Always keep fighting

You came thirty minutes early like every day to drink your coffee and have a cigar before your shift starts. You leaned on the grey wall and pulled your phone out, you had to set up the stage for an opera ensemble starting rehearsals today for a performance in two months. So while you drink your coffee, you check the notes your boss gave you. 

33 chairs needed, at least today. They would be facing each other in three lines each side. You tried to remember how many chairs would be needed for each instrument family.

As the minutes passed, members of the ensemble started to arrive, women and men of different ages, but mostly older than you – much older. You already knew a few of them, so you said hi with a nod and kept checking your notes.

“I need a cigar too,” says a man who approaches you.

“Tell me you brought yours,” you say without looking at him.

He laughs. “I got mine, but I need a lighter.”

You grab yours from your pocket and hand it to him. “I’m gonna charge you, Bobby.”

“I’ll get you a coffee for the break.”

You look at him. “Okay. I’ll count on it.”

You lit another cigarette to keep Bobby company and once you were done, you both went inside. While the members chatted about the performance and life, you moved to the big hall you had for rehearsals and started setting up the chairs just as your boss told you.

After a few minutes, you gave the musicians the green light to come inside, opening both doors to let everyone in. You saw them enter in a single file, recognizing them from other shows and other events, but you didn’t recognize one—a tall man in his mid 30s who looked too polished compared to the rest of the musicians.

You tried to play it cool, but he got your attention. The long curly hair, the beard, the big broken nose… he was just your type. He said hi to his colleagues and sat on the chair you had adjusted for him. He placed the big box on the floor and opened it with quiet reverence. From it, he pulled a brown cello. He settled it between his legs and tested it, making it sound with the bow.

You sat in your small booth to keep an eye on the group, in case they needed anything.

The voices stopped when the director stood in his place. And with one wave of his hand, the music started to play. You looked at him now and then, driven by a primal attraction. His jaw was tense, his curls dancing on his forehead, his arms firm but relaxed. The way he played the cello, all focused and feeling every note, made you think how he would be while… “Stop,” you said to yourself.

When the director stopped to give some notes, this man looked back at you, meeting your eyes. You couldn’t look away; it was a quiet understanding of you admiring his playing. He looked away, paying attention to the director, but you were sure he saw the want in your eyes.

He played again when the director ordered, and sometimes his eyes would find yours. Was he playing for you now? Or was it just that he needed something to focus on besides the music? Either way, he was looking shamelessly into your eyes.

After a long moment, you left the room to set up the stage for tonight's show. While you were working with your colleagues, moving some props and wires, you could hear the music of the orchestra, and then the sound came: his. And when the sound met your ears, you could feel his eyes on you, even from the other side of the theater.

When you came back, they were already on a break. Half of the group was outside, while the other was in the room chatting. Bobby approached you, coffee in hand, and behind him was this handsome guy.

“There you go,” says Bobby, giving you the coffee.

“Wow, you kept your promise,” you joke.

“Well, this means you have to keep giving me cigars when I need them.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course.”

“Oh, so rude of me. This is my friend Alex. One of the greatest cellists you’ll ever meet.”

“Hi,” you smiled at him and introduced yourself. “I saw you playing. Looks like Bobby is right.”

“I do what I can.” He tried to play it cool but the smirk betrayed him.

“What an asshole,” you think to yourself. Instead, you say, “Guess you've been doing this for a long time.”

“Longer than I can tell,” he smiles. “You?”

“Not much. I graduated a few years ago.”

He nods. “Well, it’s nice to see talented girls backstage,” he winks at you.

The wink makes your cheeks turn a soft pink that you couldn’t control. Bobby, on the other hand, didn’t catch the wink nor the tension; he was too focused on what the violist was doing.

“Play Vivaldi,” Bobby says, smiling as he leaves you alone with Alex.

Alex parted his lips to say something, but before any word could come out of his mouth, the director was back, commanding everyone to sit in their places. Alex turned naturally back to his seat and you moved back to your booth.

An hour later, the rehearsal was done, and everyone was gathering their stuff to leave. In just minutes, you were alone, ready to prepare everything for the chorus rehearsal you had tomorrow morning. You only left one light on because your head was hurting, so in the middle of the dimly lit room, you moved with smoothness, knowing exactly how to do your job.

The sound of the door cracking open makes you turn to see who it is. In the soft darkness, you see Alex lurking inside with his big dark eyes.

“You need something?” you ask, turning fully to him.

He finally enters. “I forgot my bow.” he says as he closes the door behind him.

You look around the room. “I haven’t seen anything.”

He stays still. “I’m lying,” he finally says.

“You’re lying?” you tilt your head.

He laughs. “Bobby wanted some beers and I’m too tired for them.”

“Oh, Bobby, of course.” You get closer. “Well, you can hide here while I finish.”

“Thanks.” He looks at your lips. “Need help?”

“Nah, thanks. Just sit.”

He takes a seat close to you and watches you move the chairs as if it were second nature.

“Why the theater?” he finally asks.

“Because someone needs to make it work so you can play your silly box.”

“Rude,” he laughs. “Fair enough.” He plays with the fabric of his pants with one hand. “My girlfriend believes my silly box is pretty inspiring.”

The way he talks about his girlfriend feels out of place, like he is trying to make you jealous, or make you feel competitive.

“Well, that’s why she’s your girlfriend.” You hold his gaze like a challenge.

“Right.” He holds your gaze right back. “But it hurts me that you see my cello as a silly box.”

“Isn't it?” you ask quickly.

“No, it’s… so much more than just that.”

“And that’s why you are a musician and I work with lighting.”

He smirks at your response. “Smartass.”

“What do you want, Alex?” You adjust your posture, which makes your curves even more obvious, even under your work uniform.

“You were watching me,” he says after a pause.

“I look at everyone. It’s kind of my job.”

“Oh, come on.” He leans forward toward you. “No need to lie.”

“I’m being honest,” you smile, not believing what was just happening.

“You are lying, and good girls don’t lie,” he says, teasing.

“Not a good girl.”

He nods slowly. “Good to know.” His eyes meet yours again. “You liked what you saw?”

“Maybe.” You don’t get coy at his attitude; instead, you cross your arms over your chest. “You play nicely.”

“I'm not talking about that.”

“You have a girlfriend,” you remind him.

“She’s in Vienna,” he brushes it off with a shrug.

“Oh, so you're looking for a replacement while she’s gone?”

“Not exactly.” He shakes his head and then meets your eyes. “Why? Are you interested?”

You look away and smile in disbelief. He stands up and comes closer, feeling the warmth of your presence, the soft breath coming out of you. He looks down at your silhouette, the black cotton shirt highlighting the curve of your breast and waist perfectly.

“Tell me you didn’t like it,” he says, looking up at your face.

You look at him. “I didn’t.”

“Liar,” he gets closer.

“What do you want, Alex?” you ask again.

“Right now?” He closes the space to whisper right into your ear, “Show you how good I am at playing the cello.”

You feel a shiver in your whole body at the suggestion. His eyes change to a darker color; now, at this closeness, he looks even more handsome. His beard is patchy and covers the right places, his lips part, and before you could react, he kisses you, his big calloused hands framing your face like they belong there. You should feel ashamed, but instead, you find yourself caught up in the moment, responding to the kiss with the same intensity. The desire was bigger.

He backs you up against the wall as his tongue explores your mouth hungrily. His hands roam your sides with his calloused palms without asking, just taking what he wants because, in your eyes and in the way you breathe, he knows this want is mutual.

He moves fast, looking for the zipper of your black cargo pants, and slides his hand inside, finding the fabric of your panties. “So warm,” he murmurs against your lips. He rubs his fingers there, teasing, and then, he slides inside your panties with two fingers, making you spread your legs. He can feel your trimmed pubes and smirks at you before kissing you. His fingertips easily find your clit, making you bite your lower lip to hide the moan. “So cautious,” he teases, and kisses you again as he shows you how good he is at playing your cello.

He moves his hand deeper and slides a finger inside you as he looks straight into your eyes, determined not to miss any reaction you might have. Your mouth falls open at the feeling of his thick finger inside you, and before you can even process it, he adds another and starts moving them inside you.

His hands move slowly but deeply, with an intention that makes you arch your back in pleasure. He kisses your jaw and neck, enjoying how he can feel on his lips the way you are breaking thanks to him. Only for him. He isn't thinking about his girlfriend; right now, he only has eyes for how good you look while he touches you. He knows what he is doing—after all, he is an expert with his hands—and he's not shy to show you how talented he is.

You move your hips on his hand seeking for more friction, your hands rest on his shoulders, gripping tightly enough to leave marks, not knowing what to do with them, but the need is so big you can’t help but bring him closer by the neck to kiss him again and again. You just want to feel his tongue against yours.

“Fuck, Alex,” you moan, making him smirk.

“Knew you liked me.”

“Shut up,” you smile back.

He holds you in place as he drives you toward your orgasm.

“Tell me you like it,” he commands.

“I do,” you moan.

He smiles and adds the right pressure you need to come undone.

“I’m close,” you cry.

Your confession makes him feel a deep sense of pride in his chest, so he keeps the right pressure and rhythm, cupping your pussy so your clit feels the pressure as he fingers you. In just seconds, you are riding a wave of pleasure that makes your whole body shake and your toes curl. You rest your head on his chest as you try to catch your breath. It hurts to breathe again after holding it for so long, but the rush of air just adds another layer of pleasure. He smells your hair and takes his hand out of your pants to pull your chin up so you look at him. With both hands, and before you can even breathe properly, he pulls you by your neck to devour you until he has had enough. This kiss feels different, or maybe it is the smell of yourself wrapped around your neck that has you dizzy.

When he breaks the kiss, he kisses your sweaty neck and turns around to leave like nothing had happened.

“See you tomorrow at the same time, pretty girl.”

"Baby? Want me to pour you some coffee into your travel mug?" you called from the kitchen.

Javier was in the bathroom getting ready for work while you packed his lunch. He hated it.

You didn't care. You refused to let that man survive on nothing but cigarettes and bad coffee.

No answer.

"Javi!"

Still nothing.

You smiled to yourself. Figures. Whenever Javier disappeared into his own head, the rest of the world stopped existing. And ever since you'd come back to Colombia, he'd been doing that more and more.

You walked into the bathroom.

He didn't even notice you. He was leaning over the sink, rinsing his face. After shutting off the faucet, he kept his eyes closed while reaching around for the towel.

You grabbed it before he could. "Looking for this, agent?"

One eye cracked open. "You spying on me?" he mumbled, taking the towel from your hand and drying his face.

"Obviously. It's not like I've got anything better to do."

He snorted quietly before hanging the towel back up.

"I was asking if you wanted coffee for the drive. In a travel mug. You didn't answer, so I figured I'd better check you hadn't drowned while brushing your teeth."

"A travel mug?" he grumbled, already reaching for his tie. "Cariño, I’m not climbing a mountain." He looked exactly like he always did at this stage of getting ready. White dress shirt. A tie you never would've picked but he somehow always managed to like. And boxers. The pants, for reasons you'd never understand, always came last.

"You say the same thing about the lunch I pack you every day." You stepped closer, gently moving his hands aside so you could fix his tie yourself. "And yet you still take it."

If Javier was terrible at one thing, it was tying a tie straight. "Feistl never lets me forget that lunch box," he muttered, letting you take over.

His aftershave hit you first. Then the smell of clean laundry. And underneath both… just Javier. Whatever that smell was.

"Maybe Feistl should remember you're his boss and shut up." You tried to sound casual. Not easy when the man smelled unfairly good. "Oh, and you've got water all over your tie again." You laughed. "Seriously, I'll never understand why you wash your face when you're basically already dressed."

"Don't question my system, cariño." He grinned. "Or the lunch stays here."

"You wouldn't dare. I'll make you take the coffee too."

He groaned dramatically. "Please don't. We've got coffee at the embassy."

"Yeah. Coffee you complain about every single day." You stuck your tongue out before smoothing his tie one last time. "There."

"Thanks," he said quietly. Almost like he still wasn't used to someone taking care of him.

"For fixing your tie? You know I'd always do a better job than you."

"Not just for that."

You looked up at him. Being so much shorter had one very specific advantage. Every time he hugged you, your face ended up against his chest, close enough to hear his heartbeat. Worth every sore neck. Your eyes met his. Brown. Warm. And suddenly your stomach flipped. Jesus. Ovulation really was dangerous. You reached up, brushing a few stubborn strands of hair back off his forehead. "You've been working way too much lately..."

He let out a quiet laugh. You couldn't tell whether he actually found it funny or if he was just exhausted. "Someone's gotta do it." His thumb brushed gently across your bottom lip.

"Mhm..." Your hands wandered down his chest. Over his stomach. Stopping just above the waistband of his boxers. You could already feel him starting to get hard beneath the fabric. "What if..." you murmured. "What if you just... went in a little later today?"

You didn't wait for an answer. Your palm started rubbing him through his boxers. Slow. Firm.

There it was. He was already getting hard. That didn't surprise you. Javier had never exactly been hard to turn on. His body always gave him away.

He leaned down and kissed you. Soft. Warm. His lips still tasted faintly of mint toothpaste. "I can't," he murmured against your mouth. "Crosby's gonna kill me if I'm late." Even so, he made absolutely no move to stop your hand. If anything… he leaned into it.

You smiled against his lips before kissing him properly this time, slipping your tongue into his mouth.

He kissed you back immediately, his tongue finding yours without a second's hesitation.

The bathroom fell quiet except for the wet sound of kissing and the soft little moans slipping from his throat while your hand kept stroking him through the fabric.

God… you loved hearing him moan. Honestly, Javier's moans were one of the sexiest things you'd ever heard. Your grip tightened just enough to pull another one from him.

"Cariño..." He pulled back with a sigh. "You're gonna be the death of me one day."

You laughed.

His hands found the belt of your robe, slowly undoing the knot.

At the same time, your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, trying to tug them down.

"So impatient," he murmured with a grin. His eyes immediately dropped when your robe slipped from your shoulders.

Nothing underneath. Not even panties. Not because you'd planned it. You just slept naked and hadn't gotten dressed yet.

And judging by the look on his face… he definitely wasn't complaining.

You, however, were having a hell of a time getting his boxers off. He was already so hard that trying to pull them down with one hand was nearly impossible.

"Need some help, cariño?" Javier grinned, amusement written all over his face. For the first time all morning, he looked... lighter. No stress. No embassy. No work. Just him.

You loved seeing him like this. "No." You didn't break eye contact. You brought your other hand up, grabbed the waistband with both hands, and yanked. The boxers slid all the way down to his ankles. "There," you said with a smug little smile.

"That's my girl," Javier murmured. Now he was standing in front of you wearing nothing but the dress shirt and the tie you'd spent the last few minutes fixing. You already knew you'd be fixing it again later. He was already hard. Very hard.

"Mmm..." you teased, your eyes dropping briefly. "Good morning, sir." You kissed him again, wrapping your hand around his cock.

God… he was hot. Thick. Heavy in your hand. Your fingers barely fit around him.

Your thumb brushed over the head, already slick enough to tell you exactly how badly he wanted you.

A low moan melted into the kiss. Almost without thinking, his hips rolled into your hand, slowly fucking your grip while you kept stroking him. One hand slid up to your breast, giving it a slow squeeze before his fingers found your nipple.

The touch sent heat rushing straight through you.

His other hand settled on your ass, pulling you flush against him until there wasn't even the slightest bit of space left between you.

Your hand kept stroking him. Slow. Lazy. Your thumb glided over the head with every pass. "Javi..." you whispered against his lips. "Take me."

That was it.

"Fuck..." He breathed the word against your mouth, whatever restraint he'd had disappearing in an instant.

Your hand slipped off him as he hooked an arm under your thighs and lifted you like you weighed nothing. A quiet laugh escaped you as your legs wrapped around his waist automatically.

The bedroom was only a few steps away. It still felt too damn far. With every step, the head of his cock brushed against you, making you squirm in his arms.

He shoved the bedroom door open with his foot and walked straight to the bed. A second later, he was setting you down on the edge of the mattress.

Your feet found the floor again. Your ass barely stayed on the bed. You already knew exactly what he was about to do.

Javier dropped to his knees. His hands slid up your thighs before gently pushing them apart. "So... morning to you too," he murmured, his eyes fixed shamelessly between your legs.

You leaned back on your elbows. You wanted to watch him. You always did. Watching him settle between your thighs was almost enough to make you lose your mind before he even touched you.

Then you felt it. The very first flick of his tongue against your clit. Your head fell back instantly. "Oh... Javi..." The sound slipped out before you could stop it.

He'd barely started. Barely. But just knowing he was right where he loved being... and God, you knew how much he loved it... already had every muscle in your body tightening.

The teasing didn't last long. Within seconds, slow little kisses turned into something much hungrier. Much needier. Like he'd been craving you all morning. His fingers tightened around your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you while his mouth got to work.

Wet, filthy sounds filled the room as his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just hard enough to make you gasp.

"Fuck... Javi..." Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer without even thinking about it.

He didn't seem to mind. If anything, it only made him groan against you.

Your free hand grabbed a fistful of the sheets. God… he was so fucking good at this. He never rushed. Not once.

His tongue stopped focusing on just your clit. Instead, he dragged long, slow strokes through your slickness from top to bottom before doing it all over again, each one making your hips lift helplessly off the mattress.

A quiet hum vibrated against your skin.

"Nuh-uh..." His voice was rough. "Stay still, cariño." Then his mouth was on you again. He tasted you like he couldn't get enough. Like he'd happily spend the rest of the morning between your thighs. His tongue slipped inside you, fucking you in slow, deliberate strokes before pulling back to lick you again.

Every lick. Every suck. Every stroke.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

And right when you were sure you couldn't take another second...

His tongue slipped away. His lips found your clit again. Then, without warning, two fingers slipped inside you.

"Oh... fuck..." Your whole body jolted. "Javi... slow down... don't stop... fuck... right there..." You weren't even sure what you were saying anymore. The words barely made sense between broken moans.

His mouth. His fingers. The way they worked together. It was too much. And somehow still not enough.

You were so close. Instinctively, your hips lifted, chasing his fingers, trying to take them deeper. The second you moved...

He pulled them out. His mouth left you too.

"Jesus... fuck, Javi..." The frustrated sound that escaped you was almost a growl. You'd been right there. "What the fu–" The words died in your throat.

He already knew. He'd felt how close you were. "I wanna be inside you, cariño," he groaned. He didn't wait for an answer. Didn't need one. He got to his feet without taking his eyes off you.

You started scooting farther onto the bed automatically, already making room for him.

"No." One hand stopped you. "Stay right there." His palm settled against your hip, keeping you exactly where you were. "Good girl." A crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. "I wanna fuck you like this."

His hands slipped beneath your hips, pulling you all the way to the edge of the mattress. Just enough. He lined himself up with you before dragging you down onto him in one hard thrust. No warning. No easing you into it. He filled you completely.

A cry broke free before you could stop it.

The head of his cock found that spot inside you instantly. The one he somehow always managed to hit. "Fuck..." he breathed. "You feel so fucking good." For a moment, he didn't move. He just stayed there, buried deep inside you, enjoying the way your body squeezed around him.

Then he started fucking you. Long. Deep. Pulling almost all the way out before sliding right back in. Slow enough to make you feel every inch. Then fast enough to leave you breathless. Then slow again.

The room filled with the sharp sound of skin meeting skin.

You'd already been hanging by a thread. This was all it took. "Javi... I... I'm gonna..."

He eased you the rest of the way back onto the mattress and came down with you. His body covered yours completely. One hand found yours. Then the other. He laced your fingers together above your head and held them there while he kept thrusting into you. His mouth found your neck. Little bites. Slow kisses. Dirty words whispered against your ear.

Every single one made your stomach tighten even more. You didn't have a chance. The orgasm hit you all at once. A broken moan spilled from your lips as your whole body went tight around him. Your back arched. Your legs trembled. One wave crashed into the next until all you could do was gasp his name.

The way you clenched around him was enough to snap the last bit of control he had left. "Fuck..." He fucked you through it, chasing his own release, driving into you a few more desperate times before letting go of your hands. He braced himself on the mattress and pulled out.

The sudden emptiness made you whine before you could stop yourself. Your body was still fluttering around nothing.

"Sorry, cariño..." he breathed.

You only smiled.

Neither of you had even thought about a condom. This was just how you did things. Kids weren't part of the plan. Not yet.

His hand wrapped around his cock, stroking himself a few quick times. A low groan rumbled out of him. The first hot streak landed across your stomach. Another followed. Then another.

You stayed exactly where you were, breathing hard, still shaking from your orgasm as you watched it spread across your skin before slowly slipping lower. God… that was so fucking hot. A tired little shiver rolled through your body.

Javier gave himself another couple of strokes, working out the last few drops before finally letting go.

Still trembling, you scooted farther onto the bed to make room for him.

He didn't need to be told. He climbed in beside you and immediately pulled you against his chest. He couldn't have cared less about the mess. Not on your stomach. Not on the sheets. He buried his face against your neck and let out a satisfied little sigh. "So..." he mumbled. "Pretty sure Crosby wouldn't buy this as an excuse for being late."

You laughed, running your fingers through his hair, now damp with sweat. "Yeah... maybe don't test that." The last aftershocks were still rolling through your body.

He laughed quietly, the sound rumbling against your skin. Then he wrapped his arm around you a little tighter, like he wanted to keep the rest of the world as far away as possible, and pressed one slow kiss to your shoulder. "Mmh..." His lips brushed your skin. "For now... Crosby can go fuck himself." He closed his eyes, letting you curl even closer against him.

Yeah. He'd be late for work. Neither of you cared.

Thank you so much for reading ♡

💌 @idknananchimaybe @pascalispunktexas @mothmanuwu @pascalispunkbr @reasonablyluminousquill @justmasblack @indiegirlunited @saralovesjoelmiller @picketniffler @canonisoptional @katyispunk @daltoncharm @kirsteng42 @borinquenasoy @cuteanimalmama @negramurguera @senoratess @misstokyo7love @suestormnotcheatingversion @lizette50 @grxnde-dwt @harriedandharassed @somedayheaven @ladyofmidlo72 @bardot49 @scarlettval2 @goonersquad101 @loveoverpride @fckyeahsaltandpeppercurls @javierarchieve @ningaispunk @shadowqueen2024

It had been five years since the outbreak. Five years since everything changed—since the world ended. You stayed close to Joel and Tommy, following their lead and doing things that you were sure neither of you would ever think of doing if the world hadn’t gone to shit. 

But still, it was a way for you all to survive. You tried to tell yourself that every time you hurt someone, every time you had stole from people that were just trying to survive too. 

