a stalker and a kidnapper, I gotta say, I could not be fucking happier.”

For most of her childhood, her world had revolved around earning her father’s approval. His affection felt conditional, his expectations impossibly high, and yet she chased them relentlessly. Every achievement, every polished smile, every decision she made was in pursuit of praise that rarely came. She learned early that appearances mattered. The circles her family occupied were small, insular worlds filled with sharp eyes and sharper tongues. People observed everything. They collected details, traded rumors, and built entire narratives from brief moments. Her father possessed a reputation that carried weight and to the public, he was revered. The last thing Alex ever wanted was to damage it. So she became what was expected.

But perfection is a fragile thing. As the years passed, adolescence arrived with all its volatility, dragging behind it the unresolved wounds of a childhood spent performing for love. Small fractures began to appear in the cloche that contained her. The truth was, she didn’t know who she was. Not really. She only knew who everyone expected her to be and with every passing year, she resented it more. People treated her delicately, as though she might shatter beneath the slightest pressure. They spoke carefully around her. Like she was something to protect or pity.  She hated all of it. And so, in a desperate attempt to prove she wasn’t fragile, she made a choice. A terrible one. She had never set out to hurt Noah. The truth was far less malicious and far more selfish. She had simply wanted to feel something. Anything. Something that belonged entirely to her. Something that could convince her that her life was still her own. She realized almost immediately that she had gone about it the wrong way and for years afterward, she carried the weight of that realization in silence.

The problem was that self-discovery was rarely graceful. It twisted and doubled back on itself, paved with bad decisions masquerading as lessons and impulses disguised as freedom. She would make mistakes, many of them. Some small enough to fade with time. Others so damaging they would leave permanent scars. A few would come dangerously close to costing her everything. By the time she met Zach Winthrop, she was already vulnerable to influence in ways she hadn’t realized. Restless and bored. A somber little princess born into privilege, wandering through life in search of something she couldn’t quite name. Her introduction to Hollywood’s nightlife had been the beginning of that search. It was a far cry from the world she had grown up in, where iron gates, security systems, and trust funds created the idea that life could somehow be controlled. Los Angeles stripped away that illusion. For the first time, she found herself surrounded by people whose realities looked nothing like her own. People who worried about rent, worked double shifts, chased impossible dreams, and measured success one paycheck at a time. Looking back, she could see how silly it all was.

She had spent years pretending to be an ordinary girl. While others fought desperately to climb into the world she inhabited by birthright, Alex was busy trying to climb out of it. Night after night, she slipped behind the velvet ropes of an upscale nightclub, working long hours she didn’t need to work. Her rent was paid before the invoice ever arrived. Her bills were covered without a second thought. A black credit card with no spending limit sat comfortably in her purse, ready to solve problems she would never truly have to face. Financial hardship was a language she had never been required to learn. What the hell was she thinking? The answer was embarrassingly simple. Escapism. She was searching for distance. From her family, from expectations, from the suffocating pressure of being Matthew Burton’s daughter. Inside the club, none of that mattered.  No one expected perfection there. The requirements were uncomplicated. Be beautiful. Smile when spoken to. Laugh at the right jokes. Show a little skin. Keep the conversation light. That, at least, she knew how to do.

By the time she and Zach neared the inevitable end of whatever they had been, Alex was at the height of her rebellion. She simply did not care. The less clothing she wore, the better. The more substances she consumed, the less she had to think. Every reckless decision felt like another small act of defiance against a life she no longer understood. She was drifting, untethered and directionless, and if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be rescued. There was a strange comfort in the chaos. At least it was honest. As the story went, rock bottom found her long before she anticipated it would. Funny how that worked. Sleeping with one of Zach’s closest friends while she hardly lucid forced her to confront a truth she had spent months avoiding. She didn’t recognize the person she had become. No one did. Now, years later, she could reasonably be considered a success story. Her reflection stared back at her from the dressing room mirror. Prim and proper. Not a single strand of dark hair out of place. A breathtaking diamond ring glittered on her finger. She was healthy, stable, and safe. Everything she once claimed she wanted. But, had she actually found herself?

Alex shook her head, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. Who would’ve thought a dress could inspire such an existential crisis? Sliding back the curtain, she stepped into the now-vacant lounge area. The champagne flutes had disappeared. Even the music seemed softer now. Her gaze landed on the checkout counter and she immediately rolled her eyes. Of course. She reached for her purse, draping the strap over her shoulder as she wandered toward the front of the boutique. Just as expected, Zach stood waiting with nearly every shopping bag she’d accumulated throughout the afternoon hanging from his arms. Several glossy Dior bags had somehow joined the collection. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” she said, an angelic smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, “but I’m not accepting Sugar Daddy applications at the moment. The position’s already been filled.” Her eyes lowered deliberately to the Dior bags before returning to him. “Besides, I’d hate for someone at home to be disappointed when they realize there aren’t any vintage Dior dresses waiting in your suitcase.”

Satisfied with herself, Alex pivoted on the ball of her foot and started toward the exit. She’d barely taken two steps before Zach spoke. Alex glanced over at him, her brow arching as confusion flickered across her features. “Late?” she repeated.

--

One thing about Alex – she did not like surprises. Zach should have known that better than anyone. Spontaneity had never been one of her strengths. Going with the flow sounded wonderful in theory. In practice, it usually left her feeling like she was free-falling without a parachute. A private dinner reservation for the two of them. Tonight. While she had agreed to remain civil for the duration of the wedding weekend, this felt very close to crossing a line neither of them needed to approach. It felt intimate. Secretive. Entirely too easy to misinterpret. If someone spotted them together, what would they think? More importantly, what would she think? Because if she stripped away all the excuses and technicalities, it looked suspiciously like a date. How Zach failed to recognize the risk in that was beyond her. Reluctantly, she agreed, but only under one condition. The reservation needed to be pushed back long enough for her to return to the hotel and change. The evening ahead promised to be a marathon. Ryan and Eden intended to spend their final night as unmarried people celebrating with the entire wedding party and there wasn’t a universe in which Alex would willingly spend hours navigating the Las Vegas Strip in satin ballet flats. Thankfully, Zach didn’t argue. They parted ways outside the boutique with the understanding that she would meet him at the front entrance of the hotel at precisely seven o’clock.

Somehow, against all odds, Alex managed to pull herself together in time. The doors of the hotel swept open and a wave of dry desert heat immediately wrapped around her like a warm blanket. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the skyline in shades of amber and gold, though the pavement still radiated the warmth it had absorbed throughout the day. For once, she was grateful she was wearing next to nothing. The vintage Dior dress fit perfectly and a pair of silver Jimmy Choo Metz heels added just enough height to transform her, giving her petite stature the extra few inches she needed. Gone was the sleek ponytail she’d worn while shopping. In its place, loose, tousled waves cascaded down her back, catching the fading sunlight whenever she moved. And because moderation had never been one of her talents, she’d finished the look with a winged liner sharp enough to qualify as a weapon. A few hours ago, she had looked like every bit the image of a CEO’s wife. Now she looked like trouble.