Joel was the only one who seemed unfazed by it all. This world had hardened him much more than it did you and Tommy. He’d just tell you that it was “either them or us”, and you knew he had a point. You wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for Joel or Tommy.

So, you went along with what they did. 

And it kept you up every night. You couldn’t sleep longer than an hour or two without being woken up by the sounds of screaming. It was always the same nightmare too—Outbreak day and the couple of days that followed after that. 

But this life had turned you into a version of yourself that you no longer recognized either. You didn’t blink twice or flinch if you had to hurt someone to survive. You’d hear Joel’s words echo in your mind when you did. 

“It’s either them or us.”

You hated what the world became, hated the person you were now. Joel barely looked at you. Tommy, too. It was like the three of you were ashamed of the things you all had to do. 

But sometimes, for a few moments, you’d allow yourself to reminisce about what life was like before the world ended. 

You thought about Sarah—her bouncy curls and infectious smile. 

You thought about how life was finally falling in place for you—you were in love and in a seriously committed relationship with Joel, talking about the future with each other. 

Everything had been going just right. 

But the world had ended too fast. One minute you were celebrating Joel’s birthday in the morning with Sarah, cooking breakfast alongside of her and the next, she was taking her last breath in his arms. 

It wasn’t fair.

None of that should have happened.

Sarah should have still been here. 

It should have been you. 

You didn’t only lose Sarah that night. 

You lost Joel too. 

He couldn’t even properly grieve his daughter, couldn’t even bury her or say goodbye. Instead, Tommy had hoisted him up and told you both to run. 

You didn’t want to. Joel didn’t either. 

But you both did anyway. 

Leaving the old life behind. 

Leaving Sarah behind. 

And it had only gotten worse from there. 

That next morning, you flinched at the sound of a gunshot ringing through the woods. You stood from the ground so fast and ran towards the noise, which was probably not a good idea considering the world had ended. 

But when you saw Joel—gun in hand and bleeding at the temple—you rushed to him. You could see the tears in his eyes, the distant and vacancy in those deep brown eyes. He lost his little girl and he wanted everything to end. Tommy had come rushing towards you seconds later. 

You didn’t know what to do. You tried to get Joel’s attention, but he hadn’t answered. He kept his attention forward. 

The only thing he said was, “I flinched. I fuckin’ flinched.” 

Nothing was the same after that. 

And yet, your bodies still craved each other. Long gone was the relationship you had with him and instead, it was replaced by convenience, familiarity. You didn’t talk to him like you normally did and even if you tried, he wouldn’t say much. 

So, you told yourself that you’d rather have him like this than not have him at all. 

“I’m tired, Joel,” Tommy said, rifle slung over his shoulder. The three of you had staked out an abandoned store, having noticed a couple of people come in and out of it. They didn’t look threatening, just two people trying to survive like the rest of the population. 

“Either we do this, or we starve,” Joel mumbled. “Take your pick.” 

You knew not to get in between them. Before, you had no problem trying to calm them down, but that was when Sarah was still here—when she’d be there to back you up. You sighed quietly under your breath, mind drifting to memories of before. You were tired too, and you knew Joel was also. 

But you had to keep going. 

“It’s either them or us.”

“Why can’t we—just try to join a bigger group? There’s strength in numbers,” Tommy suggested. 

“No.” Joel said. “I ain’t trustin’ anyone else but the two of you.” 

“We can’t survive like this, Joel.” 

“I’d say we’re doin’ just fine,” he answered. 

Tommy sighed. 

Then, his gaze fell on you. For a moment, his eyes softened. Tommy knew the toll it took on you—seeing a man you once loved turn into someone you didn’t know anymore. 

“What about you?” He asked. 

Joel turned to look at you, and for a moment, when your eyes met, you noticed a quick glimpse of the man from before. It had softened just a fraction, but as quickly as that came, it passed—almost like Joel remembered where they were and what this world was. 

“We keep going,” you answered. “We’re all exhausted, Tommy, but we—we have to keep going.” 

Joel nodded once. Didn’t give you a smile or anything, just a single nod before looking back at Tommy. 

“There’s a QZ nearby. Boston. Maybe—maybe we should head there. After this, after… what we’re about to do.” 

Joel sighed. 

You bit your lower lip. 

It wasn’t a bad idea, but you weren’t sure about it. Going to a QZ meant giving up any sense of freedom you had now in exchange for shelter and food.

“Think about it. We’ll have a place to lay our heads every night, food we can eat,” Tommy continued. “We won’t have to worry about the infected killin’ us, or—or other people who are also tryin’ to survive too.” 

“Right. We’ll just have to worry about FEDRA tryin’ to do that instead,” Joel muttered. 

He sighed. “We’ve done this…for the last five years, Joel. Ain’t you tired? Wouldn’t you want to give her some place safe to stay?” 

You shook your head. You hated when Tommy used you as a way to get through to Joel. 

He looked at you again. His gaze lingered. His jaw clenched as he placed both hands on his hips. Joel hadn’t been the same since he lost Sarah and he wished he could say that he opened up to you, to let you in, but instead, he did the opposite. Joel put his guard up around everyone, including Tommy, putting people he loved at arm’s length. He loved you from afar because if he held you close and lost you the way he lost Sarah, Joel knew it’d break him. 

“Of course I want to give her some place safe to stay,” Joel finally answered. “I ain’t doin’ this because I like it. I’m doin’ it to survive, Tommy.” 

“We ain’t survivin’, Joel. We’re just waitin’ for our turn,” he said quietly. 

Joel cleared his throat. He dropped his gaze to his boots. 

“Fine,” Joel mumbled. “After this, we head to Boston.” 

Tommy’s eyes widened just slightly. He hadn’t expected Joel to agree. “Really?”

“But we still stick together, you hear me?” Joel said. 

“Yeah, yes,” Tommy nodded. 

“You hear me too?” Joel asked you, looking over at you. 

You nodded. 

Then, Joel took you by surprise by taking your hand in his. You gasped quietly, feeling the roughness of his palm against your own. He usually only initiated any kind of physical touch at night, away from Tommy and in the dark where neither of you could see. 

“I’m just tryin’ to protect you,” he whispered. 

“I know, baby,” you said. 

Joel cleared his throat. Almost like he had woken up from whatever was clouding his mind, he pulled his hand from yours immediately. “You stay by my side, okay?”

“Always,” you whispered. 

There was hope that simmered in your chest. Hope that maybe Boston would become a home for the three of you, but while it was still a long trip to get there, you still had to do your job. 

And right now, that meant having to hurt two innocent people in order for you, Joel and Tommy to survive. 

To make it to tomorrow. 

You were covered in blood. The two people that you were going to steal supplies from didn’t make it easy. They begged—pleaded for you to just take what you needed and leave. They promised they wouldn’t go after you, promised that they were just trying to survive too. 

But you knew letting them go was a risk that you couldn’t take.

Not in this world. 

You took shelter elsewhere. After stealing their supplies—which were a handful of canned goods and a first aid kit—the three of you kept walking. Onto the next one. 

Joel didn’t say a word. 

Neither did Tommy. 

You kept your eyes straight ahead and tried to block out the sounds of their screams, their cries. Your hands shook, staring down at them like they no longer belonged to you. It blended in with memories of the day of the outbreak—the sound of Joel pleading with Sarah to just hang on, the sound of Sarah’s whimpers at the pain she felt. 

You hated the person you became. 

No matter what you told yourself, there was a part of you that knew that there was no redeeming yourself. Not after the things you did to people who didn’t deserve it—just like the couple that you killed for a few canned goods and a fucking first aid kit. 

“We should take shelter here,” Tommy said, motioning ahead. “We start moving again at dawn.”

Joel nodded in response. 

You just kept walking. 

Away from the main roads, you finally set your bag down to give your back a break. Joel had surprised you the second time that day by standing in front of you and taking your shaky hands in his own.

“You did good back there,” he whispered. “I know it ain’t easy.”

You didn’t answer, just kept your gaze on his hands. It was exactly what you needed—he was always what you needed, so you tried to hold onto whatever moment this was. 

“Hey,” Joel said quietly. “Darlin’?”

Then, you looked up at him. Tears filled your eyes. Joel’s eyes softened for a brief moment. 

“Are we really going to Boston?” You asked.

Joel sighed. “Yeah, we’re goin’ to Boston.”

“And whatever this is… we’re done?”

He nodded. “Can’t exactly be doin’ this in a QZ.” 

“And us?”

“What about us?”

You sighed. “Nothing, never mind.”

Joel squeezed your hands. “You should try and get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

“Right, yeah.”

He let go and turned on his heel, his back now facing you as he walked towards his own bag. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to break down. All you wanted was for him to hold you—just like before. Instead, he retreated and only gave you glimpses of himself whenever he wanted. 

And yet, you stayed. 

Because it was better than losing him entirely.

It had only been a few months in the Boston QZ before you met Tess. She approached Joel first, who then introduced you and Tommy later that week. You weren’t sure exactly what smuggling meant until she broke it down in full detail—it meant more ration cards and it meant living just a bit better than everyone else in the QZ. 

You noticed—for the first time since arriving—the light in Joel’s eyes. You knew he needed more than doing just a simple cleanup or fixing things around the QZ. You watched how eager he was to get back out there, even if it meant encountering people that he wouldn’t otherwise trust. 

Tommy was quick to agree. He felt like he owed it to Joel to do what he wanted, especially since he had agreed to come to Boston. 

That only left you. 

And it unnerved you—how close Tess was to Joel, how her hand would brush against his. You knew Joel wasn’t the type of man to ever cheat on you, but things change. The world changed. 

You knew you couldn’t say no, not when Joel and Tommy went on about you being such a good shot that you could shoot something with your eyes closed. Tess looked ecstatic, said that she’d have a job for the three of you soon and when she left, Joel walked her out. 

You looked at Tommy. 

He gave you an apologetic look.

“She ain’t his type,” he said. “‘Sides, he loves you.”

“He hasn’t said those words in years,” you whispered. 

Tommy sighed. “He’s just—lost a lot.”

“I know,” you answered. “But that doesn’t mean he’s the only one.” 

You turned on your heel, didn’t bother waiting for him, as you walked into the bedroom that you shared with Joel. You sat at the edge and looked down at your lap, tears filling your eyes. You didn’t know what this meant anymore, didn’t know what Joel wanted. 

It only took him a few minutes before he joined you in bed. He was in a good mood, laying down in bed and gently taking you with him. You craved every physical interaction you had with him because they happened less frequently as the years went on. 

But still, you both had needs. 

And you felt familiar to him. 

“This is gonna be a good thing, darlin’,” he whispered, lightly kissing your temple. 

“Okay, Joel.”

He moved to hover above you. Joel looked down at you and cupped your cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“Don’t look like nothin’.”

“You just—you look real close to Tess.”

He sighed. “She’s just a business partner.” 

“I know that. I’m trying not to let it get to my head.”

Joel knew that he hadn’t been good to you. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was just that he didn’t know how to anymore. He didn’t know how to love you without the fear crawling up his chest, reminding him that at any moment, he could lose you the way he lost Sarah. So, he tried to keep you at arm’s length, hoping that his actions were enough for you to know that he still loved you, that he would always love you. 

“You know I ain’t ever gonna hurt you, right?”

You looked up at him and nodded, despite every inch of your body wanting to scream that he hurt you every day. You knew it wasn’t intentional either, so you didn’t say anything. He lost Sarah. She died in his arms and then the next day, he tried to kill himself because of it. Joel was broken and there wasn’t anything you could do to help fix him. 

So, you stayed by his side. Hoping that it was enough for him to see that you were still here. 

“I know, Joel.”

“We’re gonna be okay,” he whispered, lowering himself between your legs. “You’ll see.”

Months turned to years. Smuggling with Tess did make things better for you, Joel, and Tommy. You didn’t struggle like you had when you first arrived, but the dynamic between you and Joel shifted. He’d smuggle more often than you and Tommy. Sometimes, he’d even go by himself. 

But things started shifting when Tommy started distancing himself from you, Joel, and Tess. He stopped smuggling and instead, became more interested in a group called the Fireflies. Said that he was fighting for something bigger than himself and Joel didn’t like that. FEDRA had been arresting anyone who was affiliated with the Fireflies and it wasn’t ever a good thing when FEDRA was involved. 

So, smuggling had become a thing that you, Joel, and Tess started doing and you always felt like a third wheel whenever you were around the two of them. They just moved in sync, so familiar with each other’s movements that it made you feel empty and hollow whenever you were on a run with them. Joel would always check in with you—a gentle hand on your lower back, a light kiss on your temple, but it wasn’t enough. 

It stopped being enough when he started going out on runs independently with Tess. 

And it stopped being enough when he started taking the pills he’d smuggle and drink alcohol almost every night to help him sleep. 

Long gone was the person who was so full of life, of love… He had become a broken shell of a man, putting up walls around himself not even you could break through. And you were tired. Tired of seeing him work himself day in and day out, busying himself of the thoughts you were sure were plaguing him. 

One night after he left to go on a run with Tess, you stayed in your apartment and stared out the window. You hadn’t seen or talked to Tommy in so long and you wondered if he was safe, if he was thriving in his newfound tribe. It had been raining outside, so you watched the water trickle down the side of the glass as you waited for Joel to come home. 

It was moments like this when your mind started to drift. 

And you started to think about the time before outbreak day. 

When you were happy, in love, and hopeful for a life that you longed for. 

“Movie night?” Sarah asked, pouring the popcorn into a large bowl in your kitchen.

“Did you finish your homework?” 

“Yes…”

“Uh huh,” you smiled, reaching over to plop a single popcorn into your mouth. “And what if your dad comes home and finds out that you didn’t, in fact, finish your homework?”

Sarah shrugged. “It’s Friday, come on.”

“Fine,” you said. “But if I get in trouble, I’m blaming you.”

She grinned. Her dimples appeared instantly. “You’re the best.” Then, she grabbed the bowl of popcorn and walked into your living room, sliding in the DVD of the movie she wanted to watch into the player. 

When you moved into this neighborhood a few years ago, you hadn’t expected to develop such a close relationship with your next door neighbor. Sarah had been the first one to introduce herself that weekend you moved in, holding a plate of cookies. Joel was standing next to her, looking stiff and uneasy on your front porch. 

“Hi, I’m Sarah! This is my dad, Joel. We live next door and we just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

You looked at the young girl and then looked at Joel. He had his hands on his hips and his eyes looking everywhere but at you. 

“Oh,” you smiled. “That’s real sweet of you both, thank you.” You told them your name and then looked down at the plate of cookies. “That for me?”

Sarah grinned. “Yes! I made them this morning.”

“Well, I do have a sweet tooth and I think I’m due for a break, so… y’all want to come in?”

Joel finally looked at you. When your eyes met, something stirred in your chest. Joel felt it too because he no longer could take his eyes off you. But then,“Oh no, that’s quite alright—”

“We’d love to!” Sarah interjected.

Joel sighed. “M’sorry,” he mumbled. “We don’t mean to be a bother.”

“You’re not,” you smiled, opening the door even further for the two of them to step inside. “I invited you both. So long as you don’t mind the mess.”

“Whoa,” Sarah said, stepping inside and looking around with wide eyes. “You have so many pictures!”

“Ah,” you said softly. “Yeah, I like taking pictures. I collect a few cameras, actually.” 

“And a record player?!”

Joel cleared his throat. “Sarah—”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, abruptly reaching out to rest a hand on his forearm. The both of you looked down at your hand. You pulled it away immediately. “Sorry.” 

“S’okay, darlin’.” 

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks. 

“Can I put a record in?” Sarah asked. 

“Yeah,” you answered, walking over to her and gently taking the plate in her hands. “Pick any record you like. I’ll set these in the kitchen.” 

“Dad—look, she’s got some of your favorites too.”

Joel kept his gaze on you, watched you interact so easily with his daughter that it made his stomach flutter with a feeling he hadn’t felt in years. 

“Well, you’re welcome over anytime, Sarah,” you said softly. “As long as it’s okay with you, Joel.”

He nodded and glanced down at Sarah for a moment. “I reckon that’s fine.” 

“I’m gonna be here every day after school,” Sarah laughed quietly.

“That’d be great. I’m new to the area, so maybe y’all both can show me around one day.”

It had only taken Joel a year later to finally make his move. You weren’t sure if the feeling had been mutual, but Sarah would be over at your place almost every day, especially when Joel was working late. It wasn’t until one night, after Sarah passed out on your couch after she said she wanted to watch a movie, that Joel climbed up the few steps on your porch only for you to open the door right before he knocked. 

“Oh,” you smiled. “I was just throwing the trash out,” you said, keeping the door open for him in case he wanted to step inside. “Sarah’s asleep.”

“Let me guess… she convinced you to watch a movie and then fell asleep about half an hour into it,” he chuckled.

“Yup, that’s exactly what happened.” You laughed quietly, stepping outside in just an oversized shirt and a pair of sleep pants as you walked towards the trash bin at the front of your home.

“Here, let me,” Joel said, shutting the front door and then taking the trash bag from your hand. He was tired—exhausted from yet another late night of work, but he always enjoyed coming home. 

Because coming home meant also seeing you. 

Once he threw your trash away, Joel followed you back onto your porch where you both leaned against the railing, lit up only by the single porch light. 

“You look tired,” you pointed out. “You have the weekend off, right?”

Joel nodded. “Figure I sleep in tomorrow,” he said. “And just be… lazy.” 

“Sounds like a great day to me,” you smiled. 

“You got any plans?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Probably just do some cleaning around the house, check out that new bookstore in town. Sarah mentioned she wanted to join, so—”

“That your way of askin’ permission?”

“Well, I was thinking I was gonna ask for forgiveness and not permission,” you smiled.

Joel let his lips curl upwards. “You know, I’m thinkin’ Sarah might like you more than she likes me,” he teased. 

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Oh, sure. Of course I’m her favorite. I let her do whatever she wants,” you grinned.

“What?” Joel asked.

“Yeah. I say yes to everything she wants to do.”

His eyes narrowed. “No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“Liar.”

You gasped playfully. “Joel Miller! I am no liar.”

His smile grew. Joel took a step closer to you now. “You’re real pretty, y’know that?” He blurted out. 

Your eyes widened slightly. Your cheeks flushed and the tips of your ears grew hot. “What?” 

“Shit, sorry,” he sighed, looking away from you as he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “That just came out. M’sorry.” 

“You think… I’m pretty?” You smiled. 

Joel slowly looked back up at you. “Am I crossin’ a line?”

You shook your head and moved closer to him. “Joel, I’ve had a crush on you for a while now. Figured maybe you weren’t interested.”

“Y—You, what?” Joel bit his lower lip. “Sarah was right…”

“What?”

“She said you liked me, or at least wanted me to ask you out or somethin’. I don’t know. I didn’t believe her.” 

You laughed quietly. “She’s trying to set us up… she told me that maybe I should just ask you out too.” 

Joel smiled. He felt the nerves slowly settle down. “She can be sneaky when she wants to be.” 

“Yeah, I see that now,” you smiled. 

“So, I guess… would you wanna go out to dinner with me this weekend?” 

You bit your lower lip. “I’d like that… very much, Joel.” 

He grinned now. You noticed the dimple on his cheek as he leaned in to kiss your forehead lightly. “Tomorrow at seven? I’ll pick you up.” 

“Gonna take me some place nice, Joel?” 

He pulled back to look down at you. He was so close to you now. “Yeah, baby.” 

You felt your stomach flip and then you leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Can’t wait.” 

 Then, your relationship with Joel blossomed. You had been together for two years before the outbreak happened. Sarah had made it known from the very beginning that she couldn’t wait until you both got married—her two favorite people in the world. 

And as she got older, she started looking at you like a mother figure in her life. She’d come to you for advice, cry on your shoulder when a boy hurt her feelings or if she just needed to vent about her life as a fourteen year old. 

You and Joel talked about the future. You both knew what each other wanted—marriage, kids, the whole dream. Joel would tell you that it would happen soon, but he never did get a chance to propose. He picked out the ring with Sarah, planned it with her too.

But then, the outbreak happened. 

And the future you both wanted would never come. 

Because when the world ended for everyone else, it stopped moving for you and Joel. 

Sarah wasn’t supposed to die like that. She wasn’t supposed to take her last breath in his father’s arms. Joel wasn’t supposed to lose her. 

You had woken up abruptly when you heard the front door shut. You looked up and watched Joel stumble to the small table, sitting down on the chair with a quiet grunt. 

“Hey…” you whispered, walking over to him slowly. “You’re back late.” 

“Sorry. Ran into some trouble, but s’fine.” 

Then, you noticed the blood on his hands and you immediately sat across from him, scooting your chair closer to his. “What happened?” 

“Was a bad deal,” Joel mumbled. “A couple of infected, but otherwise, the guys we were supposed to meet up with didn’t have what they promised.” 

“Oh,” you whispered. You knew what that meant. You didn’t push any further. “Does it hurt?” 

Joel shook his head. “M’fine.” 

“You’re not,” you sighed. 

“I am.” 

“Joel—”

He brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It happens.” 

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered. 

That got his attention. Joel’s eyes softened for a moment. It was like he was looking at you the way he did before the world ended—filled with love. “You won’t, darlin’.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I’ll always come back to you,” he whispered. “You know that.” 

“But at what cost?” 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” you sighed. “I just don’t like seeing you hurt.” 

Joel didn’t push. He just nodded. “M’tryin’.”

“I know you are,” you said quietly. Instead of continuing the conversation, you stood from the chair to retrieve the first aid kit you kept in the cupboard. “Next run, I’m doing it with Tess.” 

“What? No,” Joel shook his head instantly. 

“I can handle myself,” you said, sitting back down in front of him. “Besides, you trust Tess, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, I do,” he answered. 

“Then trust me too.” 

Joel shook his head. “I do trust you.” 

“Then, what’s the problem? You can go out there, but I can’t?”

“You can,” he corrected. “As long as I’m there too.” 

“Joel,” you sighed. “I’m a better shot than you. I’ll be fine.” 

He stared at you. Joel didn’t know how to tell you that he didn’t want you going out there without him because it meant he wasn’t there to protect you, and if he wasn’t there, then it was a higher possibility that he could lose you forever. 

“No,” was all he said. 

“Joel—”

“I said no,” he interrupted. 

“I don’t think I was asking,” you replied. “I’m going. You don’t get to be the only one to hurt.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Joel, you’ve probably got a mild fracture in your hand. You really think you should be going back out there? What if you don’t come home? Then, what?” 

He sighed. 

“How else would you be able to protect me if you aren’t here?” 

Joel opened his mouth and then closed it again. 

“You need to trust me,” you repeated. “I can handle myself.”

“Not what I’m worried about.” 

“Then, what are you worried about?” 

Joel looked into your eyes and whispered, “Failin’ you.”

 It was a crack in his guard. A glimpse of vulnerability. 

You moved closer, slowly and carefully. This was the first time in a very long time that Joel was opening up to you with what he was feeling. You couldn’t remember the last time he had been honest with you like this. 

“Joel…”

He shook his head, either to stop himself from continuing or to remind himself to lift those same walls back up. 

“S’fine. If you wanna go, then go,” he muttered. “Ain’t like I can stop you.” 

You sighed. His vulnerability left as quickly as it came. “Joel—”

“Just be careful, okay?” 

You reached out for his hand and he didn’t move, didn’t flinch at the sudden contact either. Instead, Joel turned his hand in yours and gently squeezed your hand. He missed you, missed his old life, missed Sarah. 

“You know I will be,” you whispered. “Just promise me you’ll take it easy.” 

He shrugged. 

“Joel.” 

“I’ll try,” he sighed. 

“I’ll check in with Tess tomorrow. Tell her that it’s me that will join her,” you said. 

Joel nodded. “Okay, darlin’.”

“Come on,” you said softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Joel stood from the table and followed you into the bathroom. He couldn’t look away from you now; there were moments where he’d find himself thinking back to life back in Texas, when all he had to worry about was paying his bills, making sure Sarah was taken care of, and how he should propose to you. The ring he bought with Sarah was always kept with him—away from you, but as a reminder of a life that he could have had with you. 

He hadn’t been the same since the day of the outbreak—since he lost Sarah. Joel wished he could give you pieces of himself again. He wished he could tell you all of the things that plagued his mind, but he didn’t—couldn’t. 

Joel didn’t want to bring you down with him. Even before the outbreak, he knew you deserved better than him. He didn’t know why you chose him, or why you continued to stay by his side after all these years.

And he knew that it affected you—the fact that he was no longer emotionally available or how the world changed you too. He could see it in the tiredness of your eyes, could see how the world aged you too. 

But still, you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. 

As you led him to the bathroom, Joel reached out and rested a hand on your hip. For once, he just wanted to forget, wanted to distract his mind from the reality of this world. And he didn’t want to use alcohol or the pills to help him with it. 

No, right now, he wanted you. 

When you turned around, Joel couldn’t help but notice the look of surprise on your face. Whenever he’d touch you, it was like you were taken aback. It only made him feel guiltier. 

“Hey,” he whispered. 

“Hmm?” You asked, biting your lower lip. Joel could sense your hesitation. He hated that he made you feel like you had to be careful around him. 

“I love you,” Joel said quietly. The words had been lodged in his throat for years, unable to say it out loud ever since the world ended. He felt relief wash over him. Because he did. Joel really did love you; he always would. 

Your lips parted in surprise. Another crack in his guard. Another glimpse of vulnerability. But still, you hadn’t moved. “Yeah?” You whispered, unsure of the voice that escaped you. 

He nodded quickly. Joel stepped forward, tugged you closer to him until you put your hands out to rest on his chest. The hand on your hip moved instead to snake an arm around your waist. 

“Yeah, darlin’.” 

“Are you drunk? High?” You asked hesitantly. 

Joel shook his head. Again, he felt guilt in the pit of his stomach. “No.” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

He sighed. “No. M’just—” Joel couldn’t say the words he wanted to. He wanted to tell you how grateful he was to have you by his side after everything that’s happened, how he fears for your safety everyday, how he’d do anything to keep you safe. 

But he couldn’t. 

So, he didn’t. 

Instead, he just leaned down and brushed his lips against your cheek.

He heard you inhale sharply. Your hands moved from his chest to wrap loosely around his shoulders. 

Joel let out a breath. You always did ground him. Feeling your body against his and your arms around his shoulders—it was the safest place to him. The only place he’d rather be in. 

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, lips moving across your cheek and down the side of your jaw. “For worrying you.” 

Your eyes fell shut. The times that you’d have sex with Joel never started like this. It was always rough and urgent—it almost felt like he was using sex so he wouldn’t have to say what was on his mind. 

You never complained though because it was Joel. He would never hurt you… and you also had needs too. 

But right now, it felt different and familiar all at once. Like this was the same Joel before everything happened. 

“I know you’re only protecting me,” you whispered. “You’re only trying to keep me safe.” 

Joel lifted his head to look down at you. He moved his free hand to your cheek, fingers brushing along your skin lightly. You never asked more of him, never tried to push him to be the man you wanted (and deserved). You understood what he could give you, understood the meaning behind his actions even if he couldn’t say it himself. 

But he knew, one of these days, it wouldn’t be enough. One day, you’d wake up and realize that he could no longer give you what you needed—that he could no longer be the man you wanted. 

And he’d dread for that day. But right now wasn’t that day, so he lightly pecked your lips and then picked you up into his arms only to set you down on the edge of the sink. He might have aged, but he was still just as strong… if not stronger. 

“Joel,” you said quietly. “We should—”

“Shh, baby,” he whispered, moving his hands to your legs and parting them immediately so he could step in between them. Joel looked into your eyes, lower lip pulled between his teeth, and the center of his jeans tightening as he grew harder at the sight of you. “Let me take care of you instead?” 

“You just got back from a run,” you answered. 

“Not tired.” 

“You’re hurt.” 

“Can barely feel the pain.” 

“Joel.” 

He smiled. 

You couldn’t help but smile too. It had been such a long time since you’d seen him smile like this. 

“You’re usin’ that voice with me.” 

“What voice?” 

“The stern voice.” 

“Well, it doesn’t seem to be working.” 

“That’s because it ain’t ever work with me.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

Joel stepped closer to you. 

“Yes, it has.” 

He moved his hands higher. Joel squeezed the meat of your thighs and let out a low groan. You always did have the nicest ass and thighs—so full and curvaceous too. 

“Well, it ain’t workin’ now.” 

You cleared your throat. His hands ran over your highs and to your hips, gripping it tightly in his grasp as he pressed himself against you. Even with the thick denim jeans he was wearing and the sweatpants you had on, you could feel the thick and hard outline of him. 

Then, you moved your hands to his cheeks and gently lifted his face to look at you. 

“Promise me… you won’t run away from me again.” 

Joel looked into your eyes. He knew what you meant, knew what you were implying, but he couldn’t promise you that. He couldn’t promise you anything anymore. Not in this world. 

So instead, he said, “I’ll try.” 

It wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but it was more than what he’d given you in years. You nodded slowly and then leaned in to peck his lips. It felt like coming home—like a part of you that had been missing finally find its way back to you.

You just hoped that this wasn’t just a one time thing. You hoped that after tonight, things between you and Joel would be better. 

That you would both now be moving in the right direction. 

His hands moved to slide underneath your shirt and you gasped against his lips. His hands had always been rough and calloused long before the world ended, but it felt different, because you knew these hands were much more capable than just touching you ever so lightly. 

Joel stepped closer and pressed his lips more firmly against yours. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring—he just knew that you’d be here. Like you always were. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled, hands sliding further up your body. “Everythin’ I do—have done—ain’t fair to you.” 

“You don’t get to make that choice for me,” you said, pulling back only to lift the shirt over your head until you were completely topless for him. “We’re not the same people, Joel, I know that… but I’m still choosing you.” 

“You shouldn’t,” he answered honestly. 

“Well, I am. Because I love you,” you replied, feeling his hands move higher up. “And because I think I always will.” 

Joel stopped his movements. He stared deeply at you. For a brief moment, it felt like he was back in Texas. Back in the same home that Sarah grew up in. His eyes softened and he nodded. He didn’t deserve you, not back then and definitely not now. 

He leaned forward slowly and rested his forehead against yours. Joel couldn’t say anything else, didn’t know what else to say. So, he shut his eyes and pressed his lips back against your own. 

He chased that feeling—wanted to hold onto how it felt to be back in Texas. With you, with Sarah. Before everything changed. Before he lost her. 

And when he felt you move your hands from his cheeks to loosely wrap around his shoulders, Joel began moving his lips with your own. 

Sex had been something he’d use to get his mind off what troubled him, because it allowed him to focus on you and making sure you felt good.

But right now, sex didn’t feel like it was going be like that. It felt familiar, felt different, felt like it was exactly what you both needed. 

A glimpse of the life from before. 

Sarah sat between both you and Joel that night. She wanted to watch a movie, wanted to spend her Friday night with the both of you and a big bowl of popcorn even after she had dinner. 

“If you end up sleepin’…” Joel said, arm draped over the back of the sofa. 

“I’m not!” Sarah said, grabbing a handful of the popcorn and putting it into her mouth. Then, she turned to you with a large grin—deep dimples appearing on her cheek. “Right?” 

Your eyes narrowed. Then, you laughed quietly. “I think we all know you’re gonna fall asleep, bug.” 

Sarah giggled. You started calling her bug long before you and Joel got together. She’d come over to your place after school almost everyday and you noticed early on how much energy she had—always wiggling about and moving around. When the nickname slipped for the first time, she hugged you. Told you she liked the nickname because it felt personal, felt real. 

Joel’s hand moved to touch your shoulder. You turned and glanced at him, but he kept his eyes on the television. You enjoyed moments like this—quiet nights in with both Sarah and Joel. It was a glimpse into a future you yearned for. 

“Watch me. I’ll prove you both wrong,” Sarah said confidently. 

And yet, it only took half an hour for her to fall asleep on your shoulder. You had your arm wrapped around her and Joel had taken the large bowl of popcorn to set it on the coffee table. You felt Sarah shift in your arms as she let out a breath. Joel looked at the two of you and let the corners of his lips lift upwards at the sight. 

“Let me take her to bed, baby,” Joel whispered. 

You nodded and watched him stand from the couch. He leaned down and scooped Sarah into his arms carefully, mumbling quietly that he’d be back before he disappeared down into the hallway. You leaned back against the couch and yawned, pulling the blanket over your lap before moving to lie on your side. 

Joel appeared after a few minutes, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie. 

“Wanna go to bed?” He asked. 

You looked at him and then reached for his hand. “Letting me sleep here again?” 

Joel nodded. “I like you in my bed,” he answered. “Like wakin’ up to you too.” 

You smiled and stood from the couch with his help. His arm snaked around your waist as he leaned down to lightly peck your lips. “I reckon I’d want you around all the time, darlin’.” 

“You won’t get anything done,” you teased. 

Joel scoffed, only pulling away so he could lead you into his bedroom. “Ain’t my fault that you’re just so goddamn beautiful.”

You bit your lower lip. Joel kicked his bedroom door shut quietly. You leaned against him and sighed contentedly. His bedroom had become one of your favorite places to be—he allowed you inside a very personal part of his house, granting you a full view of who he was behind closed doors. 

“You’ve already got me,” you smiled. “No need to try and charm me.” 

“Not tryin’ to be charming. Just speakin’ the truth.” 

You rolled your eyes, but your smile only grew. “And what do you want, hm? For speaking the truth?” 

Joel placed both hands on your hips as he looked into your eyes. “What do I want?” 

You nodded. 

“I want you by my side forever, darlin’.” 

You smiled, wrapped your arms loosely around his shoulders as he held you close to him. “Sounding a lot like something else, Joel.” 

He chuckled. “Not yet. Soon, but not yet.” 

You played with his hair at the nape of his neck and nodded, standing on your toes to peck his lips. “Well, when that time does come, know my answer is yes.” 

Joel’s hands moved from your hips to wrap around you, pulling you flush against him. He buried his face against the side of your neck and shut his eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever get another chance at love like this. Not after Sarah's mother left. 

He knew you deserved better, but still, you chose him… and every chance you could get, you showed him that you’d continue to choose him. 

You should’ve known that Joel would slip back into the same routine and same kind of behavior. You felt stupid and naive to think that he’d want to change, that he’d want to become someone better than this world made him be. You craved his touch, craved his soft voice telling you how much he loved you, but as quickly as it came, it disappeared just as fast. 

“You’re staying,” you said, grabbing the backpack from the table and hoisting it over your shoulder. “Me and Tess already talked about it.” 

He just huffed quietly under his breath. 

“We agreed that I’d go on the next run,” you continued. “And that you’d stay here and just… rest.” 

“Can’t exactly rest when you’re out there,” he mumbled. 

“Yeah? Well, try. Put yourself in my shoes, Joel.” 

That caught his attention. He looked over at you and sighed. Joel did really try these last couple of weeks to be the man he was before the world ended. He tried to be more affectionate, tried to talk to you when his mind just wouldn’t shut off, but he couldn’t. It was better to keep it to himself. 

“If anythin’ happens… you come right back, you hear me?” Joel said, walking over to you and grabbing the other strap of the backpack to place over your other shoulder. “You don’t stay. You don’t play hero. You come straight back to me.” 

You nodded. You didn’t need to tell him that you’d be okay, that you and Tess had it handled. You knew that he needed to say it, needed to tell you in his own way that he was scared. So, you reached up and lightly rested a hand on his cheek. 

“I’m always coming back to you, cowboy.” Then, you leaned up and pressed a light kiss on his lips.

Joel gripped the strap of your backpack as he looked back down at you once you pulled away. He had so many things he wanted to say, but just couldn’t. It stayed lodged in his throat, begging for it to just come out, but Joel didn’t let it. He couldn’t. 

A couple of knocks filtered the small apartment. Joel’s eyes glanced at the door. You knew it was Tess, so you slowly pulled away from him. “Be here when I get back, okay?” 

Joel nodded. Didn’t have anything to say. His throat felt dry and he could feel the walls closing in on him. When you opened the door and Tess stood on the other side of it, he looked away. Walked towards the bedroom and shut the door quietly. 

He heard your muffled voice mix in with Tess and he sighed. Joel sat at the edge of the bed and stared at his hands, still bruised and in pain after the last run. 

“Is he okay?” Tess asked. 

You nodded and glanced down the hallway to the closed bedroom door. “Yeah, he’s okay.” 

“Bet he didn’t want you going on this run,” she smiled. 

You rolled your eyes and led her out of the apartment. “I’m a better shot than both him and Tommy. Besides, I’ve been wanting to get out of the QZ for a while now.” 

Tess laughed quietly. “You know, Joel always talks about you whenever we’re out on a run.”

“He does?” 

She nodded. “It’s probably the only time I’ve ever seen the light in his eyes.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded. Here you were—wanting more out of him when he was showing you how much he loved you in a different way. In a way that only he could show you. 

“You’ve been together since outbreak, right?” Tess asked. 

“Before that. We were together for a couple of years before the outbreak,” you answered. “I was actually his next door neighbor.” 

“Oooh,” she laughed. “Girl next door? Honestly, I can see it.” Tess looked at you from top to bottom and smirked. 

“Anyway,” you smiled, continuing to walk alongside her. “He means a lot to me. We have a lot of history together.” 

“Well, if it means anything, you mean a lot to him too.” Tess said, walking a bit faster. “Now, let’s go. I’m sure Joel would want you back home at a reasonable hour,” she teased. 

You followed her, but your mind drifted to Joel. Glancing over your shoulder, you hoped he’d step out to see you off, but when you were met with an empty and quiet hallway, you felt disappointment in the pit of your stomach. How could Joel talk so freely about you with Tess but couldn’t do it with you? 

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Di and you are lying down on a blanket, the remains of a picnic around you. The sun is setting, and there is a light breeze caressing the grass around you. It's a quiet spot, a little park Di found one day, a little ways away from both your places, but it's calm, not too crowded, and beautiful. Both of you are happy to enjoy this moment, a quiet bubble in your busy lives. With an arm thrown over your eyes, you feel sleep dragging you down its path when Diana breaks your near slumber.

"Why did you and Eric divorce?" She almost sounds like a child, asking a question that has been bugging her for some time, something she can't make out by herself and finally resolves to ask you.

"Huh?" Yet, for you, the question comes out of nowhere, and it takes you a moment to comprehend the words. Your arms fall off your face, and you blink in the diminishing sunlight, staring at her.

"I mean, I know what you told me, you just drifted apart, fell out of love, yadi-yadi- ya." She isn't looking at you, her face is still turned toward the sky. "It's just… You were such a perfect couple."

"Obviously not." You can't help your snicker. But she turns her head to look at you, and you see something more in her eyes, something almost like betrayal.

"You were my role model."

That stops whatever you were about to say, the way you tend to dismiss the conversation, deflecting with a joke. "Di, I… I don't know what to tell you."

"I mean, it always felt a little strange. One day you two were living together, happy and in love, after probably one of the best weddings I've ever been to, and the next day, you call me and tell me you are getting a divorce."

"It didn't happen in a day, it took longer than that." You frown, grasping an errant thought: that maybe you hadn't really told Diana everything. Not that you deliberately hid anything.

"But what happened? I mean… I always looked up to you both. I know you think I'm in my slut era, that's been lasting for decades," she laughs with something that sounds almost deprecative, and you want to interrupt, but she goes on, "I always felt like, one day I could have what you had. And now I don't know."

"Di, where is this coming from? It sounds so sudden." You sit up, and she mimics you, both sitting with crossed legs, facing each other.

"Benny and I had a fight." Her eyes drop to the ground, and she quickly adds, "Don't worry, it's all good now, but it made me realize how much I care about him, and I don't know… Is it all worth it?" Her eyes look up to you, and you see that child all over again.

"What did you fight about?" You can't help but worry. Diana just shakes her hand, a way of saying it's not important.

"Oh, it's silly; we both kinda got in our heads, because we haven't really been official, you know. And it escalated until we both realized we really just want to be a couple." Her smile betrays her happiness at saying the word out loud.

"Wait, does that mean I'm finally going to meet him?"

"Yeah… maybe." You throw an empty bag of chips at her.

"OK fine! We are thinking of doing it soon. Try to organize something where he could bring his brother and friends, and I could bring you. That way we could all meet each other."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"I'm telling you now!"

A moment of silence follows, while you both share a smile. You know you owe her a better explanation, because you want her to understand, and you also want her to be happy. You take a big breath and start.

"It's true, we did fall out of love. But we also still love each other, just not romantically."

"I don't get it."

"We still have a lot of respect for each other. And you can't erase a decade of being together, of being in love for most of it."

"But that's the thing, you were together for so long, why didn't you... I don't know, try harder?" She looks apologetic as she says this, not wanting you to feel hurt by her words, but also really wanting to understand.

"I know, but we met young and grew apart. It's true!" You exclaim when you see Di roll her eyes, "We just didn't really realize it until it was too late. And we did try, but… but I don't know what to tell you. We became roommates, not lovers anymore. We didn't have the same interests, we didn't want the same things. It was fun when we were younger, but as we grew older, we grew apart. And I think we just didn't notice until one day he mentioned wanting to move to another place, sell the apartment, and buy a house. And I didn't. That started a conversation, one which made us realize how different we wanted our future to be. And that's that. There was no big fight, no cheating, just a slow realization that we weren't in love anymore, and that we didn't really want to fall back in."

"That feels so sad."

"It is, but also, it's not? We were together for more than 10 years, and most of our time together was wonderful. I have so many fond memories of him, and I'll always want the best for him, and him for me. There is no regret, I don't think I wasted years of my life with him." You reflect on what you said, trying to see if there is a better way to explain things, but there isn't. That is exactly what happened. "I maybe wish we had realized a little earlier, and I wouldn't have gone so long without sex." You can't help but add a little joke to diffuse the small tension.

"Really! How long has it been?"

"Well, now it's fine. I did go on a few dates before moving here, at least I scratched that itch." You hear Diana whisper "slut" under her breath, and you laugh before continuing.

"Before that, I don't know, it's like we didn't want to, didn't even think about it. We maybe had sex 2 or 3 times a year."

You sigh. "I don't know what else to tell you, it just happened. What was harder was when I noticed most of my life had evolved around him. And that's partly on me, because I was fine with not having too many friends. And I did make my own and still keep in touch. But I wanted to find myself again."

"And you aren't mad he's with someone again, so soon?"

"We divorced almost a year ago, I'm fine. He met her while we were figuring things out, and he told me right away he was starting to feel something for someone else. Was I thrilled at the time? No. But angry? Never. And she's really great. Not my type, we won't become friends, but she is perfect for him, for who he is now."

"You act so wise, it just feels impossible to be in love and then not be anymore." Her voice is still laced with regret and a little bit of uneasiness. You want to reassure her, want her to understand that it was worth it, whatever the outcome was.

"Diana, while we were together, we were good, happy. We can still be your model. I actually think the way we broke up is also great. And I still believe in love."

"With Frankie?" Her sly smile makes you feel flushed.

"Shush, I don't know. He's fine." You wave your hand, trying to chase the subject away.

"He's fine," Di repeats, mocking you. "So fine that you lent him a book, and are what, texting now?"

"I already admitted to liking him. I just don't know if he likes me. We're just friends."

"Friends, fuck this! The guy is flirting, and you know it." She throws the bag of chips back at you.

"Maybe… But I think I like this part. I'm enjoying the status quo, not really knowing, for the moment. It's like a shy flirt. And if it doesn't go further than this, then it's fine, really. I'm not pursuing him for my next love story, I'm just happy being friends with him, and maybe more."

"Don't you want to fuck him?"

"Of course I want to! Girl! I saw him piloting a helicopter! Can you imagine what it's done to me?" You groan, lying back dramatically and then sigh, "He was so hot, being so competent and all."

Di lies back again and sighs, "I want to see Benny train people, and watch him work out. I would climb him like a tree."

"You are already fucking him."

"Yeah. But not enough." You both giggle like teenagers talking about their crushes.

"¡Holà pendejo![Hello, asshole!]" Frankie exclaims loudly when he sees Santiago coming through the sliding doors after customs. He and Mia went to greet him at the airport, and have been waiting a little out of the way, Mia in his arms, holding a sign they made together displaying "Bienvenido, Tío Santi! [Welcome, uncle Santi!]"

"Frankie, it's so good to see you! Mia, ¡princesa! ¡Has crecido un montón desde la última vez que te vi!"[Princess! You’ve grown a lot since I last saw you]

But Mia is a little shy, she hasn't seen her uncle in 6 months, and even if she remembers him and has talked with him on FaceTime many times, she still feels a little apprehensive.

"Muñequita, ¿puedes decir hola a tu tío? [Sweetie, can you say hi to your uncle?]" Frankie murmurs in her ear when he senses her discomfort, her head buried in the crook of his neck. She starts by shaking her head, but Frankie gently rubs her back to comfort her, and she eventually turns her head to look at the adult standing in front of her with a kind smile and manages a timid "Holà tío."

"Did you make this pretty sign for me? Can I see it?" Santi asks kindly, reverting to English in case it helps the little girl. She hands him the sign, which is now all crumbled from the motion she made to hide in her father's arms, and he compliments her, admiring the drawings she made around the words that Frankie wrote. "It's beautiful. Can I keep it?"