The problem was, had been, his neglect to ensure those around him, namely Alex, were willing passengers to his speeding freight train. And maybe he had come on a little strong, but hadn’t she responded to it? Wasn’t the truth of the matter that, no matter what, they’d always meet each other where they were? Perhaps what his former therapist, and everybody else, failed to understand was their equivocal kinship. Because when it felt impossible that they both endured, they did. Again and again. Until the world went dark. Until, sometimes, they even skyrocketed out the other side of it. They had to; a twin flame without its other half is only ash. While Alex had protested to his dinner reservation at first, her bitten-lip reservations seemed to revolve primarily around the optics of his proposition. What if people were to see them? What if word were to get around, or worse, get back to Kylie, Andrew? Of course, he knew that was a risk. But that morning, in the car on his way to meet her, it had simply been a risk he was willing to ignore. She hadn’t seemed off-put by her own unwillingness to join him. In fact, when she stipulated her lone condition, there had been a starriness to her eyes that made him shiver. So, ultimately, who gave a fuck? He’d been advised once, many times, to pause before he ran down the forest-thickened path he chose for himself. And hadn’t he? Hadn’t he done his due diligence, laying there and staring at the ceiling, feeling the madness rising in him? Wondering what the hell he was doing? And he still wanted to run down it. So, fuck it, whatever. He wanted what he fucking wanted. And she might just want him back.

He showered quickly, changed into the outfit he and Alex had selected at the mall. He’d let her take the lead, watching her features grow serious as she contemplated his options, yielding to the pleasure he felt being dressed by her. He spent much of his life resisting the women around him and their urges to bend his appearance to their will, but with Alex, it was a luxury. She was, always had been, vulnerable to his appearance–he’d long suspected this was in part due to his style. Even after therapising herself into oblivion, that rebellious organ sitting under her heart like a satin cushion had grown resolute and full at a young age. It couldn’t be cut out. So, she didn’t try to change him, but instead she catered to the him that already existed. Elevated him. He evaluated his reflection now, ran his hands over his head, and felt satisfied with the man blinking back at him. Dabbing cologne to his pulse points, he made his way to the gilded elevator outside his room, chancing a look at his phone. Many from work; Amanda, his creative director, his publicist, one of his producers. Andrew. His lip quivered. He opened the text. Hi Zach. Heard about the ‘emergency’ in Vegas. You’re covered here ‘til Monday but there’s a lot we need to finalize next week ahead of album submission—the assistants are filling your diary up as we speak. Have a great time, but not too great... Need you at your best. – A. Zach blinked at it, then up at his reflection. He almost locked it, put it away. But he hesitated. He thought of Alex in that dress, thought of her five years ago on that balcony. Thought of her in a matter of minutes, sitting across from him at the restaurant. His gut snake-twisted and he almost smiled. You’re the boss, boss, he typed in return, hit send. Then the elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

The air outside had cooled, slipping into early evening. Zach leaned against the car door, waiting, eyes flitting over every patron that exited the hotel in search of her. He needn’t have bothered. When she did emerge, it was as imposing as passing sirens. His head was not the only one to turn. Clipped to her body was the little blue dress from Dior, wet like scales, slick to her figure. Her legs spilled out of the sequined hem like all hell. He inhaled, chest inflating, reinvigorated. Of course he hadn’t been crazy. Look at her. A magic sense of something seemed to swell under her feet as she walked, getting tangled in the waves chasing one another down her back as they floated up to meet her. It moved like music in the air, coalesced with the promise of a blue desert at pre-dusk. And ringing atop it all in high harmony was her smile, a little smug and entirely omnipresent, knowing everything there was to know. She was more dangerous in his hands than a loaded gun. He laughed at her question, rhetorical but he couldn’t help jumping in, “ecstatic.” Zach was not allowed the pleasure of opening her door, as the driver leapt into action, then hurried around the car to open his door, too. Zach thanked him and sank into the leather beside her. The car smelled new. Felt it, too. Before they could even pull away from the entrance, she produced a wrapped chocolate chip cookie from her purse and presented it proudly to him. He laughed immediately, honestly. “Maybe it’s both,” he chimed, eyeing her as she took a second bite. He plucked it from her fingers, dropped it into the door compartment, and looked at her. “Don’t ruin your appetite. Your stalker wants you hungry.”

They rode the rest of the car journey in a similar manner—easy back and forth, quipping at and ribbing one another until he was practically squirming in his seat. Every other sentence he had to bite down on his cheeks to stop from telling her how astonishing she looked, how he couldn’t fucking believe someone could look like that. How he couldn’t believe she looked like that to accompany him to dinner. If this morning was, in effect, their first date, this felt a lot like their second. Though Zach had built an entire, globally successful career around riding nerves like a high, he was still shocked at how on-edge she actually made him. After all this time, how did she do it? But it wasn’t the same as it had been, back then. This wasn’t a practiced routine. It was a different game entirely, and moreover, he didn’t know how to win this time. Every step he took was erratic and impulsive, a desperate venture to shoot for the pot of gold at the end, but ultimately, he was shooting blind. All he had to rely on was that every now and then, he saw it in her, too. A glint in her Bambi eyes, a shiver in her lip, a stuttering as she came back to her senses. It was more than enough to sink his teeth into.

You studied my crown and borrowed my body

She knew everyone’s attention was meant to be on her. On the archival gown draped perfectly against her figure. She could feel their eyes lingering, assessing, admiring, but Alex struggled to focus on anything other than him. For a moment, she simply stared. She couldn’t remember if she had ever truly seen Zach in formalwear before. During most of their relationship, he had been almost aggressively resistant to conformity, treating societal expectations like personal insults. He rejected polish on principle, preferred rebellion over refinement. Maybe she had seen him dressed up once or twice in the past. But not like this.  Her eyes moved slowly over him, languid in their appreciation of every detail. It was perfect. Sophisticated and refined without stripping away the essence of who he was. A faint glint of gold caught beneath the boutique lighting, the familiar chain at his neck peeking from behind the crisp white lapels of his shirt. Beneath them, she could see the dark suggestion of ink stretching across his chest, tattoos she knew intimately enough that she no longer needed to see them fully to remember their shape. They had long since etched themselves into her memory alongside every other thing about him.

The image in front of her no longer aligned with the reckless boy she had once known. The impulsive, self-destructive force that had spent years barreling through life like consequences were optional. He looked grown now. Not older. Grown. A man who had somehow evolved despite all the reasons she once believed he never would. Despite her skepticism. She saw it now. A genuine smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it, softening her features with her approval. But the moment lingered only briefly before instinct rushed back in to smother it. The last thing she wanted was to make it strange, or worse, give Zach even the slightest indication that she was smitten with him. He would weaponize it for the rest of her life. A quiet breath escaped her instead, relief settling into her chest now that the impossible task of dressing them both appropriately for a wedding had been conquered. Before she could even begin to voice her approval, Zach closed the distance between them.

Suddenly, his hands were on her hips, sweeping her effortlessly around until she nearly lost her footing altogether to face the mirror. Alex tilted her head slightly, trying to focus her attention on the gown hugging her frame. The soft plum chiffon, the delicate lines, the way it seemed made specifically for her body. Her gaze betrayed her, however. Again and again, it drifted upward over her shoulder toward him instead. Not once had he asked what she thought of the suit. Not once had he asked how he looked. Because the entire time, Zach had been far too consumed looking at her. The way he looked at her mirrored the very way she looked at him. Heavy with longing, softened by grief, aching with all the things neither of them could say or do aloud. But she knew exactly what he was thinking because the same thoughts had already wrapped themselves tightly around her chest, squeezing until it hurt to breathe.

Alex swallowed against the knot rising thickly in her throat, collecting herself to respond to him, “I think I’ve found the one,” she said finally, her voice surprisingly even. The statement could have belonged to the dress. Or perhaps there was a double meaning, swaying there between them. Turning on her heel, she faced him fully again, allowing a clever smile to bloom across her lips in an effort to pull the moment back toward safer territory. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you falter over your words like that before, Sir,” she teased lightly. “You usually always know exactly what you want to say.” She moved toward him then, the chiffon of the gown whispering against her thighs with every step. The closer she came, the more impossible it became not to notice the way his eyes followed her movement. “I think…” she began softly, reaching him, “that Annie did a wonderful job.” Her gaze traveled over him once more. “You look very handsome.” Then, because she was physically incapable of allowing sincerity to exist uninterrupted between them for too long, her brows furrowed dramatically. She lowered her voice an octave, mock seriousness settling over her features. “Very grown.”

A laugh threatened at the corners of her mouth as she lifted her hand, smoothing it gently over his shoulder. “I like it,” she admitted quietly. Only then did Alex remember they weren’t alone. Her eyes flicked toward Caleb and Annie lingering nearby, both of them politely pretending not to witness the tension unfolding directly in front of them. She wondered what they saw. What conclusions they had drawn. With any luck, perhaps they looked like old friends reconnecting after years apart. Two people comfortable enough with one another to tease and touch without meaning anything by it. But if the ache inside her had manifested outwardly in any visible way. If heartbreak could somehow reflect itself physically, then surely the truth would have been obvious to everyone in the room. “One more thing,” Caleb interjected suddenly, already reaching toward the rack before anyone could redirect the conversation elsewhere. He slid another garment free with excitement.

He hoped not. Fuck, he could invent a God and pray not, if that’s what it took. Alex swivelled on her heel, neck craning to look up at him with a know-it-all smirk that made his whole body clench. She taunted him, light-touch, like she’d seen everything inside him and understood it better than he ever could. His lips picked up at the corners, mirroring her without even meaning to. His typical reprobate veneer had been almost entirely dismantled by her deft hand. “Yeah, well,” he argued directionlessly. Even now, he struggled conjuring the reliable snark generator that lived at the back of his throat. He was just looking at her, looking at that fucking face that had lived in his dreams for five years now, feeling unnameable things shift inside him; they felt like tiny, delightful deaths, going off erratically all through him. He opened his mouth, but still nothing came. He could only laugh and shake his head in mild disbelief at himself, muttering happily, “fuck.”

Alex, retaining some semblance of control over herself he couldn't dream of, swanned closer until his throat went tight. Like he’d never touched a woman before, much less the one standing before him. She pored over him like an offering and he was delighted. Please, fucking look all you want. He wondered what she was seeing–perhaps, god willing, him. Really. For the first time in forever. Not the boy she’d had to leave behind, but the man before her now; the one that was forged in her absence. Because of her absence. He remained mum as she praised him in perhaps the most earnest tone he’d heard from her since the one she’d used to tell him she was getting fucking married. His head was full, buzzing, spinning. He couldn’t say anything, only look on at her like she were some sprite appearing to him and he was left to decide if she was actually real or he was just high out of his mind. She lapsed into a joke, but the relief didn’t last long. Not even long enough for him to answer. Her hand came up, and his eyes followed it until they couldn’t. It landed softly on his shoulder, and a throbbing wave swept through him from where she’d touched right to his toes. I like it, she concluded, which out of her mouth felt akin to tens of thousands of screams from a crowd. He imagined taking her now–hand to the back of her neck, other on the small of her back, kissing her dumb. Zach inhaled, agency returning to his body as he doused the thought, and he smiled small but full. “Then I’ll take it.”

Caleb interrupted and it was like waking from a dream. Zach had actually, really forgotten that there was anyone else in the room. They must have been thinking all sorts of things, but whatever was in their heads Zach was sure would fail to ever come close to the truth. He couldn’t find it in himself to care; every free spot in his mind had since been taken, consumed, by this lingering feeling. Not like a comedown, but like an aftershock. It tingled pleasantly all through him. Alex was presented with a dress that, if Zach had been let loose in the backrooms, he was certain he would’ve picked out for her himself. It was ridiculous, bright, short, and if he was frank, mind-numbingly sexy. He watched, endeared and amused, as Alex’s jaw dropped at the sight of it. She was pulled toward the garment like a magnet. She pulled the fabric between her lithe fingers, a sight so erotic he almost had to look away, and relented instantly. She quipped, and Zach almost laughed, didn’t say what he was thinking; as if it’s possible for you to walk into any room and not show up every other woman in it. She tossed a glance to him, not seeking his approval but including him in the decision, somehow. Like he needed to be in it. It was rife. “Obviously,” she stipulated. Zach nodded once, frankly, flattening his held out palm. “Naturally,” he resolved.

The Dior associate was heard before she appeared, the click of black kitten heels echoing against the floor, just above the low pulse of deep house music drifting through the boutique. When she rounded the corner, she carried with her an entire rack of possibilities. Different fabrics, colors, silhouettes, all curated just for him.  Zach rose almost immediately, a sense of boyish excitement radiating from him as he approached the spindling blonde. She stepped aside, allowing him to sift through the garments at his leisure, her hands folding neatly in front of her as she observed. Though she carried herself with composure, Alex caught it anyway. That tiny flicker of nerves beneath the surface. One hand disappeared behind her back, index finger tapping lightly against her thumb in quick repetition.

Alex straightened in her seat. Had they realized who he was? Her gaze drifted around the boutique, discreetly surveying the otherwise quiet space. Everything appeared normal. No whispers. No photographs. No overeager glances lingering too long. They were likely trained to remain unfazed by celebrity clientele, especially when commissions large enough to change someone’s monthly income were potentially standing right in front of them. And if anyone could provide that kind of commission, it was certainly Zach. By the time Alex turned her attention back toward him, Zach had already selected a suit to try on. Her eyes narrowed, though she worked quickly to disguise any obvious reaction from her expression. It wasn’t something she would have ever pictured him wearing, especially not in that color.

Perhaps he was feeling adventurous. “I don’t think this is my color,” he muttered, studying the suit with skepticism. A quiet laugh slipped from beneath Alex’s breath before she could stop it. They were both thinking the same thing. Still, she understood the logic behind trying it anyway. Certain pieces transformed entirely once worn; what appeared questionable on a hanger could suddenly become amazing on the body. Fashion was fickle that way. The blonde glanced toward Alex as Zach casually referred to her as the expert. Alex reacted quickly, shaking her head as she lifted both hands, palms upward in playful surrender. “I am not claiming expertise over the people who actually work for Dior,” she clarified. “Just putting that out there.”