"Yes." Her shyness is slowly ebbing away from the kind words she received.

"I'm going to cherish it. Let me put it in my bag to keep it safe," Santi reverently folds the sign and puts it away.

Frankie can't help the fatherly pride he feels watching his daughter overcome her shyness. He wouldn't have pushed her, but he wants to make sure she is comfortable. And soon, as they walk toward the car, Mia is babbling away while Santi asks her questions, and the sound of their laughs combined makes Frankie's heart swell with content.

After arriving home and putting Mia to sleep for her afternoon nap, the two friends finally settle outside to catch up. They are sitting on the back porch, watching the water, coffee in hand, the sliding doors behind him open, in case Mia calls for him.

"Have you taken Mia on the boat yet?" Santi breaks the silence that until then was only disturbed by the distinctive song of a <type of bird>.

"No, I'm afraid she's too little. I don't think I can sail and watch out for her at the same time."

"What if we went together? Just a small trip on the bay to see if she enjoys it? That way you can finally put your sailing license to the test."

"I've sailed plenty, thank you very much. But yeah, that would be great." It puts Frankie at ease, knowing he can count on his friend for a few weeks. Not that he couldn't have asked Will, Benny, or Tom. But he knows how Will and Benny are busy, and he doesn't trust Tom on a boat yet. And having Santi at home, it's different, it's showing his daughter what true friendship is like, and also knowing she will be spoiled rotten by her tio. Of course, the best way he can show his appreciation is by saying, "So, when are you finally getting your own place?"

"I'm barely here, and you are already kicking me out?" Thankfully, his friend knows exactly what these words mean, especially when they are underlined by a squeeze on the shoulder.

"I have a few places I need to look at, see if the pictures are true." He trails a bit before adding, with something like awe in his voice, "Yovanna wants to go back to school. She started a nursing degree in Australia, and she wants to finish it here and eventually specialize to become a Midwife. She's already in touch with the school, so I'm here to look for a place close by." The smile on his face tells Frankie that his friend is finally letting himself be happy.

"How about the money?" They never really speak about that, and Frankie knows Santi isn't reckless, but he wants to make sure his friend is doing well, see if he can help in any way.

"I'm fine, don't worry. I took plenty of well-paid contracts and barely touched the money. I have plenty to get us a good place, even something for Yov's brother; he still hasn't decided if he wants to come. I have everything sorted immigration wise, so we should be good. "

"What about you? What are you going to do?"

"Honestly?" The sigh Santi lets out holds a lot: uncertainty, even some shame. "I don't know, whatever I can help with. I'm tired of moving around, chasing guys, but I don't know what else to do. Are you hiring?" Santi's eyes turn expectant.

Frankie laughs. "I don't really know what the hell you could do there. But I can look around if I hear about anything that could fit. Maybe ask Will and Benny, they might have an idea. And they know a lot more people than I do."

"Thanks, I need to find something. I can't stay idle, it'll kill me." The desperation in his words is palpable. All of them have had action ingrained in their habits for so long that even if they had the money to do nothing, none of them really could. Frankie was the perfect example.

"Believe me, I get it. It almost did for me." He will always feel shame for the few months when they got back from Colombia, the moment that changed everything, his own life being at the forefront of the list of things he could have lost.

"Mi llave [my friend], I think you were a warning for all of us." Santi squeezes Frankie's shoulder. "But you are also the strongest, Frankie. And I hope you never forget it."

Frankie snorts dismissively. Yeah right, none of you are addicts." But Santi shakes his head, his hand still on Frankie's shoulder, not letting go.

"We all carry something from our years of service, and we all have our own form of addiction. Do you think me running around the world, trying to set things right, was healthy? You and Will are the ones who showed us the way. Showed us there is a life outside of our own trauma. Look at Benny with his fighting. And now his training, he seems to need the adrenaline of the fight. And Tom with his ventures–"

"And his drinking." Frankie cuts in; at one point the guys need to see it's a problem.

"That bad?"

"He says he stopped, but doesn't want to get any help. So I'm not very sure."

"Shit…" Santi shakes his head, but isn't deterred from his speech. "Well anyway, what you overcome is more than any of us could have done. And we all looked up to you when we saw you struggling and succeeding. I know I did. I always will."

Frankie feels his throat constrict, emotions swelling his heart, he's about to deny it, try to say something, but Santi cuts him.

"Don't. It's just the way it is." Frankie nods, finally accepting it.

"So, tell me more about your pretty meteorologist. Have you gotten better at flirting?"

"Vete a la mierda [Fuck off]."

"No? Come on! Tell me!"

"It's just that I'm technically her boss, even if she doesn't know that. And even if I am just a coworker, it can still be an issue."

"Fuck that, don't try to find excuses!"

Thankfully, a loud"Daaaaaaaaad" saves Frankie from finding an answer.

Another week ends, and you are already at Joe's securing a table, waiting for your colleagues to unwind after a stressful few days, the last of the summer storms making everyone's work more difficult.

You know Frankie is flying and will join you soon. Alysha, being on vacation this week, picked up the sunset tour he usually forgoes in the weeks he has Mia, but he mentioned having a friend to help. Colin would join you later, from a meeting downtown. Joan had promised to arrive soon, she wanted to finish sorting out the archives room before leaving for the weekend.

As you are waiting with your drink, sitting at what you now think of as your favorite table, you get a text from Colin saying his meeting is running late and he won't be able to make it. Almost at the same time, Joan announces she has a personal emergency, a friend needing her support. Fred had declined, having already plans, which meant that you were about to end up alone with Frankie. Which makes you feel very nervous. Despite how cool you acted with Di, you are very flustered at the idea of being alone with him. Part of you is excited at the prospect, and part dreads it, wanting nothing more than to run away.

Before you can text him to let him know, wanting to give him the choice to cancel, Frankie shows up, a drink in his hand, and sits in front of you with a large smile. The water to his back, and the light from the setting sun, shines softly, highlighting the brown of his hair and his golden skin. Your heart flutters at the sight, and you are speechless for a second, admiring him in the glow of the evening. Until Frankie asks, "Where is everyone?"

"Oh, they just all texted to cancel. I was about to tell you in case you wanted to…" You let your voice trail, not knowing how to finish.

"Oh!" he seems a little caught off guard, but soon an easy smile spreads on his face. "Their loss, I'm happy to have a drink after the week we had."

"You mean the weather? Or is there something else?"

"My whole life! As I mentioned, I have a friend over for a few weeks. I love him, and it's great to have him over, but he spoils Mia and makes my life difficult." You can tell from his tone that he is, in fact, very happy and loves every moment.

"I'm sure you hate it." You tease, and he answers in the same tone.

"Yeah, it's really the worst." He grins at you and starts regaling you with tales of the latest mischief Mia and his friend, whom he calls alternatively Santi, Santiago, and Pope, until you have to ask him if it is indeed talking about the same person.

"Sorry, Pope is his call sign, from the army, his name is Santiago, Santi is what we usually call him."

"You have a call sign? What is it?"

"Catfish." He seems a little embarrassed, which prompts you to ask more questions.

"Why? Because you are a good swimmer? For the whiskers?" Each time he shakes his head, smiling, but refusing to give you any indication.

"It's a whole story, and maybe one day you'll earn it." Frankie finally relents, but refuses to say more when you beg and even ask what you need to do to earn the privilege of hearing the story.

It feels like the best date you've had in years. Except it isn't one. It's just a drink between two colleagues who are maybe also friends, and who might both be attracted to each other.

You know your attraction is getting stronger, but on his side? It's still hard to know. You suspect there is, by the way he looks at you, something. But the conversation always stays on safe topics, such as work, books, movies, food, his daughter. Never about past relationships, never any innuendo that would be borderline flirting. Yet you can feel something in the air, it's almost tangible. There is attraction, you are almost sure. It makes you want to seek more, leave the status quo, and see if there is something and where it could lead you both.

But it's getting late, so tonight won't be the night. Tonight you enjoy the end of your drink, laughing and saying goodbye a little awkwardly by your cars, a hand wave, almost turning into a handshake, when it's clear both of you wanted to hug.

"Have you met up with the guys yet?" Frankie asks Santi over dinner.

"Not yet. I had both Benny and Will on the phone. Benny mentioned there was a fight next week, a guy he's been training for some time. He said we could all meet there."

"When will it be?"

"Saturday night, fight starts at 8 PM."

"Sounds good, I can make it. Mia will be with her mom that night."

"Great! Just like old times."

Frankie can't help but remember the last time they all went together to a fight, when Benny was still competing. The moment when Santi came to ask them for their help. And judging from Santi's face, he is also remembering that same moment. When asking for help for a recon mission turned into

And even if they are mostly all doing well, sometimes Frankie wonders if he had the chance, would he do it again? Is money worth what happened to them? The guilt, the way it broke the dynamic of their friendship? He doesn't have an answer.

"What are you doing next Saturday?" Di doesn't even say hello when you answer your phone, straight to business, as always.

"Eating pizza while I watch a movie probably. Why?"

"Do you want to see two men beat the shit out of each other?"

"That sounds very appealing."

"Yeah, I know, but think of the smell of sweat and stale beer!"

"You know the way to my heart."

"Benny will be there."

"Now you got me interested!"

"I told you he was training a guy, well, next Saturday is his first fight since he got into training. I know it's not really our scene, but his brother and his other friends will be there. I thought it could be a good opportunity for everyone to meet. Without the pressure of a dinner or a drink at the bar."

"Of course I'll come! I'm not letting you have all the fun alone. Plus I'm curious, I've never been to a fight. I don't know if I'm going to like it, but at least I'll have tried!"

"Great, I'll send you the details!"

Spanish translation: muñeca/muñequita: literally doll, sweetie Mi llave: my friend (literally my key), Colombian Vete a la mierda: Go to hell, Fuck off

From the back seat of the first, you watched the estate emerge through the trees—gray stone, climbing ivy, and tall windows catching the last pale light of the afternoon.

It had always looked peaceful from a distance.

Today, it looked like the kind of place where families gathered to hear something they would never forget.

Harry hadn't let go of your hand since Ron received the call. His fingers remained tightly threaded through yours, his thumb brushing slowly over your engagement ring and across your knuckles in a steady rhythm that was probably meant to calm you.

It wasn't working.

Not when his jaw had been locked for the past forty minutes.

Harry had walked out of a meeting without his coat, picked you up before you'd even had time to change, and ordered the driver toward Rhinebeck without waiting for another explanation.

Across from you, Ron sat unusually still, his phone dark in his hand. He'd already called the house twice.

Both times, Eloise's nurse had given him the same answer.

Mrs. Castillo had suffered a difficult morning. She wanted the family in Rhinebeck immediately.

Nothing more.

"Did she sound frightened?" you asked again.

Ron looked up. "The nurse?"

"Yes."

"She sounded controlled."

"That wasn't my question."

Ron hesitated a fraction too long. Harry's grip tightened around your hand. You turned toward him. "Maybe we should've gone straight to the hospital."

"If she needed a hospital, her nurse would've sent her to one," Harry said evenly. "She knows what she's doing." His voice was calm. Deliberately calm.

It might've convinced anyone else.

Not you.

Harry was terrified. He was simply doing everything he could to keep that fear from reaching you. "Eloise is probably fine," he continued, his thumb brushing over your hand again. "It could be exhaustion. A medication adjustment. Anything."

"You don't believe that."

His gaze met yours. "I believe worrying before we know anything won't help you or the babies."

"I'm all right." You leaned closer, covering his hand with yours. "Hey. She's the strongest woman I know. She's going to be okay."

Harry held your gaze for a long moment, as though he wanted to borrow your certainty but wasn't sure how. "She'd better be," he said quietly.

He lifted your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before lacing your fingers together once more.

Your free hand drifted instinctively to the gentle curve beneath your dress.

At five months, hiding the pregnancy was no longer possible—not with twins, and certainly not from a man who'd spent the past several weeks monitoring every meal, every yawn, and nearly every step you took.

Harry noticed immediately. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Was that a cramp?"

You smiled. "One of the babies."

"Which one?"

You waited until another tiny flutter danced beneath your palm. "The mischievous one."

Ron blinked. "You can already tell them apart?"

"Of course I can."

"They're identical twins."

"That doesn't mean they have identical personalities."

Another tiny kick answered for you.

You laughed softly. "This one waits until I'm trying to sleep. The other prefers interrupting my calls with Gerard."

Harry considered that. "The second one sounds strategic."

"Definitely a Castillo," Ron said with a smirk.

Harry slowly turned his head. Ron calmly redirected his attention to the window.

Before Harry could answer, the iron gates opened, and the car began its final climb toward the house.

A second car followed close behind.

Through the rear window, you caught a glimpse of your mother and Vivienne sitting side by side, both unnaturally rigid.

Lately, the two women had been spending an astonishing amount of time together.

Ever since you stopped speaking properly to Scarlet... and Harry had grown just as distant from Vivienne.

That, however, was another story.

Probably several.

A third black car turned through the gates.

You frowned. "That's Mikey's car."

Harry glanced over his shoulder.

Ron followed his gaze. "Michael was called as well."

"Of course he was," Harry muttered.

Ron's expression hinted there was more to say. He wisely chose continued employment instead.

The first car rolled to a stop beneath the portico.

Harry was out before the driver had fully opened the door. He rounded the car and offered you his hand. As you stepped out, his other hand instinctively rose above your head, shielding you from the doorframe.

You smiled. "I'm not quite big enough to need help getting out of a car."

"You're carrying our babies." His voice softened. "The least I can do is take care of my queen."

You slipped your hand into his. "You're supervising every limb I own."

Once both your feet were on the gravel, he rested an arm around your waist instead of letting go. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss beneath your ear. "I'm very attached to them," he murmured.

You laughed. "All of them?"

"Every single one."

Behind you, Scarlet and Vivienne climbed out of the second car.

Scarlet looked as though she'd abandoned her reading glasses somewhere along the drive. Vivienne, meanwhile, had lost every trace of color.

Your mother's eyes found yours first. Hope flickered across her face, fragile enough to disappear almost immediately.

She took the smallest step forward. At the same moment, Vivienne looked toward Harry with nearly the same uncertainty.

You felt Harry's arm tighten around your waist. Your fingers quietly found his hand.

No words were exchanged. None were needed. Together, the two of you turned toward the house. Scarlet stopped. Vivienne did too. Ron watched the mothers...

...then their children.

He let out the quietest sigh.

The third car pulled beneath the portico. Sienna stepped out first. Mikey emerged from the opposite side. For one suspended moment...

Neither of them moved. Sienna's hair was slightly less polished than usual. Mikey's tie was missing. The top two buttons of his shirt hung open beneath his coat. He looked exactly like a man who hadn't expected to arrive at his grandmother's estate with Harry Castillo's younger sister.

Harry noticed. Slowly... His attention shifted from Sienna...

...to Mikey.

Mikey straightened immediately. Sienna lifted her chin. Even Scarlet and Vivienne forgot their panic long enough to look between them.

"We ran into each other," Mikey said.

"At lunch," Sienna added a little too quickly.

"She needed a ride."

Vivienne frowned. "Weren't you supposed to be at the gallery all afternoon?"

"I was."

"Then how exactly did you run into Michael at lunch?"

Sienna opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

Mikey rescued her. "Manhattan becomes a very small place when two people are hungry."

Scarlet's eyes drifted over his missing tie...

...his open collar...

...and finally the restaurant bag still hanging from his hand.

"Apparently."

Ron glanced toward the company sedan assigned exclusively to Mikey.

"A fortunate coincidence."

Harry remained silent. Which, somehow, was much worse. You felt the exact moment suspicion began arranging itself inside his head.

Questions were coming.

Before the first one could leave his mouth, you caught the front of his coat and gave it a gentle tug.

He looked down.

You held his eyes for a beat.

Not now.

His brows drew together. Somehow...He knew you knew something. He also knew this wasn't the place to ask.

You pulled your coat tighter. "Can we go inside? I'm freezing."

Mikey disappeared from Harry's mind instantly.

His arm settled around your shoulders. "Come on."

Together, you headed for the front entrance.

The interrogation disappeared.

For now.

The front doors were already open.

Two members of staff stood inside the foyer, their expressions solemn. The housekeeper held her hands clasped tightly at her waist, while a young footman stared fixedly at the marble floor.

Something about them felt wrong. Not grief.

Performance.

The realization flickered through you and vanished before you could fully grasp it. Perhaps they had simply been instructed not to say anything. Perhaps your fear was making everything seem strange.

“Where is she?” Harry asked.

“Upstairs, sir,” the housekeeper replied softly. “Her nurse is waiting.”

Scarlet moved first.

Her heels struck sharply against the marble as she crossed the foyer, Vivienne close beside her. Sienna and Mikey followed without looking at each other.

Harry kept one hand at your back as you climbed the stairs.

Too slowly for everyone else. Too quickly for him.

His arm tightened every time you reached another step.

“Harry, ” you warned beneath your breath.

“I’m not carrying you.”

“You were thinking about it.”

A reluctant smile touched his mouth.

You would have answered, but Eloise’s nurse appeared at the top of the staircase. Her face was composed. Almost suspiciously composed. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Harry stopped in front of her. “What happened?”

Vivienne stepped beside him. “I was gone for two days. She was perfectly well when I left.”

“She’s resting.”

“That isn’t an answer,” Harry said.

“She asked me not to discuss anything until everyone was present.”

Vivienne looked around sharply. “We are present.”

The nurse’s gaze passed over the group, pausing briefly on Mikey and Sienna before returning to Vivienne.

“Yes,” she said. “You certainly are.”

She turned and led all of you down the corridor. The house had gone unnaturally quiet. No distant clatter from the kitchen. No music from one of the sitting rooms.

Only footsteps and the steady ticking of the old clock near the staircase.

At Eloise’s bedroom door, the nurse paused. “Please try not to upset her.”

Vivienne pressed one hand to her chest. “Oh, God.”

The nurse opened the door. The curtains had been drawn halfway, leaving the room washed in muted silver light. Eloise lay beneath a pale cashmere blanket, her head resting against a mountain of pillows.

Her eyes were closed.

For the first time since the call, Harry released your hand.

He crossed the room in three strides. “Abuela?”

Eloise did not respond.

Vivienne hurried to the other side of the bed. “Mama?”

The rest of you gathered near the footboard. Scarlet reached blindly for your hand, and despite everything that had passed between you, you let her take it.

Sienna stood stiffly beside her. Mikey’s usual restless energy had disappeared completely. Eloise’s nurse closed the door behind all of you.

A long moment passed.

Then Eloise took a faint breath. “Is everyone here?”

Her voice was weak enough to make Harry bend closer. “Yes,” he said immediately. “We’re all here.”

“Scarlet?”

“I’m here,” Scarlet whispered.

“Vivienne?”

“Here, Mama.”

“Sienna?”

“Yes, Abuela.”

“Mikey?”

Mikey blinked. “Uh… yes, ma’am.”

Eloise’s eyes remained closed. “Mi reina?”

You stepped closer, Harry’s hand finding yours again. “I’m here.”

From somewhere near the door, Ron cleared his throat. “For the record, I’m here as well.”

Eloise remained motionless. “Ah, Ronald,” she breathed. “I remembered you.”

Ron gave a small nod.

Eloise released a long, tired sigh. Then her eyes opened.

Clear. Sharp. Entirely alert.

“Bueno,” she said.

Before anyone could react, she pushed herself upright against the pillows with surprising ease, pulled the cashmere blanket neatly over her lap, and held out one hand.

Her nurse placed her reading glasses into it.

Eloise slipped them on and looked around the room, visibly pleased by the collection of pale, frightened faces before her. She clapped her hands together once, bright and decisive. “Everyone is here. Perfect. Then we will not waste Dr. Adler’s time.”

Silence.

The door to the adjoining sitting room opened.

A woman in a navy suit stepped through, carrying a leather notebook and wearing the professionally neutral expression of someone who had already been warned about the family waiting for her.

“Good evening,” she said. “I’m Dr. Vanessa Adler.”

No one moved.

Harry stared at his grandmother. “Abuela.”

Eloise adjusted her glasses. “What?”

“Did you fake a medical emergency?”

Her mouth fell open in theatrical offense. “Fake? Ay, por favor (please). I did no such thing.”

“Your nurse said you’d had a difficult morning.”

“I did. My eggs were cold, the coffee was weak, and none of you have answered a direct question in nearly a month. It was a terrible morning.”

Scarlet made an outraged sound. “We thought you were dying!”

“You frightened all of us,” you added. “We came here expecting the worst.”

“I left an entire boardroom without saying a word,” Harry said.

Sienna folded her arms. “That was cruel, Abuela.”

Mikey whined. “I abandoned my dessert.” Everyone looked at him. “What?” he said. “Grief affects people differently.”

Eloise waved one dismissive hand at all of you.

“Dios mío, look at these faces. At my age, death is always somewhere nearby. I never said it had entered the house.”

Vivienne turned toward the nurse. “You allowed us to believe something had happened to her.”

“I said Mrs. Castillo wished to see the family urgently,” the nurse replied calmly. “That was accurate.”

“You trapped us,” Sienna said.

Eloise looked at her over the rim of her glasses. “Had I said, ‘Come to Rhinebeck, niños, there is a therapist waiting to discuss your feelings,’ would you have come?” Sienna opened her mouth. Nothing emerged. “Exactly,” Eloise said. “Do not argue when you know I am right. It gives me a headache.”

Mikey looked between Eloise and Dr. Adler. “You used mortality as a scheduling tool.”

“And you arrived on time for the first time since I met you.”

Mikey considered that. “That’s incredibly manipulative.” Then a slow, appreciative grin appeared on his face. “I like it.”

You stepped closer to the bed. “Eloise, I’m five months pregnant with twins. You cannot summon me by implying that you may be dying. There are currently three heartbeats inside this body, and you frightened all of them.”

Eloise reached for your hand. “Come here, mi reina.”

You gave her a suspicious look but allowed her to take it.

She squeezed your fingers between both of hers, her expression softening. “I am sorry I frightened you, mi amor.”

“You don’t look very sorry.”

“No, because I am not sorry that it worked.”

“Eloise.”

“Ay, let me finish.” She patted your hand. “I would not have done any of this if all of you had not become completely impossible.”

A chorus of protests began.

Eloise lifted one finger. “¡Basta! (enough!)” The room fell silent. “At our last family dinner, Scarlet and mi reina spoke exclusively through the salt and pepper.”

You glanced toward your mother. Scarlet looked away with great dignity.

“Harry and Vivienne exchanged six words all evening,” Eloise continued. “Four of them concerned the rain.”

Vivienne folded her arms. Harry said nothing, which did very little to help his case.

“And now Vivienne is spending every free hour with Scarlet. Just like schoolgirls. Their son and daughter are sulking in separate corners, so naturally the mothers have abandoned them to whisper together.”

Scarlet’s expression became carefully blank.

Vivienne lifted her chin. “We are allowed to enjoy one another’s company.”

“Sí, of course.” Eloise looked between them over the rim of her glasses. “And I am supposed to believe the two of you have no secrets while you disappear for lunches, lower your voices when I enter a room, and suddenly stop speaking whenever one of your children appears.”

Neither woman answered.

Eloise gave a satisfied nod.

“You may fool your children. You may fool one another. But you will not fool this old woman. Whatever you are hiding, whatever ridiculous problem has driven you into one another’s arms, you will solve it.”

Scarlet’s expression remained perfectly composed.

Which, in your experience, generally meant Eloise was right. Sienna lowered her head, hiding a smile. Then Eloise turned toward her.

“And you.”

Sienna blinked. “What about me?”

Eloise narrowed her eyes. “You have been happy.”

Sienna stared at her. “I’m sorry?”

“Too happy,” Eloise said. “Smiling at your telephone. Disappearing for lunch. Wearing perfume in the afternoon.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sí, sí. And I am a foolish old woman who has never seen a girl hide a man.”

Mikey coughed. Eloise’s head turned toward him immediately.

“And there he is.”

Mikey straightened. “Why am I suddenly involved?”

Eloise looked from him to Sienna and back again.

“I may be eighty-six, cariño, but when it comes to romance, deception, and badly concealed attraction, my mind is still sharper than most of yours.”

Sienna abruptly found the carpet fascinating. Mikey looked toward the window. “Come on, Eloise,” he said with an unconvincing laugh. “This is becoming wildly speculative.”

“Mm-hm.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly does that mean?”

Eloise waved one hand dismissively. “Nothing you need to worry about yet.”

“Abuela.”

“Do not ‘Abuela’ me. If there is something to know, I will know it before you do.”

From near the door, Ron murmured, “At least we now know where the Castillos inherited their observational skills.”

Eloise released your hand and settled back against her pillows, looking around at the family with the weary affection of a woman who had raised too many stubborn people and somehow acquired several more.

“So I have decided that all of you need therapy.”

“We do not all need therapy,” Vivienne said.

“Some people need boundaries,” you murmured.

Scarlet looked at you. “Some people need to communicate instead of freezing out their mothers.”

“Some people need to stop investigating other people’s private lives,” Vivienne added.

Harry’s jaw tightened. “Some people need better judgment regarding men.”

“Ay, Dios mío.” Eloise struck the mattress lightly with her palm. “Listen to yourselves. You sound like children arguing over one toy.” No one answered. “As the eldest person in this family, I am asking for one afternoon without secrets, sulking, investigators, secret lunches, mysterious interviews, and whatever else you are all doing behind closed doors.”

She pointed toward Dr. Adler.

“You will speak to this nice woman. You will tell her the truth. Not the elegant version, not the corporate version, and not the version where you are all innocent little angels. You will solve your problems, or at the very least, you will learn to argue more quietly. I would like to enjoy the rest of my life.”

Dr. Adler cleared her throat and stepped forward.

“My plan is to begin with a few brief private conversations. Afterward, we’ll meet together to discuss the patterns affecting the family as a whole.” She glanced around at the collection of reluctant faces.

“Shall we begin?”

The private sitting room was smaller than Eloise's bedroom, warmer too, with tall windows overlooking the gardens and a low fire crackling beneath the marble mantel. A carafe of water sat on the table beside a box of tissues with the quiet menace of something fully expecting to be needed.

Dr. Adler was already seated in one of the armchairs, her notebook resting open across her lap. She gestured toward the sofa opposite. "Please. Make yourself comfortable."

You lowered yourself carefully onto the cushions, one hand supporting the underside of your stomach. "Comfortable stopped being an available position about three weeks ago."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Would another cushion help?"

"If you bring me another cushion, Harry will somehow sense it through the wall and order six more." That earned a soft laugh. You adjusted your skirt and glanced toward the closed door. "I still can't believe Eloise actually did that."

"I'm observing that her method was effective," Dr. Adler replied. "Everyone she asked to come arrived."

"Because we thought she was dying."

"Which says something rather lovely about how much she means to all of you."

You narrowed your eyes. "That sounds suspiciously like therapeutic manipulation."

"It sounds like an observation."

"You're going to fit into this family beautifully."

She smiled, letting the joke pass. Instead, her attention drifted briefly—not intrusively—to the curve of your stomach. "Before we discuss your family… how are you feeling? Is everything going well with the pregnancy?"

You rested your palm over the place where one of the babies had been moving throughout the drive. "I'm about as well as anyone five months pregnant with twins can be."

"Tired?"

"Constantly."

"Any pain today?"

"No. Just pressure, backache, occasional insomnia… and two tiny people with very strong opinions about where my internal organs should be."

She nodded. "And emotionally?"

You looked at her. "That feels like a much more expensive question."

"It usually is."

A comfortable silence settled between you.

Then she asked, "Where would you like to begin?"

You gave her a knowing look. "You already know where Eloise wants us to begin."

"She gave me a broad outline."

"And?"

"I'd rather hear your version."

You sighed. "Of course she did." Another quiet pause. "If we're actually doing this…" You drew a slow breath. "Everything started after I moved into Harry's house."

At the time, you had been barely three months pregnant. The babies were still easy enough to hide beneath tailored coats and structured dresses. The nausea wasn't. Neither was the exhaustion. But Queen Financial had only just begun recovering, and the last thing you wanted was for anyone walking into a boardroom to mistake pregnancy for weakness. For weeks, you carried ginger tea in coffee cups and smiled through mornings when simply remaining upright felt like an act of corporate defiance.

"And your mother knew?"

"Everything."

"Was she supportive?"

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "I thought she was."

When you told Scarlet, she'd cried. She'd held your face, kissed your forehead, and told you that after everything you'd survived, you deserved something beautiful. Then, less than twenty-four hours later…

…the conversation became strategy.

"Her first concern wasn't my health. It was the company."

Dr. Adler remained silent.

"Queen Financial was still fragile. Investors were watching everything I did. And she believed a public pregnancy would overshadow the recovery. She thought it would become the only thing people saw."

Scarlet's voice still echoed in your memory.

You cannot announce this yet, darling. Not until the company is stronger.

At first, you'd agreed. It seemed reasonable. Temporary. You'd wait until refinancing was complete. Then the board transition. Then quarterly earnings. There was always another milestone. Another reason to wait.

"How did that make you feel?"

You looked down at your hands. "Like I wasn't carrying two babies. Like I was carrying a liability."

Dr. Adler let the silence sit. "And the wedding?"

You leaned back carefully. "That was worse."

Scarlet had been thrilled when you and Harry found your way back to one another. She'd told you pride wasn't a substitute for love. That you'd regret letting fear choose your future. But once the ring was on your finger…

…and the pregnancy could no longer be hidden…

Everything came with conditions.

You cannot marry him while you're visibly pregnant.

"I honestly thought I'd misheard her."

"What was her reasoning?"

"That Manhattan would turn it into a circus."

Another memory surfaced.

They'll say Harry rescued you, rescued your company, got you pregnant, and rushed you down the aisle before anyone could ask questions.

"None of that was true."

"No," Dr. Adler said quietly. "It wasn't."

You gave a faint smile. "But she wasn't wrong about the headlines."

The smile faded. "She wanted us to wait until after the girls were born."

Twenty minutes later, Scarlet occupied the same sofa.

Her posture was immaculate, one elegant leg crossed over the other. Even now, she looked more like a woman preparing for a board meeting than a therapy session. Dr. Adler closed her notebook from the previous conversation and opened it to a fresh page.

"Tell me what changed from your perspective."

Scarlet folded her hands neatly in her lap. "She finally looked happy."

Dr. Adler waited.

"I had watched my daughter spend years carrying responsibilities that should never have belonged to her. Then she found her way back to Harry. She was expecting twins. She had a future." A faint smile touched Scarlet's lips. "I wanted to protect it."

"And what did protecting it look like to you?"

"Managing the circumstances around it."

"You mean the company."

"Among other things."

Scarlet glanced toward the window before continuing. "Queen Financial had only just survived the worst crisis in its history. Investors were watching everything. I believed one public pregnancy would eclipse everything she had accomplished."

"And the wedding?"

Scarlet didn't hesitate. "I wanted that to belong to them."

Dr. Adler tilted her head slightly. "Ms. Queen remembers it differently."

"I'm aware."

Scarlet let out a slow breath. "I told her she wasn't a spectacle. My concern wasn't the marriage. It was how the world would rewrite it. I wanted her achievements to remain her own."

Silence lingered for a moment. Then Dr. Adler asked quietly, "And what do you think Queen heard?"

Scarlet's brow furrowed.

"I…"

She stopped.

Dr. Adler didn't rescue her. Instead, she simply waited. Scarlet's shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly. "…That I cared more about appearances than about her."

Another pause. "Was she wrong?"

Scarlet didn't answer immediately. Finally… "No." She looked toward the floor. "Not entirely."

Dr. Adler turned back to you. “What happened after that conversation?”

"I stopped telling her things."

Scarlet's response came without hesitation.

"She punished me."

"I set a boundary."

"She excluded me from the pregnancy."

"She knew the babies were healthy."

"She wouldn't let me attend the next scan."

"She tried to relocate my obstetrician to Rhinebeck."

"I suggested an alternative arrangement."

"She had an examination room prepared in the house."

"It was discreet."

"It had a chandelier."

"The chandelier was already there."

Dr. Adler paused.

"And the flowers?"

Scarlet's eyes narrowed slightly. "Medical rooms are unnecessarily bleak."

Back in your session, you looked toward the ceiling. "Do you see what I'm dealing with?"

"I'm beginning to," Dr. Adler admitted.

"The second baby had already been identified as a girl," you continued. "The other refused to cooperate."

Despite yourself, a smile appeared.

"A few days ago… we finally found out."

Dr. Adler smiled back.

"And?"

"Another girl."

The words still warmed something inside you.

Two daughters.

Two tiny heartbeats.

Two entirely different futures already unfolding.

"And you haven't told your mother."

"No."

"Why?"

You looked down at your engagement ring before answering.

"Because I wanted one thing to belong to Harry and me before it became a theme, a luncheon, a guest list… and twelve thousand flowers."

That earned the smallest laugh.

Then Dr. Adler grew thoughtful.

"So withholding that information became a boundary."

"It did."

"And it remained one?"

"For a while."

"And after that?"

You hesitated.

"…Maybe it stopped being only a boundary."

"A little?"

You sighed.

"Moderately."

One corner of Dr. Adler's mouth lifted.

"Elegantly punitive."

Despite yourself…

You laughed.

"So Harry wasn't exaggerating."

"Oh?"

"He told me your sense of humor usually appears about twenty minutes after your honesty."

You smiled despite yourself.

"He's annoyingly perceptive."

"I've noticed."

Dr. Adler closed the notebook.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Finally, she said,

"I'd like to ask you one last question."

You nodded.

"When Scarlet said she was protecting you…"

"…did any part of you believe her?"

Silence. A long one. Eventually…

"Yes."

"And yet?"

"I didn't need protecting."

"You needed trusting."

Your voice had become barely more than a whisper. "I needed her to trust that I could live my own life."

Dr. Adler nodded once. "I think that's a very important distinction."

She stood, gathering her notebook. "I won't ask you to forgive her today." You looked up. "I don't think either of you is ready for that. But I do think you're both grieving the same relationship."

You frowned. "The same relationship?"

"The one each of you thought you had. And that's usually where healing begins."

By the time Harry took your place on the sofa, Dr. Adler had already filled several pages. She turned to a fresh one and poised her pen above it. “Mr. Castillo. Tell me about your mother.”

Harry settled back, resting one ankle over his knee. “My mother is seeing a man.”

Twenty minutes later, Vivienne answered the same question with visible irritation. “I had dinner with a perfectly respectable gentleman.”

“Four dinners,” Harry said in his own session.

“Three dinners and one lunch.”

“Two lunches.”

Vivienne sighed and looked toward the ceiling. “My son apparently keeps a ledger.”

“There was also a weekend in Connecticut.”

“There were twelve bedrooms in that house,” Vivienne protested.

“That doesn’t make the weekend less concerning.”

“It makes it considerably less intimate.”

“He sent her roses.”

“He is French.”

Harry looked directly at Dr. Adler. “That is not a defense.”

Dr. Adler rested the tip of her pen against the page. “Mr. Castillo, your mother is an autonomous adult.”

“I’m aware.”

“You had the man investigated.”

“Autonomy does not eliminate due diligence.”

"And did your mother ask for your protection?"

"No."

"Then why did you decide she needed it? What are you afraid will happen?"

“He could take advantage of her.”

“Financially?”

“Financially, socially or emotionally. Those things often overlap.”

“And did your mother ask for your protection?”

“No.”

“Then why did you decide she needed it?”

Harry’s fingers moved once against the arm of the sofa. “People rarely ask before something goes wrong.”

“That sounds less like an answer about this man and more like an answer about someone else.”

His eyes lifted to hers. “My father left.”

The words were flat and controlled. Dr. Adler did not immediately begin writing again.

“Your parents divorced?”

“No.”

She paused. “Your mother is still legally married to him?”

“Yes.”

“And yet he has not been part of her life for years.”

“No.”

Harry looked toward the window. “My mother never received an ending. He simply left her with the consequences.”

“And your grandmother?”

Harry’s expression tightened. “She doesn’t remember him.”

“Her own son?”

“Not anymore. We don’t remind her. The last time her condition worsened, the doctors told us to avoid anything that could trigger another episode.”

Dr. Adler regarded him quietly. “So your father’s absence is something the entire family is required to live around, but never fully discuss.”

“That isn’t why we’re here.”

“Perhaps not. But it may explain why another man entering your mother’s life feels less simple to you than it does to her.”

When Dr. Adler later asked Vivienne about Harry’s behavior after Eduardo left, her irritation softened. “He became efficient.”

“That sounds like an unusual response to grief.”

“It was Harry’s response. He dealt with the lawyers, the accounts and every practical problem Eduardo left behind. Sienna was nineteen and furious. Harry called her constantly until she threatened to block him.”

“And you?”

“I was still married to a man who had chosen not to be my husband.”

Vivienne looked down at her hands.

“Harry decided that if Eduardo had abandoned his responsibilities, he would assume all of them.”

“Did you ask him to?”

“No. Harry has never waited to be asked.”

Back in his own session, Dr. Adler said, “Has this new man given you any reason to believe he intends to hurt her?”

“Not yet.”

“So you’re preparing for a betrayal that has not occurred.”

“I’m being cautious.”

Dr. Adler lowered her pen. “Your mother’s marriage never formally ended, your father’s absence cannot be openly discussed around your grandmother, and you have spent years managing the consequences. It makes sense that you want this new relationship verified before you allow yourself to trust it.”

“Allow myself?”

“Yes. Because this is not only about whether your mother trusts him.”

Harry said nothing.

“It’s also about whether you can tolerate her beginning a new life when the old one was never properly closed.”

In Vivienne’s session, Dr. Adler asked, “Does being legally married to Eduardo affect how you feel about seeing someone else?”

Vivienne was silent for a moment. “Sometimes.”

“Guilt?”

“Not toward Eduardo.” Her answer came sharply. “He surrendered any right to ask for loyalty when he left.”

“Then what?”

Vivienne exhaled. “The strangeness of it. Beginning something new when part of my life is still sitting unfinished in a locked room.”

“And Harry knows that.”

“Harry knows everything.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “That is both his best quality and his most exhausting one.”

Later, when Dr. Adler brought them into the room together, Harry sat at one end of the sofa and Vivienne chose the other.

“Harry,” Dr. Adler began, “your mother understands that your actions come from love.”

“And arrogance,” Vivienne added.

“And arrogance,” Dr. Adler allowed. “But she is not asking you to erase the risk. She is asking you to trust her to decide whether it is worth taking.”

Harry looked at his mother. “Does he know you’re still legally married?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know why?”

“Yes.”

“Does he know about Abuela?”

“Only what he needs to know.”

“Has he asked for money?”

“No.”

“Professional introductions?”

“No.”

“Access to the family?”

“No.”

“Has he—”

“Harry.”

He stopped.

Vivienne’s voice softened. “I’m not replacing your father. I’m trying to stop living as though the life he abandoned is the only one I’m allowed to have.”

That silenced him.

After a moment, Harry nodded once. “If something feels wrong, you’ll tell me.”

“Yes.”

“Immediately?”

“Within a reasonable period.”

“Define reasonable.”

Dr. Adler lifted one hand. “No negotiations.”

Harry looked dissatisfied but relented. “Fine.”

“And you will not investigate him further,” Vivienne said.

“I won’t authorize any new investigation.”

“That isn’t the same sentence.”

“It’s the sentence I’m offering.”

“Harry.”

He sighed. “I will not investigate him further.”

“Or ask Ron.”

His silence lasted half a second too long.

Dr. Adler looked at him.  “Or Ron,” he added.

Vivienne’s shoulders eased. She reached over and touched his cheek. “My poor baby boy.”

Harry leaned away. “Mama.”

“You’ve always been so devoted to me.”

“I am forty-six years old.”

“And still my baby.” Vivienne smiled. “When you stop treating me like a helpless abandoned wife, I’ll stop treating you like a worried little boy.”

Harry looked toward Dr. Adler. “Is this therapeutically appropriate?”

She made one final note. “It appears to be working.”

Vivienne patted his cheek again. “My baby boy.”

Harry closed his eyes. “This was a mistake.”

Dr. Adler turned to a fresh page.

Across from her, Mikey settled into the armchair as though he had been waiting his entire life for an audience legally required to listen to him.

"Before we start," he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile, "everything we say in here stays in here, right? I can tell you anything?"

"Within the boundaries I explained earlier, yes."

She regarded him over the top of her notebook.

"Although I was under the impression we would be discussing your problem."

"I don't have a problem."

"Are you certain? You and Miss Castillo appear to be concealing something from your families."

His smile faltered.

"Did Eloise tell you that?"

"She shared several suspicions."

"That woman missed her calling."

"What was her calling?"

"International espionage." He leaned back with a sigh. "Fine. It was a problem. Mostly."

Dr. Adler waited.

"I realized I liked Sienna." Another pause. "I then tried several strategies that failed spectacularly." She waited again. "And eventually everything worked because of my little sister."

That finally earned a smile. "You asked your sister for advice?"

"I did."

He leaned forward again, lowering his voice. "My little sister is the smartest woman I know. Smarter than my mother. If that sentence leaves this room, I'll deny it under oath."

The corner of Dr. Adler’s mouth curved. “And you asked your sister for advice about Sienna?”

“I did. She told me to stop trying so hard and just be myself.” He leaned back, satisfied. “She was right.”

Twenty minutes later, Sienna occupied the same chair. She looked considerably less pleased by Queen's advice. "I'd never thought of Mikey that way before," she admitted.

"He was funny. Different." A small smile appeared. "But whatever this is… it only started last week."

"What changed?"

"He came to an auction I'd curated." A pause. "Everything went downhill after that."

One Week Earlier

The Belcourt Auction House, Manhattan

The auction room was exactly what wealthy New Yorkers liked to imagine culture looked like—polished wood, quiet lighting, priceless objects behind glass, and enough restrained elegance to justify spending absurd amounts of money.

Mikey wandered through it wearing a burgundy velvet jacket, cropped black trousers, martini-print cashmere socks, tinted glasses, and the cream trilby Sienna would later describe as a personal attack against art.

A numbered paddle rested in one hand.

An open packet of gummy bears occupied the other.

He stopped in front of an abstract painting made up of three black lines.

A member of staff approached.

"A striking piece, isn't it, sir?"

Mikey tilted his head.

"Is it finished?"

"…Yes, sir."

"Good for him."

Then he saw Sienna.

She stood near the front beside the auctioneer, dressed in a sharply tailored dark suit that somehow made everyone around her look underprepared.

His grin appeared before he could stop it.

He had come for her. Entirely for her. Mostly for her. He lifted the paddle and waved. Sienna noticed immediately.

Her expression passed through surprise…

…disbelief…

…suspicion…

…and something softer that disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived.

She gave him the smallest wave in return. Unfortunately… So did the auctioneer.

Genevieve Crane smiled from behind the podium.

Mikey, meanwhile, looked at her with absolutely no recognition. An unfortunate situation… considering she remembered him perfectly.

"Two hundred and eighty thousand from bidder seventy-four."

Mikey blinked.

"What?"

The auctioneer rested one hand beside the gavel.

"Two hundred and ninety thousand on the telephone."

Mikey frowned.

"No, I was waving to—"

"Three hundred thousand from bidder seventy-four."

A ripple spread through the room.

Across the aisle, Sienna's eyes widened.

She shook her head frantically.

Mikey pointed at her.

"No. Her. I was waving at her."

"Three hundred and twenty thousand."

"What? No."

The auctioneer's smile never wavered.

"Three hundred and forty?"

Mikey threw both hands into the air.

"Stop looking at my hands!"

"Three hundred and forty thousand from bidder seventy-four."

Sienna mouthed,

Put. The paddle. Down. You idiot.

Mikey stared at the paddle as though it had betrayed him personally.

He shoved it inside his jacket.

The auctioneer waited.

The room fell silent.

"Three hundred and forty thousand, once."

Mikey cautiously raised one finger.

"Can I ask a question?"

"Three hundred and sixty thousand."

"Oh, come on."

"Three hundred and sixty thousand, once."

Sienna covered her face.

"Twice."

Mikey looked at her helplessly.

The gavel struck.

"Sold."

Polite applause echoed through the room.

Mikey remained frozen. "What did I buy?"

The gentleman beside him closed his catalogue. "A seventeenth-century Venetian cristallo marriage goblet."

Mikey stared at the stage.

"Singular?"

"Yes."

"For three hundred and sixty thousand dollars?"

"Plus buyer's premium."

He closed his eyes.

"…I don't know what that means."

The moment the auction ended, Mikey headed straight for the auctioneer.

"Excuse me."

She looked up pleasantly.

"Yes?"

"There has been a terrible misunderstanding."

"Has there?"

"I was waving."

"You raised your paddle."

"To say hello."

"Several times."

"Because you kept selling me things."

"I sold you one thing."

"For the price of an apartment."

She smiled.

"You should probably familiarize yourself with auction procedure, Mr. Queen."

A beat.

"Although I suppose rules have never been your strength."

Mikey frowned.

"…Do we know each other?"

Sienna stopped walking. The auctioneer laughed once. "Typical Mikey."

Recognition finally dawned. "…Genevieve?"

Her smile vanished. "Oh. So you do remember."