She smiled politely at that. A moment later, Zach disappeared behind the heavy velvet dressing curtain, the rich fabric falling shut behind him. Left waiting with Annie, Alex allowed her attention to wander once more. Toward the back of the boutique, Caleb had assembled a selection of garments of his own, draped carefully along his rack. Even from a distance, she could tell they were entirely different from the sleek, plain pieces displayed throughout the store. There was color, lace, chiffon. Alex found herself immediately intrigued. Before she could study them longer, the dressing room curtain was abruptly swept back. Zach emerged with a low hum of dissatisfaction already rumbling in his throat.

He had made very little effort to properly assemble the look. The styling was so incomplete that it practically shouted his disapproval before he ever spoke. Alex bit lightly against her lower lip, her nose creasing as she attempted to formulate her thoughts. Caleb appeared beside her, one hand settling against his hip while he assessed Zach with the same scrutiny. But was he assessing the suit or simply staring at Zach Winthrop inside of it? He cleared his throat softly, pulling himself back into professionalism. “Well,” he began. Alex nearly laughed again. The suit wasn’t terrible, necessarily. But it was far too stiff, too severe. It aged Zach several years. Butler was, unfortunately, a very accurate description. Likely far too formal for the wedding as well.

Annie moved toward him quickly, composure still intact though her nerves had become much more apparent now that Zach stood fully before them. If she had recognized him before, she was certainly trying not to reveal it now. She began adjusting the outfit properly, pressing the fabric against his torso, straightening the shirt, refining the silhouette the way it had originally been intended to look. Zach stood unnaturally still throughout the process, arms slightly lifted at his sides like someone enduring a deeply inconvenient medical examination. The moment his eyes met Alex’s, she lost it. A laugh escaped her before she could smother it behind the rim of her champagne glass. For a man so accustomed to attention, Zach truly looked out of his element being fussed over like this. Annie, to her credit, remained dedicated. She began explaining the reasoning behind the selection, her tone seemingly open to feedback despite the visible tension sitting just beneath it. And of course, Zach made some shamelessly ridiculous remark. This time, Caleb laughed out loud. Unlike Annie, he seemed slightly less intimidated and far more aware of the kind of aesthetic Zach was actually gravitating toward. Then again, hindsight made everything easier. Neither of them truly knew who was standing in front of them beneath those dark sunglasses.

“White trash,” Alex repeated, nodding as though confirming a very serious fashion diagnosis. “Precisely what one expects to encounter inside Dior.” Her laughter softened the words enough to keep them playful, though Zach’s expression suggested he was thoroughly unconvinced by the ensemble regardless. Beside her, Caleb shifted slightly, restless with withheld opinions. She could practically see the suggestions forming in his head, though he resisted interrupting Annie for the moment. Now fully styled, Zach turned toward Alex again, gesturing dramatically at himself as he mocked the look. Alex pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting for her life as another smile threatened to break across her face. “For me, personally? No,” she replied. She let her gaze drift idly over the outfit once more before adding, “But I’m really not one to judge another person’s fetish. Though it does really make me want a bowl of Lucky Charms.” Caleb gave her shoulder a gentle nudge in jest, laughing alongside her as the moment became something far less formal than Dior had probably intended. Annie’s cheeks had flushed a delicate pink, though surely even she understood the laughter wasn’t directed at her.It was Zach.Or more specifically, Zach’s commitment to poking fun at himself before anyone else had the opportunity.

Caleb exhaled dramatically as he recovered, placing a perfectly manicured hand against his chest before inching his garment rack closer. “You know,” he began, “I understand we started with the suit, but I actually think it would be much smarter to start with the dress.” He glanced briefly toward Zach and Annie over his shoulder before continuing, “Suits are boring. We’ve all seen them a thousand times. No offense. Everyone looks at the dress first anyway.” Caleb then pulled a gown from the rack, a rich plum-colored piece with fabric so soft and airy, it was nearly weightless as it spilled over his hands. He smoothed a portion of chiffon between his fingers before holding it up toward Alex. “Allowing her to choose first eliminates at least half of your options immediately and makes your life significantly easier.” His eyes drifted toward Zach. “Because let’s be honest. Do you really want to spend the rest of the afternoon trying on another twelve waistcoats?” He paused. “Or would you rather be using your time more wisely in the City of Sin?” He answered his own question with a satisfied nod before either of them could speak. “Exactly.”

Alex smiled as Caleb extended a hand toward her and gently pulled her up from the couch. “And, it’s archival. You’re welcome.” How was she supposed to say no to that? Her heart swelled fast. Alex rose from the couch, pressing the dress carefully against herself before beginning toward the dressing room. As she passed Zach, her lips twisted. “You heard him, Lucky,” she mused lightly over her shoulder. “It’s archival.” The velvet curtain swept aside beneath her fingers as she tucked into the dressing room, leaving only the smallest gap behind her. She slipped out of her ballet flats first, nudging them neatly toward the corner before reaching for the hem of her black mini dress. It slid easily over her skin, pooling at her feet alongside her lace bra moments later. She reached for the gown with gentle hands, handling it with the sort of care reserved for a piece of art. She lowered the zipper, exposing the aged interior tag hidden within the seams. She adored vintage clothing. There was something romantic about it. Rediscovering something once forgotten, once discarded, spoke to her. Something so beautiful deserved a second chance. To be see fully and appreciated. Stepping into the dress, she guided it upward along her legs, over the curve of her thighs, her waist, her chest. The chiffon whispered against her skin as it settled into place, so delicate and intentional in the way it draped around her figure.

Even the male shop assistant–Caleb, he remembered–laughed now, and Zach felt giddy on the attention, on the amused audience. He leaned in, nudging Annie. “Don’t worry. It’s not your fault you’re used to styling much classier guys than me.” She smiled at him, eyes rounding, and laughed a little. “I wouldn’t say that,” she muttered, face softening with slight relief and stepping aside for him. His attention danced gleefully back to Alex, chasing his own mouth down as it, without permission, spurted more nonsense in a manic plea to keep her attention. She seemed charmed by him. It made his abdomen squirm, clench. He smiled at her, popping his top button open. “Well, they are magically delicious.” Lucky Charms were a staple of his childhood. A regular meal that landed him with ten cavities on his tenth birthday, of which Loni’s mom Paula paid the dental bill for after one of his molars fell out into a candy apple. Lucky Charms were, ironically, more aligned with his understanding of himself than the suit he currently found himself strapped within. 

Caleb seemed to click into overdrive, and began running the show, leading with Alex’s dress. Zach was relieved; he was far more at home admiring her than he was parading himself around in various get-ups. “Everyone looks at the dress first anyway,” Caleb whittled off, busying his hands with the rack of dresses he’d carefully selected. Zach, shrugging off his blazer and snapping open the buttons of the waistcoat to free himself, nodded in spirited concession. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said, tone leaning too sincere. As Caleb went on, something about boring waistcoats versus Sin City, and Zach went on bobbling his head in continued verification, bowtie now hanging loose from his neck. He moved to sit down, but Annie flinched. “You need me to not wrinkle the suit or something. Am I warm?” She smiled, shifting her weight. “Right on the money. Sorry.” Zach held his hands up, moving back toward the curtain, as Caleb handed a garment off to Alex that appeared to him like a large pile of barely-there chiffon. He was sure it would transform when snug upon her body. Zach watched as Alex's demeanor shifted into that of almost girlish delight, floating from the couch and toward the presented garment. She accepted it carefully, like it was a precious, rare thing. From the sounds of it, it actually was.