"Fuck."

"Perhaps the rules of an auction slipped your mind…

the same way the woman you left alone in a hotel suite apparently did."

Sienna quietly turned away and began speaking to another member of staff.

"Hey."

Mikey hurried after her.

"That was six years ago."

"I was a different person."

She didn't even look at him.

Behind them…

Genevieve smiled.

Mikey slowly turned back toward her. "You vindictive witch."

"You just ruined everything."

Two attendants approached carrying the goblet on a velvet tray.

It was breathtaking. Centuries old. Delicate. Beautiful.

Mikey looked at it with absolutely no emotional attachment.

"Congratulations, Mr. Queen."

"Shall we process the purchase through the Queen Foundation account?"

Mikey closed his eyes. "…Of course it's the foundation account."

He looked at the goblet. "…Well. I bought it. So it's mine."

He reached into his coat… removed the packet of gummy bears… and tipped them directly into the three-hundred-year-old Venetian goblet.

Silence. Genevieve stared. "That object has survived three centuries."

"And now it has purpose."

The administrator held the tablet toward Mikey again. As he prepared to sign, Genevieve leaned closer.

“Try not to forget this one by morning, Mr. Queen. It cost considerably more than the women you leave behind.”

Mikey’s hand stopped above the screen.

He looked at her for a moment, then lowered the stylus. “One second.”

He took out his phone and started a video call. "You asked for it."

The screen rang twice before you appeared. You were seated somewhere bright in a silk blouse, one hand resting beneath the pronounced curve of your stomach. Yuliana stood beside you with a tray of tea.

“Mikey.”

“Hey, baby sister. You look beautiful. Radiant. Glowing.”

“What did you do?”

“That’s hurtful. You don’t even know why I’m calling.”

“You only call me ‘baby sister’ when money, police, or bodily injury are involved.”

“Technically, none of those.”

Dr. Adler interrupted the story. “You called Ms. Queen—your sister?”

Mikey nodded. “She was the only person who could get me out of it.”

“And she did?”

A proud grin spread across his face. “Without even setting foot in the building.”

Mikey turned the phone toward Genevieve. "Someone would like a word."

Genevieve took one look at the screen. "…Queen." Her face fell. "Shit."

Mikey held the phone closer anyway.

The change in your face was almost imperceptible. Your posture remained relaxed and your voice gentle, but every trace of warmth disappeared.

“Genevieve, darling. Listen carefully, because I am five months pregnant with identical twins, I slept for approximately three hours, one of them has mistaken my ribs for a rehearsal studio, and the other appears to be conducting experiments on my bladder. What little patience I have left is reserved for members of my immediate family.”

Yuliana nodded solemnly behind the phone.

Genevieve raised her chin. “Your brother placed a valid bid. He should know the rules.”

“My brother should know many things—auction procedure, women’s names, and when to stop wearing that hat among them. His intellectual limitations are not the matter presently under review.”

Mikey looked offended.

You continued without acknowledging him. “The auction was recorded. Your staff saw him attempting to correct the bid. Half the room watched you accelerate the increments while addressing a registered bidder with whom you have an undisclosed personal history.”

Genevieve’s expression faltered. “That has nothing to do with—”

“It has everything to do with professional conduct. Do not mistake my brother’s stupidity for an opportunity.”

“Hey, sister-” Mikey protested.

You ignored him.

“Michael may be an idiot, but he is our idiot. You used a charity auction to settle a six-year-old grievance with a man who did not even remember you well enough to understand that he was being punished.”

Genevieve’s face flushed.

You studied her for another second. “Also, whatever you’ve been earning by selling antiques to harmless fools appears to have been reinvested in self-tanner. That was an unfortunate decision. The shade is less Saint-Tropez and more decorative terracotta.” Yuliana tilted her head, considered Genevieve on the screen, and nodded again. “And is that Valentino from four seasons ago?” you continued. “Genevieve, honestly. If you intend to humiliate my family in public, at least don’t do it dressed like an archived press sample.”

Sienna’s eyebrows rose.

Mikey beamed at the phone as though you had complimented him personally.

“That is insulting,” Genevieve said.

“No. It is embarrassing. There is a difference.”

Your hand moved over your stomach as one of the babies shifted. “Here is what happens next. You void the sale, apologize to Mr. Queen for the misunderstanding, and return the goblet to its case before he attempts to serve breakfast cereal in it.”

Mikey glanced at the gummy bears. “I wouldn’t use milk.” You gave him a look. He closed his mouth.

Genevieve folded her arms. “And if Belcourt refuses?”

Your smile appeared—small, beautiful, and lethal. “Then the Queen Foundation will dispute the transaction, suspend its annual patronage, and request a formal ethics review into why a senior auctioneer accepted repeated accidental gestures as bids from a former sexual partner without disclosing the conflict.” Genevieve’s lips parted.

“I am currently carrying the future beneficiaries of both the Queen and Castillo families and, regrettably, I am one of the most discussed women in Manhattan. If I say this was personal retaliation disguised as a charitable transaction, by breakfast every board member, donor, and consignor attached to Belcourt will know exactly which phrase to repeat.”

Silence fell around the podium.

Mikey slowly selected another gummy bear.

You tilted your head. “Have I explained the available options clearly?”

Genevieve swallowed. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Ms. Queen.”

“Wonderful. I knew we would understand one another.” Your smile vanished as smoothly as it had appeared. “Yuliana, end the call before she mistakes any more of my attention for social relevance.”

“I love you, baby sister,” Mikey called quickly. “Take care of my nieces.”

“Try taking care of your own reputation for the rest of the day.”

The screen went dark.

Genevieve turned toward the administrator. “Void lot forty-seven.”

The attendants took the goblet from Mikey. Before surrendering it, he scooped the gummy bears out with one hand and dropped them into his mouth.

From across the room, Sienna laughed.

She finished her conversation and walked toward him, glancing once at Genevieve and the retreating attendants. “Let me guess. Queen fixed it?”

“Yes.” Mikey removed his tinted glasses. “Sienna, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“For putting gummy bears in a three-hundred-year-old Venetian goblet?”

“No. Well, partially.” He glanced down at the paddle still protruding from his jacket. “I came to an auction you curated because I wanted to support you, and somehow I made the entire thing about me.”

“That does seem to happen around you.”

“I know.” His confidence disappeared for the first time that afternoon. “But I came because of you. I care about you. More than a little, actually. And when I’m around you, my hands apparently stop communicating with my brain, and then I forget what I meant to say, and—”

Sienna began to laugh again.

Mikey frowned. “This feels like a vulnerable moment.”

“You really are unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Mikey.” She shook her head. “I told you to put the paddle down, and instead you hid it inside your jacket and kept raising your fingers.”

“I panicked.”

“That was obvious.”

“Does the fact that you’re laughing mean you forgive me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What if I buy you dinner?”

Sienna looked at him for a moment. “One dinner.”

By the time everyone returned to the sitting room, the April light beyond the tall windows had begun to fade, softening the edges of Rhinebeck into shades of blue and gold.

Without anyone consciously deciding it, everyone drifted back to the same places.

You settled beside Harry. His hand found yours immediately, his thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles. He didn't ask how your session had gone. Somehow, the gesture promised he would—later, when the answer belonged only to the two of you.

Across from you, Scarlet sat with the same composed posture she always carried into difficult conversations. This time, however, when your eyes met, neither of you looked away.

Beside her, Vivienne crossed one elegant leg over the other. She still looked faintly offended by several events of the afternoon, but no longer refused to acknowledge Harry's existence.

Harry gave her the smallest nod.

It wasn't quite an apology. It wasn't forgiveness. But it was a beginning.

Sienna chose the armchair nearest the fireplace.

Mikey sat on its broad arm without asking.

She looked up at him and, for the first time all day, didn't tell him to move.

Dr. Adler closed her notebook.

"I've heard four very different stories today," she began. "But they've all led me to the same conclusion."

The room grew quiet. "When this family is frightened, none of you asks for control." She looked around the room. "You simply take it." Harry lowered his eyes. Scarlet folded her hands. Vivienne's expression softened almost imperceptibly. Mikey suddenly found the pattern in the rug fascinating. "You investigate." She looked at Harry. "You plan." Scarlet. "You withhold." Your turn. "And sometimes…" her gaze shifted toward Mikey and Sienna, "…you attempt to solve problems before anyone has admitted they're problems."

Mikey slowly raised a finger.

"I feel mildly targeted."

"You should."

A ripple of laughter moved through the room. Even Harry smiled.

Dr. Adler waited until the laughter faded.

"Every one of you described those choices as protection."

She paused. "The person on the receiving end experienced them as control."

Silence settled once more. "I'd like each of you to try something different."

No one spoke. "The next time you're frightened for someone you love… ask them what they need before deciding for them."

Nobody argued.

For this family…

…that alone felt like remarkable progress.

The door opened.

Eloise stepped inside, carrying her cane less as a walking aid and more as a symbol of authority.

She surveyed the room carefully.

No one appeared to be crying.

No one appeared ready to disown anyone.

She gave a satisfied nod.

"Bueno." She tapped the floor once with her cane. "Enough emotional growth for one afternoon." A beat. "Dinner is ready."

"And if any of you start another family crisis before the soup…"

"…I'll schedule a second therapist."

Mikey stood immediately. "What kind of soup?"

"The kind you'll eat."

"That still doesn't narrow it down."

Sienna quietly caught the back of his jacket before he could continue and steered him toward the hallway.

Scarlet and Vivienne followed together, their conversation noticeably quieter than it had been only an hour earlier.

Harry rose beside you, offering his hand.

Once you were standing securely, his palm settled against the small of your back.

"Ready?"

You nodded. "Starving."

"Good."

"I intend to steal at least half your dessert."

"You always do."

"I know."

Together, you followed the others into the corridor. Within moments the sitting room fell silent. Almost.

Dr. Adler slipped her notebook into her leather bag and reached for her coat. A discreet knock interrupted her. The door opened just enough for Ron to step inside before quietly closing it again.

He remained standing. "May I ask you something?"

Dr. Adler smiled faintly. "Is this about the family?"

"No."

"Good."

She gestured toward the empty sofa. "Then it's probably about you."

"I'd prefer not to turn this into a session. If a man has never had a serious relationship but his current girlfriend wishes to get married and he doesn't believe he's ready…" He adjusted his cuff. "…there also happens to be a childhood friend."

Dr. Adler considered him for a moment. "Does your girlfriend know you're emotionally preoccupied with someone else?"

"No."

"Then you shouldn't agree to marry her."

"And the childhood friend?"

"Do you want a future with her or is she simply a safe possibility that allows you to postpone making a difficult decision?"

Ron frowned. "How does one determine that?"

"By telling both women the truth."

He looked genuinely disappointed. "That sounds unnecessarily human."

From somewhere down the corridor came Eloise's unmistakable voice.

"¡Ronald! Harry is already answering emails at the dinner table!"

Ron reached for the doorknob. "This conversation never happened." "¡Ronald!"

"I'm coming, Mrs. Castillo."

The door closed behind him.

April 23rd

A week after Rhinebeck, Queen Financial had settled into a rhythm that was not quite normal, but no longer felt like an emergency. Gerard called every morning with whatever developments he believed required your attention. Dana sent carefully filtered briefings twice a day, having apparently decided anything capable of raising your blood pressure required written authorization before reaching you. Emily and Chloe phoned almost daily, supposedly to discuss work and inevitably ending with questions about the twins, your appetite, and whether Harry had yet attempted to place you under medically supervised house arrest. He hadn't. Technically. By Friday evening, your final call with Gerard had lasted twelve minutes longer than promised. “The revised projections are in your inbox,” he said through the speaker. “You don’t need to look at them tonight.” “You sent them to me tonight.” “I sent them so you would know they exist.” “And now that I know they exist, you expect me not to open them?” “Yes.” “That’s an unreasonable understanding of my personality.” From the other end of the sofa, Harry calmly reached over and removed the phone from your hand. “We’re done,” he said. Gerard did not hesitate. “Thank you, Harry.” “You’re both becoming intolerable,” you informed them. “Monday morning,” Gerard replied. “Good night, Ms. Queen.” The call ended before you could object. Harry placed your phone facedown on the coffee table, well beyond your immediate reach. You looked at him. He looked back. “That was hostile.” “That was twelve minutes past your own deadline.” “I was receiving information about my company.” “You were reorganizing the executive committee from the sofa.” “They needed reorganizing.” “They’ll still need it on Monday.” You narrowed your eyes. Harry had already picked up the television remote. “No more work tonight.” “What are we doing instead?” “Watching a movie.” He moved closer and began scrolling. “No.” You glanced at the screen. “What’s wrong with that one?” “Home invasion.” “It’s listed as a romantic comedy.” “I checked the parents’ guide.” “You checked the parents’ guide?” “I’m being thorough.” You laughed. “Harry.” He ignored you and continued scrolling. Finally he stopped. “This one.” You looked at him suspiciously. “Have you already researched it?” “IMDb. Two reviews. Parents’ guide.” “…Of course you did.” The poster showed two people standing beneath strings of lights beside the sea. “A woman returns to the coastal town where she grew up,” Harry read. “She meets a man renovating an old hotel.” You considered it. Harry nodded once. “No violence. No blood. No psychological torment.” “Finally.” He pressed play. As the opening credits rolled, he stood. “Where are you going?” “Popcorn.” “With actual salt?” He gave you a look. “I’ll be right back.” You settled deeper into the cushions he had arranged behind your back. A minute later Harry returned carrying a large bowl of popcorn. He sat beside you, glanced at the curve of your stomach, and carefully balanced the bowl on top of it. You looked down. Then slowly back at him. “I’m carrying your children.” “I’m appreciating the engineering.” “You’re using me as furniture.” “You’re beautiful in every form, baby.” Before you could answer, he leaned over and kissed you, slow and gentle. You reached for the popcorn.

Your face fell almost immediately. “There’s a rumor of salt.” “We’re watching your sodium.” You sighed dramatically. “This family has become a dictatorship.” The film began exactly as promised. It was gentle, romantic, and occasionally funny without trying too hard. The heroine inherited a weathered seaside hotel. The hero knew how to repair everything except his own emotionally guarded heart. Harry disliked him immediately. “He should tell her why he left.” “It’s been twenty minutes.” “He has already created unnecessary confusion.” You smiled. “That’s how films work.” By the middle of the film, your head had settled against Harry’s shoulder while his fingers moved absentmindedly along your arm. Beneath the blanket, your stomach gave a sudden, unmistakable ripple. Harry looked down immediately. Another tiny movement answered beneath the fabric.

He smiled, leaned over, kissed your stomach, and rested his palm gently over it. “Easy, girls,” he murmured. “We’re trying to watch a movie with your mother.” Another kick answered beneath his hand. You considered it seriously. “I think they want pistachios.” “Five minutes ago they wanted popcorn.” “They changed their minds.” “They’re growing.” “…Fair enough.” He started to stand. You caught his hand. “The roasted ones.” “The roasted ones.” “And bring the whole bag.” Harry bent to kiss your forehead. “One full bag of roasted pistachios coming right up.” As he disappeared toward the kitchen, you settled deeper into the cushions, both hands curving around your stomach as though congratulating the girls on another successful negotiation. On the screen, the film drifted quietly toward its conclusion. The hotel had been restored.

Something tightened painfully behind your ribs. Before you understood why, your vision blurred. One tear escaped. Then another. Within seconds they were falling too quickly to hide. Harry turned immediately. “Hey.” You wiped beneath your eyes, only making the tears worse. “Hey, hey…” He set the popcorn aside at once, his hand instinctively finding your stomach. “What happened? Are you hurting?” You shook your head. “The babies?” “No.” “Then why are you crying, baby?” You pointed helplessly toward the television. “The movie.” Harry looked at the screen, then back at you. “The movie?” “They're just…” Your voice cracked. “They're just getting married.” He stayed quiet. “They're just doing it.” Another tear slipped free. “There isn't a wedding planner shouting into a headset. No ballroom booked two years in advance. No security outside checking guest lists.” You swallowed hard. “No board wondering whether the timing is strategically responsible. No journalists deciding what the wedding means for my company. No headlines about my dress, my body, or whether marrying you affects the markets on Monday.” Harry didn't interrupt. On the screen, the couple exchanged vows while the ocean rolled gently behind them. “They're just getting married,” you whispered again. “They get to live it before the rest of the world starts talking about it.” Harry reached up and gently brushed another tear from your cheek. “Oh, baby.” A shaky laugh escaped you. “I know. I'm crying over a fictional beach wedding.” “I don't think that's why you're crying.” You looked back at the television. The bride had slipped off her shoes. Her guests were laughing. The waves reached the edge of the aisle.

“I don't think I want all of it anymore.” “All of what?” “The spectacle.” The word hung quietly between you. “For years I thought that if I ever got married again, it had to be… perfect.” You gave a tiny, humorless smile. “Perfect enough to justify everything that came before it.” Harry remained silent, listening. “But watching this…” Your eyes drifted back to the screen. “It just looks… peaceful.” You leaned against him a little more. “I don't want our wedding to become public property before we've even lived it.” His hand tightened gently around yours. “I don't want to spend the day wondering which photograph they'll print first… or what the markets will do on Monday.” “You won't.” “We can't control that.” “No,” Harry said softly. “But we can control what we choose to give them.” You lifted your head to look at him. “I want one thing that's ours first.” A pause. “Before anyone turns it into a headline.” Harry studied you for several quiet seconds. “Do you want a beach?” Despite the tears, you smiled. “Maybe.” “Barefoot?” You looked back at the television. “Let's not become primitive.” A laugh escaped him. “Fair.” The newlyweds ran laughing toward the water while their friends chased after them. You watched them for another moment before speaking again. “Besides… Scarlet and Vivienne already decided we should wait until after the girls are born.” Harry listened. “That's still months away.” You looked down at your stomach. “And by then everyone will spend the entire wedding talking about the babies instead of us.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You're the one who said you didn't want to be a bride with an enormous stomach.” “I know.” Your voice softened. “But if it were something like this…” You glanced back toward the beach on the screen. “Small. Quiet. Just family.” A tiny smile appeared. “I don't think I'd care.” You looked at him again. “Everything in my life has to happen in front of an audience simply because I'm a Queen.” Your hand drifted toward the small bowl on the coffee table. It was empty. You stared into it for a long second. “The pistachios are gone.” Your face crumpled all over again. Harry looked from the empty bowl to you just as another sob escaped. “Oh, no.” He cupped your cheek immediately. “Shh, baby. Don't cry.” “I wanted more.” “I'll order more.” “Two bags.” “Two bags.” “And the lemon sorbet.” He had already unlocked his phone. “And those thin crackers Dana brought last week.” His thumb moved across the screen. “Added.” “And strawberries.” He glanced up. “You said pistachios.” “The situation has developed.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Clearly.” “And chocolate-covered pretzels.” “Anything else?” You frowned thoughtfully, genuinely considering the question. “…The little tangerines.” Harry added them without another word before setting the phone aside. “Everything's coming. ” He drew you gently back against his chest. “Now breathe for me.” You nodded, still sniffling as you wiped beneath your eyes. “I’m fine.” A pause. “It’s just the hormones.” His lips brushed the top of your head. “Our wedding will be beautiful, baby.” You curled closer against him. “However we do it.” “Okay,” you whispered. The movie continued quietly in the background, but neither of you was really watching anymore.

Harry's fingers moved slowly through your hair until your breathing gradually steadied. Only then did his eyes drift back toward the television. The bride and groom were laughing barefoot beneath the driftwood arch. No ballroom. No photographers. No headlines. Just the people they loved. Harry watched in silence. His gaze lingered on the weathered wooden arch… the shoreline… the small gathering of family and friends. Then something almost imperceptible softened in his expression. A thought. Nothing more. He said nothing. He simply looked back down at you, asleep against his shoulder, one hand resting protectively over the gentle curve of your stomach. A faint smile appeared.

The Following Morning Chez Akiko

The restaurant had not yet opened for lunch, but the table nearest the kitchen was already occupied by six people who had been summoned with varying degrees of urgency and almost no useful explanation. Emily sat at the head of the table with coffee in front of her. Chloe had arrived carrying two garment bags and the conviction that every crisis could be improved with appropriate tailoring. Dana was answering emails beneath the table, while Ron had placed a leather folder beside his plate and appeared to be the only person who had anticipated an agenda. Mikey was eating something the kitchen had not officially served him. Harry remained standing. “We need to plan a wedding.” Everyone stopped. Mikey lowered the croissant in his hand. “Whose?” Harry looked at him. Mikey considered the question. “Right. Context clues.” Emily leaned back in her chair. “You and Queen are already getting married. After the babies are born.” “Scarlet and Vivienne have interviewed three event planners,” Chloe added. “One of them presented a forty-page proposal for the flowers alone.” Dana finally looked up from her phone. “The preliminary date is being held for late summer.” “And an entire team of professionals is supposed to organize it,” Emily said. “So why are we here?” Harry placed both hands against the back of the empty chair in front of him. “I’m not talking about that wedding.” The table went quiet again. Mikey slowly set down his croissant. “There are two weddings now?” “Technically, yes,” Harry said. Chloe narrowed her eyes. “What exactly are you planning?” “Something private. This weekend.” Six faces turned toward him. Even Ron blinked.

Emily slowly placed her coffee on the table. “Harry, it’s Thursday.” “I’m aware.” “You want us to arrange a wedding in two days?” “A small one.” “Rich people always say that,” Emily said, “before describing a small country.” “No ballroom, no hotel, no press. No guest list beyond the people in this room and immediate family.” Emily studied him. “What changed?” Harry looked down at the table. “We watched a movie last night. There was a wedding on a beach.” He paused, remembering the way your voice had broken when you said the couple had simply been allowed to marry. “She said she didn’t want ours to become public property before we’d had the chance to live it.” The room grew quieter. “No reporters,” he continued. “No analysts deciding what our marriage means for the companies. No photographs released before she chooses them.