Alex, and he was sure, positive, that she understood her unique impact as she did so, looked at him over her shoulder and out from under her lashes as she uttered “You heard him, Lucky. It’s archival,” in a way that made all the blood rush from his brain in an instant. He almost gulped. Maybe he did, but his mouth also upturned as he looked down at her appreciatively. “Suppose we’ll see just how lucky,” he answered privately. Annie assisted him in finding something more fitting from the rack–a dark, neutral color, slightly laxer on the cut–to compliment his partner’s rich plum and willowy shape. Together, they unearthed a black, clean, double-breasted blazer and wider dress pants with a crisp crease running down the front of the leg. This, he would be comfortable in. She offered him a tie, which he refused politely, then he disappeared behind the fabric. Annie and Caleb, if they talked at all, talked quietly. All Zach could hear was the modestly-volumed house music from the speakers and his own heartbeat as he contemplated how little separated the two of them now in various states of undress. Alex made him feel like such a boy, sometimes. Like all the excitement, all the unknowns and the maybes and even the nos, were brand new.

Dressed fully now, and styled like himself, he stepped back to address his reflection. He felt good; the buttons opened to his mid-chest, allowing his neckchain and tattoos to breathe, and the fit of the structured pieces were more relaxed. Without the blazer and with the shirt tucked into the waist, he felt truly at home. If only he could roll the sleeves up, but he wouldn’t put Annie through the strife of fretting over more wrinkles. It wasn’t often he allowed himself the space to admit to his own handsomeness, but some clothes he wore so perfectly it was difficult to ignore. His heart stuttered in his chest, remembering the ways in which his appearance alone could see Alex crumbling before his very eyes. How her pupils would blow and her sharp tongue would go blunt, soft, waiting for him. He took a deep, sharp inhale then pulled back the curtain. Annie almost made an audible noise, she was so delighted. “I knew I was still good at my job,” she breathed, relieved, awarding herself with a tiny applause as she looked at him. She stepped forward, adjusting odd bits here and there, but leaving the buttons alone. Potentially that was Caleb’s recommendation.

Then came Alex like a stolen breath. Zach’s jaw feathered, his stomach whirling. He hated her sometimes. Why on earth had he allowed her to sweettalk him into staying in her life? He was so close to leaving, clean break, just a pretty year ago. He knew he couldn't take it. And maybe he would’ve outgrown the torture, forgotten how sweet it tasted in the back of his mouth as his teeth squeezed the life out of his tongue, cursed forever just for daring look at her. She shifted, pulling her hair to one side, angling her back to Caleb. He rushed to assist, admiring her in the dress in a manner Zach was sure he could never understand. Zach's own admiration was unique to him, forceful almost, punching clean through his gut. Though he was caught up somewhere far away in his own mind, he offered a half-hearted laugh at Caleb’s comment, mostly surprised he had addressed him by name. But still, he was distracted, his line of sight travelling rapturously up her dress to find her eyes. “She’s something, alright,” he answered, too low, then cleared his throat. His chest inflated as he tried to remember she was not his. A strike of pain like a clock tower panged in his chest as he recalled, with awful clarity, he’d actually taken it solely upon himself to ensure she wasn't. Once. What a fucking idiot.

And Dior. Dior belonged to a different world entirely. Old Hollywood elegance. The sort of brand favored by supermodels models, Oscar winners, and impossibly wealthy heirs who had never once considered the price tag attached to anything they touched. Not exactly the natural habitat of Zach Winthrop. His broad hand settled against the small of her back, guiding her toward the boutique with familiarity. It was gentle, instinctive enough to make something twist faintly in her chest before she could stop it. She tilted her head just slightly as they walked, stealing a glance at him from the corner of her eye. The sharp line of his jaw caught beneath the overhead lighting, his profile almost offensively perfect. Alex rolled her eyes to herself. It was truly unfair how someone could be so devastatingly handsome and so profoundly aggravating all at once. That was the problem with Zach. He had a way of embedding himself beneath her skin so thoroughly that even moments like this. Easy, harmless moments felt suspect. Every softened glance, every fleeting connection, every attempt at kindness carried the lingering possibility of ulterior motive. As though some part of him still needed to prove that he could have her if he wanted to.

She paused for a moment, reining herself in before her thoughts could spiral any further. She was supposed to be trying, wasn’t she? Friendship, maybe not entirely, but civility at the very least. It was unfair to assume the worst of him at every turn, even if instinct urged her to do exactly that. Still, years of distance, resentment, and carefully calculated cruelty had rewired something in her. They had spent so long trying to wound one another in the most devastating of ways that suspicion now came as naturally as breathing. Could she really be blamed for keeping her guard up? Zach’s comment about buying a suit directly off the rack pulled a laugh from her before she could stop it. The irony. From everything she had come to know about him, Zach hadn’t grown up with luxury. Far from it. He had grown up with scarcity so familiar it had likely shaped the marrow of him. A mother who, from his stories, seemed more interested in spending her welfare checks on liquor and whatever substances dulled her reality than on necessities for her son. Shoes worn past their lifespan. Shirts with holes that could no longer be ignored. Hunger disguised as resilience. And now that same boy was strolling toward Dior, casually referring to himself as common. “Interesting,” Alex murmured, amusement curling softly into her voice. “You think the girl you made fun of for wearing a Paul Frank monkey bikini at eleven years old would think less of you now?” Her eyes flicked toward him “I really don’t think I have the right.”

As they stepped inside the boutique, her attention drifted briefly toward the blonde sales associate near the entrance, polished and pristine beneath the store’s soft white lighting. Alex folded her hands neatly behind her back, allowing Zach to take the lead without interference. Whatever attempt at disguise he had made before entering was immediately irrelevant. The associates here were trained far too well for that. Luxury salespeople possessed a particular kind of perception. An ability to assess wealth within seconds, often without ever appearing to look directly at you at all. It likely took them only a passing glance to recognize that neither of them was browsing aimlessly. Their clothing, their jewelry, the effortless way they carried themselves, it gave them away instantly. A young associate, somewhere around their age, approached with warmth and an immaculate smile. His gaze swept briefly over the growing collection of shopping bags hanging from Zach’s arms. “May I hold those for you at the front while you shop?” he offered smoothly. She consented with a small nod, allowing the associate to relieve him. The blonde assigned to him greeted them warmly, though her eyes narrowed as she attempted to catch a proper glimpse of the man concealed behind dark sunglasses.

Alex listened quietly as Zach outlined exactly what he wanted. The associate nodded along attentively, clearly experienced enough to catalog every request without needing to write a single thing down. “I think those are all very reasonable demands,” she assured. “We can absolutely make that work.” Her smile widened slightly as she gestured deeper into the boutique. “If you’ll give me just a moment, I’ll pull together a few options for you to try.” One elegant hand swept toward a secluded seating area tucked off to the left. “There’s a private lounge there if you’d like to relax. Champagne as well, if that interests you. I’ll be back shortly.” Together, they drifted toward the seating area, the soft scent of rose perfume trailing faintly through the air as associates passed around them. Alex lowered herself into one of the chairs, crossing one bronzed leg over the other with ease. Almost immediately, a silver tray appeared before them as though summoned by thought alone, two delicate champagne flutes gleaming beneath the lights. She watched Zach take one. For a moment, instinct tempted her to comment. To ask about his sobriety, but she swallowed it before it could surface. It wasn’t her place. Whatever choices he made belonged entirely to him.

Against her better judgment, she accepted the second glass. Tiny streams of bubbles climbed toward the rim and sparkling gold. She turned the stem delicately between her fingers just as Zach tipped his glass toward hers, asking for her honesty with a familiar look that read as half teasing, half sincere. The soft clink of crystal rang between them. “Have I ever been anything but truthful?” she asked lightly. Alex lifted the champagne to her lips, the chilled liquid hissing softly against her tongue as she took a slow sip. The corners of her mouth curved afterward, one side pulling higher than the other until a dimple pressed faintly into her cheek. “We’re walking down the aisle together,” she reminded him. “I can’t have you making me look bad.”

“Are you shopping for anything in particular as well?” The question came from the same associate who had kindly offered to take her bags moments earlier. Alex found herself studying him now that he stood closer. His dark hair had been shaved into an even stubble that suited the sharp structure of his face, and his skin carried the sort of warm bronze tone that looked less Hollywood spray tan and more like weeks spent somewhere along the Tuscan coast beneath the sun. Handsome, undeniably so. Very handsome, actually. But it had taken Alex all of five seconds to realize they were not remotely one another’s type and because of that, she relaxed instantly. When she didn’t feel threatened by a man’s attention, she became softer somehow. Warmer. Naturally flirtatious in the effortless, harmless way beautiful women often learned to be when threat lingered beneath the interaction.

A sales associate politely requested Alex’s attention and earned Zach’s, too–a quick assessment passing from both of them determined the same thing. Alex smiled like a princess in a storybook, up at this man, and spoke with a velvety quality. He was safe. She tossed a look over her shoulder to Zach that would’ve gone straight to his head if he weren’t trying to ground himself. Their circumstance was tricky, easily indulged in, and he wasn’t sure where she stood. Two steps ahead of him, by his side, firmly in her place as he raced ahead toward a faux-green light? The larger that light appeared the more nervous it made him, but he’d always performed well on nerves. I’m waiting to see what he chooses first. He smiled. Zach felt high, dizzy on her. What an addictive sentiment, that any decision she made might hinge on his. He took a sip as the sales associate considered him, and a brief pause let Zach know that every employee in here knew precisely who he was. Zach nodded a silent acknowledgment to him. Employees in places of this caliber were trained in modesty, in courteous oversight. They were in safe hands for now. Alex relented control to this man–Caleb–and he visibly thrilled at the suggestion. Dressing a lifesize, porcelain doll, whichever way he wanted. Zach perfectly understood the appeal. He resisted the appeal to call after Caleb’s retreating back with something short, please!

Zach kicked back, then, comfortable, his stomach fizzing similarly to his champagne with anticipation. Anticipation with nowhere to go, no end goal, just making his extremities tingle and head feel light as fucking air. He smirked over at Alex. “Nevermind,” he said, retracting his former statement. “I guess it’s you who’s in my hands.” Zach took a sip. “I appreciate the trust.” The woman assigned to Zach shortly returned with a wheeled garment rack and several sartorial concepts to peruse. “Okay,” he pushed out through a hard breath, smacking his thigh as he rolled up to standing. “I’m ready to blow your mind.” He flashed a grin at Alex before accepting the first suit, forest green with large lapels and a waistcoat. He didn’t hate it. He wasn’t very good at discerning taste in formal wear, all he knew was that he disliked anything too form-fitting and strayed from bright colors. This suit looked dated to him, like something from a bygone era of moneyed New Yorkers. Or a guy who just won too big at the local casino and wanted to dress like an asshole. Like something Andrew might wear. “I don’t think this is my color, but I’ll let the expert decide,” he said to the sales clerk, gesturing over his shoulder to Alex, so pristine and gathered on that sofa. He’d quite like to dismantle her entirely. His gaze lingered on her a beat too long, then severed. As he disappeared behind the curtain, he called to the woman. “What’s your name, sorry?” He heard a flurry, something or other, and she called back, “so sorry–didn’t I say? I’m Annie.” He nodded to himself in the mirror, dropping his sunglasses on a plush leather stool to his right and peeling his shirt off over his head. “Thank you, Annie,” he answered, in a voice that could be considered flirtatious. Maybe it was. Whatever, he felt giddy, and his shirt was off with Alex only a peel away for the first time in three or four years, or forever, it felt like.

Stuck precariously in that dangerous, intoxicating space between humor and something more reckless. Flirting. Teasing. It was a game, but not an innocent one. Fingers tracing the fine, invisible line of infidelity as though daring it to blur. She tilted her chin slightly, her gaze lifting to meet his. One neatly groomed brow arched in challenge, a silent really? For a moment, she considered saying more, but she stopped herself. Bit it back. “Reality,” she echoed instead, the word rolling off her tongue with a soft, mocking lilt as she stood beneath the dim, golden glow of a crystal chandelier. Light fractured above her, scattering across polished surfaces and catching faintly in her hair, in the curve of her cheek. She paused just long enough to let the word settle between them before continuing, quieter now, but no less pointed. “And which reality are you operating in?” A subtle smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “For schizophrenics, there can be multiple, you know.” She drew her lower lip between her teeth, slow and absentminded, the faint citrus sweetness of her lemon balm blooming across her tongue.

He matched her effortlessly. Each sharp remark met with one just as quick, like they were slipping back into a rhythm neither of them had truly forgotten. It was disarming, how easy it felt. How natural. She had almost forgotten this version of them. The one that didn’t bristle and burn, didn’t teeter on the edge of combustion with every exchanged glance. And it didn’t feel forced. Just… easy. Alex found herself wondering if they might still be capable of something resembling civility. Maybe even friendship, if that word wasn’t already too generous, too naive. Of course, that depended entirely on one crucial condition. Whatever it was Zach kept tucked beneath the surface, those quiet, unreadable intentions of his, needed to stay there. Because the moment they surfaced, everything would crumble again. Like her shopping bags, he had once again relieved her of something without asking. This time the delicate corset she had only just selected. He draped it carelessly along the bend of his tattooed forearm, the contrast of ink against soft lace almost offensive in its beauty. She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head as she reached for it, fingers outstretched to protest, but he was quicker. Of course he was.

“For you,” she began, her tone laced with dry amusement, “chartering a private jet is nothing. I’ve seen how much you make.” Her gaze flicked back to him. “Though… it was very impressive for a first date. I’ll give you that.” A pause, just long enough for the corner of her mouth to lift. “It kept me around for a little while.” Her attention drifted then across the boutique. Silk and lace whispered softly as they swayed from their hangers. She scanned it all, just in case something called to her, but nothing did. Nothing she didn’t already own. Nothing she hadn’t already chosen, worn, discarded, or outgrown. A faint sigh slipped past her lips at the realization. Alex shifted her weight slightly, wiggling her toes inside her black satin ballet flats, before letting her gaze return to him. Her lips curved again, this time softer as he mentioned the lemon drop martini. She remembered. She remembered the sharp citrus bite of it, the sugared rim, the way it had burned just so slightly. She remembered the way the evening had nearly unraveled entirely. How something as simple, as harmless as speaking to her ex-boyfriend had threatened to detonate the night before it had truly begun. Somehow, they had recovered. Though, in hindsight, perhaps that should have been the warning.