She wants something that belongs to us.” “A private beach wedding,” Emily said softly. “Yes.” “Just friends and family.” “Yes.” “And Queen doesn’t know.” “No.” Mikey raised one finger. “Are you sure we’re talking about my sister? She used to plan her wedding while she was still in elementary school.” “I can confirm that,” Chloe said. “There were sketches.” “Sounds like her,” Emily agreed. Ron glanced down at his folder. “Ms. Queen being the only person unaware of her own wedding presents a significant degree of risk.” “Her hormones have made her more emotional lately,” Harry said. “She cried last night because the pistachios ran out.” Emily sighed. "Aw." “Oh, poor thing,” Chloe murmured. “My sister cried during a comedy when she was pregnant with my niece,” Dana added. “No one in the movie was even sad.” “Fine. Whatever she wants, we give her,” Emily said. Harry’s expression remained serious. “That doesn’t mean we decide for her. I’m not bringing her to a wedding and expecting her to perform because everyone is waiting. I’ll show her what I arranged and ask whether she wants to marry me that day. If she says no, the officiant leaves, we have dinner on the beach, and no one makes her feel guilty.” Emily nodded once. “If she says yes,” Harry continued, “everything needs to be ready.” Mikey looked at Harry. “Where exactly is this happening? And how are you telling our mothers? Because mine is not going to celebrate being excluded from wedding planning.” “Scarlet and my mother will be told last.” Ron opened the leather folder. “A sound security decision.” The planning moved quickly after that. Ron would secure a private beach, confidentiality agreements, transport and discreet security. Dana would clear your calendar without making the absence too obvious. Emily took charge of dinner, cake and a small reception, while Chloe handled the flowers and overall design. Then Chloe tapped her pen against the table. “We still have one significant problem.” Everyone looked at her. “The dress.” Harry’s attention sharpened. “What about it?” “She’s carrying twins. Her old measurements are useless, and her body is changing every week. I can’t fit a gown correctly by guessing.” Mikey added. “The dress is important, man. Those hormones can turn into rage when she looks at the photographs ten years from now. I’m warning you in advance.” Chloe pointed her pen at him. “For once, he’s right. We have very little time to make something beautiful and unforgettable.” “How quickly can you do it?” Emily asked.

“I can alter an existing gown if I have accurate measurements tonight. Soft structure, an empire waist, room around her stomach—nothing restrictive.” Chloe turned to Harry. “I need her shoulders, shoulder to floor, bust, underbust and the fullest point around her stomach.” Mikey sat back, delighted. “You’re going to measure a sleeping pregnant woman without telling her why. That may be the most dangerous plan I’ve heard today.” Harry stared at Chloe. “There’s no other way?” “You could tell her.” “No.” “Yuliana could possibly do it,” Ron suggested. Harry shook his head immediately. “No. I’ll do it.” Chloe tore a page from her notebook and slid it across the table. “These measurements. In inches. Don’t pull the tape tight.” Harry studied the instructions as though they described an unfamiliar explosive device. “I’ll handle it.” Ron closed his folder. “I recommend waiting until she’s asleep.” “Thank you, Ron."

That evening, Yuliana met Harry outside his study and lowered her voice as though reporting a delicate security matter. “She fell asleep upstairs.” “In bed?” “She said she was only going to rest for ten minutes.” A small smile touched Yuliana’s mouth. “She was listening to classical music.” Harry glanced toward the staircase, then at the flexible measuring tape concealed in his hand. Perfect. Or as close to perfect as this plan was likely to become. He opened the bedroom door carefully and stepped inside. The curtains had been drawn against the evening light, leaving the room dim and quiet except for the faint piano music escaping from one of the wireless earbuds in your ears. You were asleep on your side, one hand tucked beneath your cheek and the other curved protectively over your stomach. The second earbud had fallen onto the pillow beside you.

Your phone rested on the nightstand, still playing the same gentle piece on repeat. Harry stood beside the bed for several seconds, simply looking at you. Then he unfolded the list Chloe had sent him. This should have been easy. Harry had negotiated acquisitions involving several governments. He had once completed a merger while both legal teams threatened to walk away. He regularly managed people who considered compromise a moral failing. He could measure his sleeping fiancée. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the mattress and removed the remaining earbud from your ear. You made a quiet sound and shifted deeper into the pillow. Harry froze. Your breathing remained even. The first measurement was uncomplicated. He placed one end of the tape near your shoulder and extended it gently across your back, recording the number in his phone.

Shoulder to floor required an approximation from the side of the bed. Chloe had specifically written that an imperfect number was preferable to waking you, although Harry suspected she had not fully considered what would happen if you woke and found him standing over you with tailoring equipment. The underbust measurement was next. Harry stared at the instruction. Then at you. Then back at the instruction. The circumference of your stomach seemed safer. Harry lifted the edge of the blanket and passed the tape carefully around the fullest curve, reaching beneath your side to bring the ends together. Your eyes opened. Harry stopped breathing. You blinked down at the measuring tape wrapped around your stomach, then slowly raised your gaze to him. “Harry.” Your voice was rough with sleep. “What—what are you doing?” “Nothing.” You stared at him.

He was sitting beside you with a measuring tape in both hands. “Nothing?” “I can explain.” “Are you measuring my waist?” Your voice rose sharply as you pushed yourself upright, shock and hurt chasing the last traces of sleep from your face. “No—no, baby. Not like that.” You pulled the tape from his hands and looped it loosely around the back of his neck before he could react. “Harry Castillo, I will strangle you with this.” “Baby, wait.” “You measured me while I was asleep?” “It isn’t what you think.” “What do I think?” “That I was—” “Checking how much weight I’ve gained?” Harry’s expression changed immediately. “No. Absolutely not.” “How many inches was it?” Your eyes began to shine. “I’ve gotten huge, haven’t I?” “No.” “You hesitated.” “I didn’t hesitate.” “You looked terrified.” “Because you threatened to kill me.” “With a fabric tape. You would’ve survived.” The first tear slipped down your cheek. Another followed before you could wipe it away. “I knew I’d gained too much weight.” Your voice broke. “I look awful, don’t I? I’ve become enormous and ugly.” Harry gently removed the tape from around his neck and dropped it onto the carpet. “That is complete nonsense.” He moved closer and cupped your face between his hands. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.” More tears spilled down your cheeks. Harry wiped them away with his thumbs, his voice softening further. “You’re carrying our daughters. Your body is changing because it’s making room for two people. There is nothing ugly about you. Not one thing.”

You sniffed and looked down at your stomach. “My face is puffy.” “You’re beautiful.” “My ankles are swollen.” “Still beautiful.” “None of my clothes fit.” “I’ll buy you new ones.” “That isn’t the point.” You opened your mouth to continue, but a sudden yawn interrupted you. Your shoulders sagged as quickly as your anger had risen. “I’m so tired.” The abrupt change left Harry staring at you. “I just want to sleep.” His expression softened with relief and guilt in equal measure. “Okay, baby. Sleep.” You lay down again, then caught his wrist before he could move away. “Stay.” “I’m here.” You pulled his arm against your chest and settled around it, resting your cheek near his shoulder. So many emotions had passed through you in the space of a few minutes—anger, humiliation, tears and exhaustion—that Harry could not stop himself from feeling responsible for every one of them. “Will you stroke my hair?” you asked sleepily. “Of course.” His fingers moved gently through your hair, smoothing it away from your face. Every few moments, he bent and pressed a quiet kiss to your temple. Your breathing gradually slowed. “Harry?” “I’m here, baby.” “Don’t measure me again.” “I won’t.” Harry looked down at you suspiciously, but a faint sleepy smile touched your mouth before disappearing. Within moments, your breathing deepened. Harry continued stroking your hair long after you had fallen asleep. At first, he intended to remain for only a minute. Then five. Your fingers stayed curled firmly around his wrist, and every attempt to move made you shift closer. Eventually, Harry lay down beside you fully dressed, one arm trapped beneath your head and the other resting over your stomach. One of the babies moved beneath his palm. A quiet smile crossed his face. “Easy,” he whispered. “Your mother has already threatened me once tonight.” Twenty minutes later, his trapped arm had gone completely numb. He endured another ten. Then a faint snore escaped you. Harry looked down. Your lips had parted slightly, your head angled back against his arm. The snoring had appeared with the pregnancy and grew louder whenever you were exhausted—something you denied with absolute conviction every morning. Another soft snore followed. Harry smiled. “You’d call me a liar if I told you.” He gently touched beneath your chin and turned your head slightly toward the pillow, just as he had on countless nights before. The sound stopped almost immediately. You murmured something indistinct. Harry froze. “Harry…” He bent and kissed your hair. “I’m right here.” Your fingers loosened around his wrist, and your breathing settled again. Moving slowly, Harry reached down for the tape. He passed it around your stomach once more, careful not to pull it tight. When the ends met, he secured the exact point beneath one finger and eased the tape away without losing the measurement. This time, you did not wake. Harry carefully freed his arm, replacing it with the pillow before sitting up. He opened his phone, added the final number to his notes, and sent the measurements to Chloe.

Harry: This is everything I could get. Her reply arrived almost immediately. Chloe: Did she wake up? Harry: Briefly. Chloe: Are you alive? His gaze returned to you. You were sleeping peacefully again, one hand spread across your stomach, your mouth beginning to fall open. Harry: Barely.

He set the phone on the nightstand and watched you for another moment, smiling despite himself.

Saturday Morning

When you opened your eyes, Harry’s side of the bed was empty.

The sheets still held the faint warmth of him, but the room had gone quiet in the particular way it did only when he had been awake for some time. The curtains were partially open, allowing the soft April sunlight to spill across the carpet.

You reached blindly toward his pillow. Nothing.

“Harry?”

No answer came from the bathroom.

You pushed yourself higher against the pillows, one hand automatically settling over the curve of your stomach. “Harry?”

Still nothing.

That was when you noticed the folded card resting against the lamp on his nightstand, placed beside the snow globe.

You reached for it.

Good morning, baby. I have something planned for you. Trust me for a few hours and let Yuliana help you. I’ll see you soon. I love you. H.

You read it twice, then narrowed your eyes at the empty room.

“Trust you with what?”

A soft knock sounded against the bedroom door. Before you could answer, Yuliana stepped inside carrying a tray of tea. Her usually restrained expression had been replaced by a smile she was making very little effort to hide.

You held up the card. “What is happening?”

“I was instructed not to say, Ms. Queen.”

You accepted the tea and took a cautious sip while studying her over the rim of the cup. “You understand that smiling like that only makes you look more suspicious.”

Yuliana glanced at her watch.

“You’re timing me?”

“Perhaps.”

She waited patiently until you finished, then placed the cup aside and offered her hands.

“We should get you up now, Ms. Queen.”

“Why?”

“Several people are waiting for you.”

The way she said it made you immediately suspicious. “Which people?”

Yuliana continued holding out her hands.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much.”

With a sigh, you let her help you sit up. One of the babies shifted as you moved, a slow rolling sensation beneath your ribs. You pressed your palm against it. “At least one person in this room should tell me what’s happening.”

“Trokhy terpinnya, Ms. Queen,” Yuliana said gently. “Just a little patience.”

She helped you into your robe, tied it securely around you, then waited while you slipped your feet into your house shoes.

The moment you stepped into the corridor, you heard several voices coming from the dressing room.

You stopped.

Emily appeared first. “Look who’s finally awake.”

“Our Queen has arrived,” Chloe added from behind her.

Emily came directly toward you, placing one hand gently against your stomach. “How are you feeling? And how are these two?”

“We’re confused,” you said. “What are all of you doing in my house?”

“First, breakfast,” Emily said. “There’s a full table waiting.”

“No. First, someone tells me what is happening.”

Chloe exchanged a glance with Emily. “Perhaps it would be easier to show you.”

She opened the dressing-room door.

The room had been transformed.

A small hair and makeup team stood near the windows beside neatly arranged cases and brushes. Fresh white flowers had been placed on the vanity, restrained enough not to resemble one of Scarlet’s productions. Dana stood near the wardrobe holding two phones—yours and her own—while appearing entirely untroubled by the fact that she had confiscated your professional life.

“Good morning, Ms. Queen,” the team greeted.

Your gaze moved from Emily to Dana, then Chloe.

Finally, it settled on the garment bag. “What is that?”

Dana’s smile became dangerously emotional. “Morning, Ms. Queen.”

“What is in the bag?”

The room fell silent.

Emily quietly moved a plate of toast closer to the nearest chair. Dana looked down at the phones.

Chloe reached for the zipper. “Why don’t you take a look?”

She opened the bag.

Soft ivory fabric appeared first, followed by delicate folds of silk, a gracefully structured bodice and a skirt designed to fall around the curve of your stomach without constricting it. There was no excessive beading, cathedral train or rigid corsetry. The fabric caught the morning light with a quiet sheen, elegant without demanding attention.

It looked effortless.

Which meant an extraordinary amount of work had gone into it.

Your breath caught. “Oh, my God. That... looks like—”

A wedding dress.

Not something inspired by one. A real wedding dress. Pinned carefully to the front was another folded card. Chloe removed it and held it toward you. Your fingers trembled slightly as you opened it.

Baby, Chloe and her mother made this for you. I hope it’s close to what you wanted. There’s a car waiting downstairs. At the end of the drive, you’ll find a beach, the people closest to us, and me. I made today possible. Whether we marry here or wait for the wedding they’ve been planning is your decision. I’ll be waiting. H.

You stared at the page until the words began to blur. Then your gaze dropped to the dress again, and understanding arrived all at once.

“Oh, my God, Harry.”

A tear struck the card.

You looked toward Chloe. “That’s why he was measuring me.”

Chloe pressed her lips together, already close to tears herself.

You laughed, covering your mouth as more tears followed. “Oh, that man.”

Emily stood immediately. “Hey.”

“I cannot believe him.”

She placed both hands gently on your arms. “Is that a good cannot believe him?”

You looked down at the note. “He listened to me.”

The words emerged so softly that everyone in the room went still.

Emily’s expression changed. “Yes. He did.”

“And then he made it happen in two days,” Chloe added quietly.

You touched the skirt with your fingertips.

It was beautiful, but not because it was expensive or perfectly made. It was beautiful because nothing about it felt designed for other people to admire.

Harry had remembered the beach, the quiet, the absence of reporters and boards and questions. The moment in the movie when you had cried because two people had been allowed to simply marry each other.

Your face crumpled again.

Chloe hurried toward you. “Oh. I think the crying spell has arrived.”

You nodded, tears already falling.

Emily handed you a tissue. “Get it all out before they start your makeup. This entire team is here to prepare you for today.”

“Then I should wash my face.”

“Yeah.” Emily slipped an arm gently around your waist. “Then you’re eating breakfast, and after that, we’ll get you ready.”

Chloe hesitated. “You do want this, don’t you? Because after five years apart and two babies on the way, I think you two have waited long enough.”

You looked at Chloe, then Dana, Yuliana, and the waiting hair and makeup team.

For one unsteady moment, the reality of it settled over you: a beach, no cameras, no audience, vows spoken before the rest of the world could claim them. Was this really what you wanted?

Then you pictured Harry waiting for you, and the question became almost embarrassingly simple.

Finally, your gaze returned to the dress.

“Yes,” you said. “I want this.”

Bridgehampton

The limousine turned through the gates of the Bridgehampton estate just after four. Beyond the windows, pale dunes gave way to flashes of blue water beneath the soft April sky. The ocean wind moved through the beach grass, bending it toward the private stretch of sand Harry had somehow secured in less than forty-eight hours. Chloe looked mournfully at the view. “The fact that I can’t put any of this on my story is cruel.” “Post one frame and every paparazzi in New York will be outside the gates before we reach the sand,” Emily warned, holding up the one phone Dana had authorized for photographs. “No one posts anything,” you added. “Turn off your location services too.” “They’re already off,” Dana assured you. “Good. Now move closer,” Emily said. Despite her warning, she was already recording, the phone safely on airplane mode. You, Chloe and Dana leaned together while she turned the camera toward you. Yuliana sat opposite, watching with quiet amusement. “Smile,” Emily instructed. “I am smiling,” you said with a laugh as another small movement rolled beneath your hand. “They’re the ones refusing to hold still for the picture.” You glanced at your reflection in the darkened window. “Do I look as nervous as I feel?” “No,” Emily said immediately. “You look radiant.” “Annoyingly beautiful,” Chloe added. Dana nodded. “Exactly as you should.” “Beautiful is insufficient,” Yuliana corrected, studying you with open admiration. “Vy prekrasna (you’re beautiful) Ms. Queen. Prosto neymovirna. (Simply incredible.)” And, inconveniently, they were right. The ivory silk dress fell cleanly from beneath your bust, following the curve of your stomach without trying to conceal it.

Its deep V neckline was softened by delicate embroidery that gathered just above the swell of your belly, while the long skirt moved fluidly around your legs. There was no veil, no heavy train and nothing that required you to become someone else to wear it. You smoothed both hands over your stomach. One of the girls moved beneath your palm. “Apparently they’re as excited as I am.” “They’re half Queen and half Castillo,” Dana said. “Of course they assume the entire event is being held in their honor.” The limousine slowed. Your heartbeat immediately quickened. Emily lowered the phone. “We’re here.”

Down on the beach, Harry checked his watch for what Ron estimated was the ninth time. “She crossed the gate three minutes ago,” Ron said. “She’s here,” Harry replied, and the words came out softer than he intended.

He stood near the small flowered arch in a black tuxedo, his attention fixed on the wooden walkway leading down from the house. Mikey waited beside Ron, while Captain Mateo Alvarez—Richard’s oldest friend and, thanks to Ron’s exhaustive planning, a legally registered officiant—stood nearby with the ceremony papers secured inside his jacket. Sienna adjusted one of the white flowers in her hands. “The florist reinforced the arch. It won’t collapse unless the wind develops personal hostility toward us.” Harry barely heard her. Vivienne approached and straightened his boutonniere, her expression warm with emotion. “Breathe, sweetheart.” “I am breathing.” “You’re waiting aggressively.” Her hand lingered briefly against his lapel. “You get to marry her again. Try to enjoy this part too.” A small smile finally broke through his nerves. Before he could answer, the limousine appeared beyond the dunes. Every conversation stopped. Scarlet immediately moved toward the end of the walkway with Richard beside her. He relied on his cane for balance, his steps slower than they once had been. Scarlet slipped her arm through his without drawing attention to the support she provided. The car came to a stop. Harry went completely still, though from where he stood, the vehicle concealed most of the drive. “They’re here,” Sienna said, already moving. “I’ll go make sure she has everything.” A member of the staff opened the door. Emily stepped out first, followed by Chloe and Dana. Then the attendant offered you his hand. You took it. Emily immediately gathered the skirt so it would not catch beneath your shoes as you carefully stepped onto the stone drive. The ocean breeze caught the silk, pressing it briefly against the curve of your stomach before letting it fall into its clean, graceful lines again. For one suspended moment, no one spoke. Scarlet’s eyes filled before you had taken three steps. “Oh, my baby,” she whispered. “You are so beautiful.” You approached her, and she caught both of your hands. “You too,” you said, looking over her pale blue silk dress, structured hat and entirely unnecessary pearl gloves. “Though you appear to have dressed for a royal garden party.” Scarlet lifted her chin. “I was given forty-eight hours and absolutely no authority. I had to express myself somehow.” Richard sighed beside her. “They’re doing this the way they want, Scarlet.” “I know,” she replied, never taking her eyes from you. “I’m adjusting with remarkable dignity.” You turned toward Richard. “Dad.” His face softened completely.

“My beautiful girl.” His gaze dropped affectionately to your stomach. “How are all three of you?” “Nervous, happy and extremely pregnant.” “That sounds about right.” You hugged him carefully, feeling one of his hands settle against your back. When you pulled away, your gaze dropped briefly to his cane before returning to his face. “You look very handsome.” “I had an important place to be.” Your throat tightened. Before the tears could begin, Mikey appeared and opened his arms. “Baby sister.” He attempted to hug you, only to discover that your stomach reached him first. He looked down between you. “I think your stomach arrived before the rest of you.” “Careful,” you warned. “You’re insulting three Queen women at once.” “I would never.” He bent and spoke toward your stomach. “Your mother has always been this threatening.” You pushed lightly at his shoulder. “Move.” Laughing, Mikey kissed your cheek and stepped aside. Sienna approached carrying a bouquet of white ranunculus, sweet peas and small ivory roses. She placed it gently in your hands before glancing toward the beach. Harry was visible at the other end of the walkway. He had not moved. Even from a distance, you could see the way he was looking at you—as though the rest of the beach had disappeared the moment you stepped from the car. Sienna smiled softly. “Whenever you’re ready.” You took a deep breath, then another, waving your hands to calm your emotions. “Oh, no.” Emily was instantly beside you. “What?” “The crying spell.” She opened her bag and produced a tissue with the speed of a trained emergency responder. Chloe pointed at you. “Do not rub your eyes. We used waterproof makeup, but I refuse to test its limits before the ceremony begins.” “I’m trying not to cry.” “You’re failing beautifully,” Dana said. A laugh escaped through your tears. Emily carefully dabbed beneath one eye. “There. Crisis contained.” Richard moved beside you and offered his arm. You looked at the wooden path stretching across the dunes, then toward Harry waiting at its end. “Are you sure?” you asked softly. Richard straightened, tightening his hand around the top of his cane. “I didn’t spend two months learning to walk across rooms again just to sit down for this part.” Your eyes filled all over again. “Chloe,” you warned. “Ugh, honey breathe,” Chloe said firmly. “We have reached the maximum permitted tears.” Richard smiled and held out his arm once more. “Ready?” You slipped your hand through it, supporting him as subtly as he supported you.

Your gaze returned to Harry. This time, there was no hesitation. “Yes,” you said. “I’m ready."

The first notes of the music drifted across the dunes as you and Richard stepped onto the wooden walkway. Everyone rose. Warm applause followed, unrestrained and familiar. Mikey brought two fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly before stepping directly into the aisle with his phone raised. “Mikey,” Sienna hissed, catching the back of his jacket and pulling him out of the way. “I’m documenting history.” “You’re blocking history.” Laughter moved through the small gathering as he allowed himself to be dragged back beside her, though he continued filming over her shoulder. There were no camera flashes, no reporters calling your name, no phones raised for an audience waiting somewhere beyond the beach. Emily and Chloe recorded from their places, but only so you and Harry could keep the moment. Near the second row, a single videographer followed your progress through a discreet lens, having been warned by Ron so thoroughly that he looked prepared to surrender the camera, memory card and all personal identification at the slightest provocation. Nothing was being broadcast. Nothing had to become public before it belonged to you. The aisle was not lined with investors, board members or distant relatives invited out of obligation. There were only two short rows of chairs, and every person standing beside them was someone whose face you knew well enough to read without effort. Scarlet was already crying behind the sunglasses she had apparently worn to prevent exactly that. Vivienne held one hand over her heart, her expression radiant. Ron remained beside Dana, who was wiping beneath one eye while pretending to inspect Emily’s recording. Lara stood near Scarlet, openly crying without attempting to disguise it, while Yuliana watched you with quiet pride. They were all family. Some had witnessed the first marriage and the way it had broken. Some had arrived later, carrying you through the strange, tender work of finding your way back to one another. But every person standing there had seen enough to understand what this moment meant. They had seen the love, the damage, the silence, the repair—and they had stayed. The realization settled warmly beneath your ribs. Your free hand moved instinctively over your stomach. One of the girls shifted beneath your palm, followed by the faintest answering movement from her sister. You smiled down at them. Richard glanced toward you. “All right?” “More than all right.” The boards of the narrow aisle beneath your low ivory heels were dusted with sand carried over them by the wind.