“How could I ever compete with that?” she mused lightly. “Impossible.” She drifted toward the counter, her movements unhurried, though her attention sharpened the closer she came. The woman behind it, dark-haired and immaculately composed, offered them a polite, professional smile. Alex’s gaze lingered a moment too long, not out of suspicion, but instinct. Habit. Zach’s words faded into the background, dissolving into little more than sound as her focus shifted entirely to the space around them. To the subtle awareness of being seen. Of being observed. The woman hadn’t done anything wrong, but still, something in Alex tightened. A reflex she had never quite unlearned. Because with Zach, privacy had never been simple. Nothing about them had ever been spontaneous. It required calculation. Layers of discretion, carefully timed entrances and exits, a strategy designed to keep them just out of reach of speculation. Being seen together wasn’t just inconvenient. It was dangerous. Costly. And even now, when there was nothing to hide, nothing to protect. She felt it. That same quiet vigilance, humming beneath her skin. They weren’t together anymore. They were both in committed relationships. They were buying a wedding gift. It was harmless. Innocent. Easily explained. But it still felt strange.

Zach, of course, carried none of that weight. He approached the counter with ease, offering a disarming smile as he exchanged pleasantries with the woman, who looked as though she had been sculpted for the very store she worked in. A neatly wrapped box appeared between them, finished with a pristine black bow before being tucked into a shopping bag. Zach added it to the growing collection draped along his arm. And then, he couldn’t resist. “Bud.” Alex’s face twisted instantly, her nose scrunching in offense as they turned toward the exit. Without missing a beat, she shoved him lightly, just enough to send his shoulder brushing into a nearby rack. It rattled sharply, silk and lace shivering in protest. “Okay, Pal,” she shot back, laughter slipping easily from her as she pushed past him and out into the open stretch of the mall. The air felt different out there. A steady hum of movement and voices surrounded them as she stepped forward without direction, letting her feet carry her wherever they pleased. Zach’s question lingered, though, catching up to her a beat later. She smirked, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Yes,” she replied, her tone dry. “I absolutely loved being picked apart by hordes of jealous women and having them wish death upon me.” It wasn’t entirely an exaggeration.

This woman, however, could speak to it all. The idea of him; the dream man and the bitter reality. For better or for worse. His mouth twitched as he looked down at the Agent Provocateur bag on his arm, forced once again to imagine the universe in which it was the two of them who’d made it. If anyone they knew could honestly say for better or for worse, was it not them? Zach looked at her, her terrifyingly easy beauty, the lightness of her walk, the softness in her face as she addressed him. How under it all, buried somewhere, she had him knotted up and figured out. You come with a lot of baggage, you know. He smiled, one-sided, shrugging apologetically. “I do,” he said. That baggage spanned the entire spectrum of awful, including how it would only take one text from that girl behind the counter – pretty sure I just sold Zach Winthrop and some girl, definitely not Kylie French, some bridal lingerie at work??? – and another girl in that groupchat to reply: Shut up, I’m at the forum rn, I’m gonna hunt him down. She takes a picture from behind a planter, posts it on her story, someone screenshots it and suddenly the whole world has seen them together. Not Andrew Dupree with his fiancée, not Zach Winthrop alongside his popstar girlfriend. But the two of them – and what does it mean, and oh my god, that’s his boss's wife, and where is Kylie, and why the hell is he buying lingerie with another girl?

It was an odd thing, to just be a person in a one in a million circumstance, burdened with the expectation that somehow he needed to be worth the trouble. Worth the trauma. Unless, of course, he was happy to settle down with someone just as famous. Who shouldered the same weight, who understood that there was nothing any individual could do or be that would be truly worth every horrible thing that came with fame. Sometimes, looking at Alex again, a quiet voice inside knew that that was never what he’d wanted. He didn’t come from this world, even if he was now its monarch. And he didn’t want his person to just be another version of himself. Another spectacle, another headline. Alex had never accused him of being too little, or not enough. If anything, he was too much of it all, too much like a raging storm when sometimes all she wanted was a light drizzle. Either way, she didn’t mind being caught out in the rain.

Zach smiled, nodding. “Perfect. Then we’ll find you something too.” A film reel whizzed behind his eyes; Alex in a movie montage, trying on a hundred different dresses that made his heart stutter or want to rip them from her body. “I’m sure I can help with that.” He was acting foolish, truthfully. Even though any word that returned to Kylie of the two of them out together could be explained away, it wouldn’t stop her from fossilizing it in her mind. Indexing it among the countless other reasons she had to think something was up with them, or specifically with Zach when it came to Alex. He knew she had nothing else to assume but that he may have some kind of crush. It was laughable, though he supposed it was also a tiny bit true. Because was that not precisely what he was experiencing, when he looked over at her by his side, and his stomach performed some odd, warped pirouette? When she laughed and he felt like he’d won a trophy? When their skin brushed, and his body flushed hot? Perhaps what he had was a textbook crush, after all. He smirked at her, tickled, knowing the stupid joke had gotten to her. She only repeated things back to him over and over when he’d gotten to her. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll make sure you’re compensated appropriately for your time,” he offered, goading and drawling, rolling his eyes beneath his glasses.

The clean lines and soft glow of Dior caught his eye, and he paused. “My stylist once told me if I ever bought a suit off the rack, she’d kill me,” he commented with some humor, the nature of their interaction bringing up absurd feelings again. Like how ridiculous it was that a boy from a background like his could ever live in a world where a stylist used terms like ‘off the rack’ in conversation with him. His lip curled. “But, she also said you can never go wrong with Dior." Zach touched a gently leading hand to Alex's lower back, steering her in the right direction, ignoring the fizz that shot up his arm at the feel of the delicate slope. "Look at me,” he joked, affecting an airiness as they walked. His hand came away. “Living like commonfolk, buying ready-to-wear.” Inside, the air was crisp and the lights were dazzling, tall ceilings home to thousands of dollars worth of garments. Zach teetered slightly toward Alex, lowering his voice so the assistant approaching them wouldn’t hear. “I can only pray you don’t think less of me.” The woman was pretty, blonde, maybe thirty or thirty-two. Perfectly appropriate, so much so she almost blended into her environment entirely. She smiled at them and Zach wondered for a moment whether it was best to rip the bandaid off and remove his glasses now, or let her figure it out herself. Maybe she’d be ignorant to it entirely, one of those rare cases who would never recognize him at all.

The air itself felt thick with invitation, heavy with the weight of old habits beckoning from every corner. But as Zach navigated this minefield of his former life, dodging offered glasses and turning away from knowing glances, he discovered that his greatest torment wore neither needle nor bottle. It was her, Alex herself, who proved the most intoxicating presence in that room of beautiful poisons. Their eyes found each other across the crowded space like magnets seeking true north, exchanging glances that burned with jealous longing. Each loaded comment they lobbed across the conversational battlefield was designed to pierce armor, to make the other surrender to the gravity that had always pulled them together.

The careful choreography of avoidance shattered in mere heartbeats when she slipped into the powder room, and he, helpless as a moth to flame, followed in her wake. The pills she folded in her palm became forgotten as he materialized before her, chest rising and falling with barely contained desire, his presence filling the small space until oxygen itself seemed scarce. What transpired between those four walls was only the prelude to an evening that would stretch long past their expectation. When the last guest finally departed and silence consumed his sprawling home, the excuse presented itself like a gilded invitation. It was far too late, the roads too dangerous in darkness. Guest rooms lay waiting upstairs, their pristine sheets turned down, hers for the taking, if only she dared.

Somehow, defying all logic and restraint, she found herself imprisoned within the confines of his glass shower, steam rising around them like incense in a forbidden cathedral. Her knees pressed into the mosaic of penny tiles as she commanded him, with a voice like velvet and steel, to breathe life into the fevered dreams that had haunted his nights. Their final tryst had been a study in desperation. Two souls seeking refuge from the wreckage of their choices in the suffocating darkness of a forgotten coat closet. What began as something raw and untamed, born of anger and rage, turned into an intimacy that transcended language itself. Though she armored herself with dismissive words, “We’re just fucking,” the truth pulsed between them with each breath, each urgent meeting of flesh against flesh. Love coursed through every deliberate movement of his hips, every whisper of his mouth against her fragrant skin.

But that chapter had closed with brutal finality. No more private moments, no more surrendering to the force that pulled them together like twin stars destined for collision. Though he claimed it was all seared into his memory’s vault, doubt crept through her thoughts. Did he truly remember? Could his mind still trace the landscape of her body, the way moonlight had painted her curves beneath wispy lingerie? Could he recall how her skin felt like warm silk beneath his palms, how it carried the intoxicating ghost of Baccarat Rouge? Could he still taste the essence of her that had clung to his tongue and his fingers like sweet wine? Alex cleared her throat, a sound barely audible above the store’s ambient music, watching as his tongue darted across his lower lip in that maddeningly familiar gesture. His eyes, hidden behind darkened sunglasses like secrets behind velvet curtains, seemed to pierce straight through to her.  She rolled her eyes, stepping aside as he glided past her into the store’s depths, hunting for the perfect gift. “Oh, I'm sure you’d love that,” she replied, her voice dripping with honeyed venom as she pivoted on the ball of her foot to follow. “As such, I will be providing no updates. What you do with your sick imagination is between you, God, and your girlfriend.”

Zach’s movements became deliberate as he approached a display rack, his fingers ghosting over various pieces of silk and lace like a pianist contemplating keys. His gaze lingered, weighing options before finally settling upon a pristine white satin corset. As he lifted the garment, allowing the fabric to catch the boutique’s amber lighting, Alex found herself studying both the piece and the man holding it. “How weird,”  she mused, her voice carrying the bite of barely concealed amusement. “I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a man quite so desperate to know what kind of lingerie I wear. After all this time and you’re still trying to get into my panties.” She plucked the hanger from his grasp, allowing the corset to pendulum gently from her extended finger.

Zach passed soundlessly around the clothing rail before pausing, squaring Alex with his attention, fingers paused over barely-there garments. She could be bluffing. Could be saying anything at all that would conjure the false feeling she was rejecting him. Something to make her feel better. Or she might not be bluffing at all. It could be that she was genuinely taunting him, floating the idea that beneath her little black dress, so polite with its straight lines and sharp hems, was concealed something entirely unknown to him. An Alexandra that belonged to only herself, traversed only by the soft, forgiving hands of an older, tamer man. Zach's fingers twitched on the hanger. Finally, he smiled. “I’ve been working through my penchant for fantasizing with my therapist.” Innocent, sweet lie. Mostly in that he no longer entertained therapy. It was no longer court-ordered. “We’re trying to ground me in reality,” he continued, eyes beneath his sunglasses undressing her, unpeeling, unsticking her. An excitement stirred in him. “See, touch... smell, taste. You know the drill.” He broke eye contact, fingers vibrating as he ran them over the row of hangers; happy with himself, face openly displaying so. He was being irritating, he knew it. He sort of loved it. He kissed his teeth. “We’ll circle back.”

He was relieved quickly of the corset, Alex plucking and examining it, polite cruelty on her tongue. Zach’s skin prickled with it, smirking at one corner, almost laughing. He took the garment back, laying it over his arm as though it weren’t hundreds of dollars, like it were an inside joke he could roll out or fold away. “Oh, come on, that’s not true. I’ve seen guys do backflips just to try and get you to look their way for more than a couple seconds.” He teased, running up to his punchline. “So what if I chartered a silly little private jet?” Zach laughed. He’d seen men be publicly humiliated for her, seen men try to unsubtly pay thousands for her, seen one man nurse his own bleeding, halved forehead for her. But it was him she'd wanted. Him she couldn’t forget. And he wouldn't let her forget it now, even if she loved her little quips. Loved to pretend his very make-up wasn't her kryptonite. “Don’t go shaking your stick at good, old fashioned hard work, Ale.” He looked at her like a wink-wink, nudge-nudge. “It can take you all sorts of fucked up, wonderful places…. It was a lemon drop, you remember? The first drink you ever let me buy for you.”

Their foundations lay scattered, broken, all over this city. Luckily, Zach had never found a broken thing off-putting. The fractured memories of the evening that made them sang from every corner, the evening that unravelled into a lifetime. Funny how that lifetime lasted only two years. And still, its handprints were all over him. Still her memory was visible in his scarring. He smiled down at the ridiculous panties, somehow seventy dollars despite having all the charm of a mass-produced novelty store gimmick. His head tilted at them, amused by the memory Alex invoked. That night had been a pillar to their history, in a lot of ways. It reared its head all the time. “Sure, I can. That could be my wedding gift to them.” He followed Alex’s gaze to the store clerk, doing her best to pretend she wasn’t watching them, listening. He pushed it. "You'd just have to find a way to compete with my generosity." There stood very few others in the store to distract from their jilted, flirtatious display: two women huddled into the opposite corner, giggling, and one security guard by the door. They might as well have been daytime TV to this woman, carrying on as they were. If she suspected it was him, sure enough his voice would’ve given it away by now.

Zach shrugged, smiling at Alex. “I’ll get this, shall I?” He taunted. “Your card’s already taken a beating today.” He swung his arm, strapped in designer bags. Then he turned, making a beeline for the woman, who quickly adopted a stance like she couldn’t be less interested in the approaching parties. He pushed the two gossamer items across the mahogany desk and smiled as she turned to him. She returned the expression, her dark eyes sliding unsubtly over his shoulder to rest upon Alex, visibly not his blonde, pop star girlfriend. “Hi,” she greeted, her voice gravelly. “Will that be all for you both today?” Zach sensed an opportunity to fuck with Alex, say something like, actually, what’s the largest, most aggressive sex toy you have? or yes, but she makes me wear something like this every other week, so we’ll see you again soon. But he was still attempting to be somewhat ‘good’, so he only looked slyly at Alex, then back at the woman. “For now,” he said instead, smiling. His stomach turned over. “Thank you.” He paid, and she packaged it beautifully, ready for presenting to the happy couple. “Have a good one,” she smirked at them. “Oh, we will.” He turned, handing the small, light bag off to Alex, thoroughly enjoying himself. “Won’t we, bud?”