Beyond the gathering, the Atlantic stretched endlessly blue beneath the afternoon sky, its waves folding softly against the shore and filling the spaces between the music. Then you looked ahead. Harry stood on a low wooden platform beneath the simple arch of white flowers. For one dangerous second, you nearly missed a step. He wore a perfectly cut black tuxedo, the ocean breeze moving lightly through his hair. A white ranunculus and a small sprig of olive rested against his lapel, chosen to match your bouquet without surrounding you with the heavily scented flowers that always made your eyes water. But it was his expression that caught you. The tension he had carried while waiting disappeared the moment he saw you. His entire face softened into a wide, unguarded smile reserved only for you. Richard tightened his hold on your arm before your heel could slip from the edge of the board.

“Careful, darling.” Your eyes locked with Harry’s. Neither of you looked away. Five years apart seemed to compress themselves into those final steps—every wrong decision, every unfinished conversation and every night you had convinced yourself that losing him had been necessary. But the last six months had changed you both. There were no secrets left between you now, no assumptions allowed to grow in silence. You were not walking toward the marriage you had once lost. You were walking toward something you had rebuilt together, deliberately and without anyone else deciding what it should become. In a few moments, you would be husband and wife again. This time, you both understood exactly what choosing one another meant. By the time you reached him, your eyes were wet again. Richard stopped before the platform. Harry stepped down immediately, offering one hand to you before turning toward him. For a moment, neither man spoke. Richard placed your hand into Harry’s. “I gave her hand to you once before,” he said, his voice low with emotion. “But she was never mine to give away. She is my girl because she chose to let me love her like a father.” Your throat tightened. Richard looked from you to Harry. “So this time, I’m not giving her away. I’m asking you to stand beside her properly. Hold on to her. Listen to her. And when life gets loud, don’t let silence do the damage again.” Harry closed his fingers carefully around yours. “I won’t.” Richard studied him for another moment, then nodded. “Good.” You leaned forward and kissed Richard’s cheek. “Thank you, Dad.” His eyes shone as he stepped away. “Go on, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Go marry the man who finally learned how lucky he is.” Harry helped you onto the platform, one hand steady at your waist until you were safely beside him. Captain Mateo waited a few feet away, but Harry appeared temporarily unaware that anyone else existed. His gaze moved slowly over the dress, your hair and the curve of your stomach. “I knew the dress would be beautiful,” he said softly. “I wasn’t prepared for you in it.” The words nearly started the tears again. You looked over his tuxedo with exaggerated consideration. “You look very handsome yourself, Mr. Castillo.” His smile deepened. “More handsome than the first time?” “You’ve aged.” One eyebrow lifted. “Like an obscenely expensive wine,” you added. Harry’s gaze softened. “Then I must be keeping suitable company.” One of his hands settled gently over your stomach. A visible ripple moved beneath the ivory silk almost immediately.

Harry glanced down, smiling. “They look as excited as we are.” “No. They heard their father arranged an excellent wedding cake.” A quiet laugh escaped him. His thumb moved lightly over the embroidered fabric before you looked around at the flowers, the two rows of chairs and the long table waiting farther up the shore. “Harry,” you whispered. “What did you do?” For the first time that afternoon, uncertainty flickered across his face. “Too much?” “No.” You tightened your fingers around his. “It’s more beautiful than anything I imagined.” His expression softened. “Thank you,” you said. “For listening. For all of it.” Harry lifted your hand and pressed his lips to your knuckles. “I wish I had done more sooner.” “We had a great deal to survive first.” “We did.” His eyes remained on yours. “Then we shouldn’t give away any more time.” Captain Alvarez cleared his throat with deliberate patience. “I have married people on boats before,” he said, glancing toward the wooden platform that extended just over the water. “This is apparently the compromise Ron could manage in three days.” Soft laughter moved through the gathering. Ron adjusted his cuff. “A legally valid compromise.” “The best kind,” Captain Alvarez said, smiling before he turned back to you and Harry. “We are gathered here with the people who know and love Harry and Queen best—not to begin their story, because that began many years ago, but to witness the choice they are making today.” The ocean moved quietly behind him. “This ceremony is small by design. There are no strangers here, no audience beyond those invited and no expectation except honesty. Before we continue, I need to ask one simple question. ” His gaze moved first to Harry, then to you. “Have you both come here freely, intending to marry one another today?” Harry answered without hesitation. “Yes.” You looked at the man who had arranged an entire wedding only to ensure you could still refuse it. “Yes,” you said. “I have.” Captain Alvarez nodded. “Then you may speak the promises you’ve prepared.” Harry’s eyebrows lifted slightly. You stared at him. “You prepared something?” “Not a speech.” His fingers tightened around yours. “I don’t need one to tell you the truth.” The last trace of humor faded from his expression as he looked directly into your eyes. “The first time you chose me, I woke up the next morning and watched you sleep because I still couldn’t believe you were my wife.” His throat moved. “Then I lost you. And for five years, I learned exactly how much of my life had been built around loving you.” Your eyes filled. “Harry, don’t make me cry.” His thumb brushed beneath one of your eyes.

“Then you came back,” he said quietly. “And I felt like a prayer I had no right to make had been answered.” A quiet laugh escaped you through the tears. “You gave me a second life with you. You gave me our daughters." He paused, as though even he could not quite believe it. “I promise you this: you will never have to guess where I stand again. No silence, no pride, no misunderstanding will ever come before the truth.” His voice lowered. “I will choose you in every version of our life. I love you more than I did the first time. And I will spend the rest of my life being grateful that you chose me twice.” For several seconds, you could only look at him. Around you, no one seemed to breathe properly. Scarlet pressed a tissue beneath her sunglasses. Vivienne’s mouth trembled. Dana looked down quickly, and even Ron appeared suspiciously interested in the horizon. “I loved you when I left,” you said finally, your voice unsteady. “That was the cruelest part. I loved you through every year I pretended I had moved on, and I love you now without fear, without secrets and without one foot near the door.” Harry’s eyes shone. “I choose you, Harry Castillo. I always have. And I always will.” You squeezed his hands. “This time, I intend to stay.” Neither of you moved. The silence stretched until Mikey called from behind you, “You can keep staring after you’re legally married.” Laughter broke through the emotion. Captain Alvarez gave him a patient look.

“It appears we have people here even more impatient than the bride and groom.” His eyes narrowed faintly with affection. “Mikey, you were always like this.” Mikey grinned. “Thanks, Captain.” Then he leaned toward Sienna and whispered, “He loves me.” Sienna covered her mouth to hide her laugh. Captain Alvarez turned back to Harry. “Harry Castillo, do you take this woman to be your wife—to love her, honour her and continue choosing her for the rest of your life?” Harry did not take his eyes from you. “I do.” “And Ms. Queen, do you take this man to be your husband—to love him, honour him and continue choosing him for the rest of your life?” “I do.” Ron stepped forward with the rings. Harry slid yours carefully onto your finger, his hand trembling just enough for you to notice. You placed his ring beside the one he had once worn before,

sealing a promise renewed rather than replaced. Captain Alvarez smiled. “By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Mikey was already on his feet. “Kiss her!” Others joined him, laughing and applauding. “Kiss!” “Kiss!” “Kiss!” Harry’s arm curved carefully around your waist. He drew you as close as your stomach allowed, his other hand rising to cradle your face. Then he kissed you. Slowly at first, as though the two of you were alone. Then more deeply as the applause rose around you and the ocean wind carried Mikey’s triumphant whistle across the beach. When Harry finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. “Mrs. Castillo,” he whispered. You smiled through your tears. “You always did like calling me that.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “I missed it.”

Later, after champagne had been poured and the official photographs had been taken, Chloe insisted that the bouquet had one final responsibility. You turned your back to the small group gathered behind you and tossed it over your shoulder. The wind caught the flowers, shifted their course and dropped them directly into Vivienne’s arms. She stared down at the bouquet. Then she looked toward Marc, standing several feet away. Marc smiled. Vivienne’s cheeks turned pink as everyone began laughing and applauding. Beside you, Harry’s expression changed slowly. You looked up at him. “Don’t even start.” “I’m not saying anything.” “Your face is saying plenty.” He gave a small shrug. “I’m only wondering whether we can return the bouquet and try again.” You hit his shoulder lightly. “Shut up and dance with me.” The first notes of the music began.

Harry turned toward you and placed both hands at your waist. You slipped your arms around his neck, though the curve of your stomach prevented you from moving as close as either of you wanted. Harry glanced down at the space between you. “I had imagined holding my wife a little closer.” “Your daughters have other plans.” “They’ve been interfering all day.” “They’re making sure you behave.” Harry looked offended. “With my own wife?” “Especially with your own wife.” Harry laughed and lowered his forehead to yours, swaying with you as the music carried across the beach. A few feet away, Scarlet and Vivienne watched with matching tears in their eyes. “They deserved this happiness, didn’t they?” Vivienne whispered. Scarlet nodded. “More than anyone.” Vivienne dabbed at her cheek. “My eyes are leaking.” “So are mine.” Mikey appeared behind them.

“Should I call 911, or is this a shared maternal event?” Both women turned toward him. Sienna burst out laughing, and even Richard failed to hide his smile. You extended one hand toward the others. “Come on. Join us.” Scarlet joined Richard first, moving carefully around his cane. Ron drew Dana into his arms, while Sienna allowed Mikey to spin her with considerably more enthusiasm than skill. Vivienne hesitated only briefly before accepting Marc’s hand. Harry watched them, a trace of old protectiveness tightening his expression. You touched his cheek. “She looks happy.” His gaze returned to you. After a moment, he nodded and relaxed beneath your hand. “She does.” Near the edge of the dance floor, Emily, Chloe and Yuliana formed a loose circle, laughing as they danced together.

Lara clapped in time from her chair until Captain Alvarez offered his hand and persuaded her to join him for several careful steps. There was no ballroom, no orchestra and no audience waiting to judge what the day meant. Only the ocean, the music and every person you had chosen as family. Harry watched them for a moment—the people dancing barefoot or carefully around canes and hems, the laughter carried by the wind, the small, impossible life you had built out of everything that had nearly ended. Then his gaze returned to you. His arms tightened around your waist, and he rested his forehead against yours. “A little late,” he murmured, “but I think we made it.” You cupped his face in both hands. “We did. And we made it beautifully.” Your lips trembled. “Oh, no. I think it’s coming back.” Harry’s eyes softened with immediate alarm and amusement. “No. No crying, we just survived the ceremony. You can give the makeup ten more minutes.” You laughed, blinking quickly. “Okay. I’m not crying.” “Good.” “I’m almost not crying.” “That’s progress.” The wave passed slowly. You breathed in, steadied yourself, and looked up at him again. Harry’s smile faded into something quieter, deeper. “I love you so much,” he said. Your hands rested against his jaw as the music continued around you. “I love you too, Harry.” And while everyone you loved danced around you beneath the open sky, you let the moment stay exactly what it was. Yours.

Days turned into weeks. For a while, you and Harry stayed married only in the places that mattered. At home, in the quiet, his ring never left his finger. But every morning before a public meeting, a board dinner or anything involving cameras, he removed it with an apology he never seemed to grow tired of giving. “I hate it. I want everyone to know you’re my wife.” And every morning, you gave him the same answer. “They will. Wait until our girls are born.” The world still believed the real wedding was coming later—the grand one Scarlet and Vivienne were already designing with terrifying enthusiasm. When reporters asked how the preparations were going, you smiled, touched your stomach and said something harmless about family, timing and taking things slowly. Somehow, the rumors still began.

Did Harry Castillo and Ms. Queen Marry in Secret?

Private Beach Ceremony Reportedly Held in Bridgehampton. No Guests, No Press, No Confirmation: Inside Manhattan’s Most Talked-About Non-Wedding.

Some said Bridgehampton. Some said it had only been an engagement celebration. Some insisted there had been a wedding, but no one could produce a single photograph. You and Harry answered none of it. There were more important things to survive. Your stomach grew heavier by the week, until getting out of bed without assistance became less an act of independence and more an unnecessarily ambitious athletic event. Doctor’s appointments became nearly the only reason you left the house. Everyone else came to you. Emily arrived one afternoon claiming she had only stopped by to bring soup, then sat at the edge of your bed and confessed that she had started seeing the man her mother had hired as a waiter at the restaurant. He was Asian, apparently devastatingly handsome according to Emily’s increasingly unprofessional description, and “too polite in a way that felt dangerous.” Chloe gave her ex another chance and pretended she was being cautious about it, despite the fact that she blushed every time his name appeared on her phone. Scarlet and Richard came regularly under the excuse of checking on you, though Richard spent most of each visit asking the girls whether they intended to let their mother sleep. Lara moved in without ceremony, joining Yuliana in the practical, unspoken agreement that until the babies arrived, you were not to be left unattended for any length of time. Mikey and Sienna came sometimes together, sometimes separately, each visit explained with suspiciously unnecessary detail. Mikey brought stories from the office,most of them delivered with the confidence of a man who had survived another day in corporate warfare and deserved applause for it. Gerard still called when necessary, but even he had begun to respect the boundaries Dana enforced with frightening precision. For the last three weeks, he no longer patched you into meetings unless there was no alternative. Dana kept such careful notes that reading her briefings almost felt like being in the room. Almost. Queen Financial was not healed, not yet. But it was rising. The panic had passed. The structure was holding. The people who had expected you to disappear quietly were beginning to understand that you had only stepped back long enough to breathe. Harry had done the same in his own way. He met with Ron over laptop screens more often than in boardrooms now, choosing home whenever he could. Some afternoons, you would wake from a nap to find him at the foot of the bed, muted on a call, one hand resting absently over your ankle while he listened to Ron speak. By the time you entered your thirtieth week, your doctor stopped sounding politely cautious and began sounding direct. “You cannot be alone at home now,” she said. “Not for long periods. Not with this level of risk.” Harry’s hand tightened around yours. She reviewed the warning signs, the possibility of early labor, the need to avoid stress, overexertion and anything that might trigger contractions. “I’m also recommending pelvic rest from this point forward.” You glanced at Harry. He looked straight ahead.

The doctor continued, perfectly professional. “That means no intercourse, no penetration, and no sexual activity that results in orgasm. Uterine contractions after orgasm are usually harmless in low-risk pregnancies, but in your case, with twins and your current risk factors, we are not encouraging anything that could increase uterine activity.” Harry’s expression did not change, but his hand became very still around yours. You bit the inside of your cheek. He looked like a man receiving a sentence from a judge and refusing to appeal in public. In the car afterward, Harry remained silent for almost three minutes. “You’re being very mature,” you said. “I’m being tested.” You laughed and leaned your head against his shoulder. “It’s only temporary.” “I understand that.” “You look as if someone cancelled Christmas.” “I said I understand it. I didn’t say I enjoyed it.” But he was careful. More careful than you were, sometimes. When you curled into him at night, he kissed your forehead, your hair, your shoulder, then gently put space where space needed to be.

Sleeping became more difficult. Turning from one side to the other required planning, patience and, on particularly humiliating nights, Harry’s assistance. He surrounded you with pillows until the bed looked less like a bed and more like a medical nest designed by a luxury hotel. Still, the girls pressed against your ribs, your bladder, your lungs and every other part of you they apparently considered negotiable. Harry spoke to them every night. “Be kind to your mother,” he whispered, one hand spread over your stomach. “You’ll meet us soon enough.” A small kick answered him. “Not that soon,” he added sternly. You smiled into the pillow. Eight weeks, the doctor had said. Only eight weeks until you would meet your daughters.

Dinner was over when the call came. You were lowering yourself carefully onto the sofa, one hand braced against the armrest and the other resting over your stomach, when your phone began to ring on the coffee table. Unknown number. You frowned, reaching for it. “Who calls after dinner anymore?” Harry glanced up from where he was folding the throw blanket at the other end of the room. You answered before he could say anything. “Hello?” A woman’s voice spoke on the other end. Careful. Professional. “Ms. Queen? My name is Claire Walsh. I’m calling from a long-term care facility—” “A care facility?” you repeated, confused. Harry was beside you before the woman finished her next sentence. He took the phone gently but firmly from your hand. You stared at him. “Harry?” He ended the call. For a moment, neither of you spoke. “What was that?” “Nothing important.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You just took my phone from my hand. And hung up on a woman from a care facility.” “She shouldn’t have called you directly.” The sentence landed strangely. You pushed yourself higher against the cushions, studying him more closely. His face had gone pale, the controlled lines of it too still to be casual. “Harry,” you said slowly. “What is going on?” He looked away. That was enough. You knew every version of his silence. The business silence. The angry silence. The silence he used when he was trying to keep a room from collapsing around someone he loved. This was the last one. “How long have you been hiding calls from me?” His jaw tightened. Your breath caught. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? The last few days—your phone, Ron calling you outside the room, that woman—” “Baby.” “No.” Your voice sharpened. “Tell me. Please. What is going on?"

Harry stayed standing for another second. Then he exhaled, sat beside you and took both of your hands in his. “Last Friday, a woman came to the building,” he said carefully. “Security didn’t let her up. She said she needed to speak to you.” “About what?” “At first, I didn’t know.” Your fingers tightened around his. “And then?” “I saw her again the next day. Outside. I asked what she wanted.” Harry’s thumb moved slowly over your knuckles, as though he was trying to keep you anchored before he had even said the words. “She works at a long-term care facility,” he said. “Your biological father is there.” You swallowed. The room seemed to drop out from beneath you. For a second, you only stared at him. “My… what?” Harry’s face softened with worry. He reached up and brushed his fingers along your cheek. “Breathe for me."

You drew in a thin breath. One of the girls shifted beneath your ribs, and your hand moved instinctively to your stomach. “Continue,” you whispered. Harry nodded once. “She tried Scarlet first because he had been saying her name for weeks. Scarlet refused to speak to her. She tried to reach Mikey and couldn’t. Then she saw your name attached to mine in enough society articles to find the building.” Your mouth parted, but no sound came out. “Why is he there?” you asked finally. “Why is some woman calling me? Why now, after all these years?” Harry looked down at your joined hands. “The woman he left your mother for is gone. She took what remained of his money and disappeared when his illness became inconvenient.” His voice stayed low, measured. “He has Alzheimer’s. Advanced enough that some days he doesn’t know where he is. Some days he asks for Scarlet.

Some days he asks about the little boy.” “Mikey,” you breathed. Harry nodded. “And lately,” he said, softer now, “she said he keeps asking whether the baby was born.” The words moved through you like something cold. The baby. Harry did not answer immediately. Your eyes lifted to his. “Me?” His expression broke just enough to hurt. A tear slipped down your cheek. The daughter he had never met. The child he had left behind before she had even taken her first breath. Harry wiped the tear away with his thumb. “Baby, talk to me.” You stared past him, but all you could see was a man you had never known asking about a baby who had already grown up, married, divorced, survived him, and was now carrying two daughters of her own. “I need to see him.”

Harry’s brow drew together, that familiar deep crease forming between his eyes as his whole face tightened in immediate refusal. “No.” “Harry—” “No. Absolutely not.” “You don’t get to decide that.” “If we are talking about your health and our daughters’ safety, then I do get a say.” “A say, yes. Not the decision.” “You’re thirty weeks pregnant with twins. The doctor said no stress.” “I know what the doctor said.” “Then you know this is exactly the kind of thing she meant.” You pulled your hands back, not harshly, but enough to make him feel the distance. “I have to see him.” “You don’t owe him that.” “I know.” “He left you before you were born. He doesn’t deserve the chance to hurt you now.” “I know.” “Then why?” You pressed one hand to your stomach and swallowed hard. “Because if something happens and he dies, I will never know what was real.” Your voice broke. “I spent my whole life imagining him. When I was seven, I asked my mother about him, and after that I made up versions of him in my head. Younger. Better. Sorry.” You shook your head. “I don’t know if I want to see him. But I need to.” Harry looked at you for a long moment, the fight in his expression slowly giving way to something heavier. You reached for his hand again. “I don’t owe him anything,” you whispered. “But I think I owe something to the seven-year-old version of me who thought he might still come back if she was worth coming back to.” That did it. Harry’s face changed completely. The anger left him first, then the argument. What remained was something softer, almost wounded. “Oh, baby,” he murmured. He reached for you at once, his hand sliding gently over your hair as he drew you closer.

His eyes had gone bright, though he tried to blink it away before you could see. “She was always worth coming back to,” he said quietly. “He was the one who didn’t deserve to find his way back.” Your breath broke against his chest. Harry closed his eyes briefly and let out a slow breath. When he opened them again, his fear was still there. So was the decision. “We go together,” he said.

The facility smelled like lemon cleaner, old carpet and something medicinal underneath. You hated that your first thought was how small everything seemed. The woman from the phone met you near the entrance and spoke softly to Harry while you stood with both hands curved over your stomach. He kept one hand at your lower back the entire time, steady and warm through the thin fabric of your dress. When they brought you to the room, you stopped at the threshold. The man sitting by the window was not the man you had imagined at seven. He was not the famous director whose face you had cut from old entertainment magazines and hidden in the back of your drawer. Not the man smiling beside actresses at premieres, not the man whose interviews you had read in secret, searching for some trace of yourself in the shape of his mouth or the way his eyes held the camera. That man had belonged to glossy paper and childhood invention. This one was thinner than memory had any right to make him. Older than he should have been. His hair had gone almost completely white, his shoulders folded inward beneath a cardigan that looked too large for him. His hands rested in his lap, restless over the blanket. For a moment, you could not breathe. Harry leaned closer. “We can leave.” You shook your head. The man turned at the sound. His eyes moved over Harry first, then found you. He stared. Your body went cold. “Scarlet?” he whispered. Harry’s hand tightened at your back. You tried to speak, but nothing came. The man’s gaze drifted lower, to your stomach. Something in his face changed. Confusion. Wonder.

A grief too late to be useful. “The baby,” he said. Your breath caught. He looked up at you again, eyes wet and empty of recognition. “Our girl?” The room tilted. “No,” you whispered. But he did not understand. Or perhaps some ruined part of him did, because his mouth trembled as he reached toward you with a hand that shook. Harry stepped between you at once. The movement broke something in you. You took a step back before you could stop yourself, one hand rising to your mouth as you looked at the helpless, fragile old man in front of you. He did not look like the man who had destroyed your mother. He did not look like the man who had left behind a pregnant wife and a one-year-old son. He looked small. Lost. Almost pitiful. And somehow, that hurt worse. For years, you had imagined anger would be enough to hold you upright if this moment ever came. You had imagined questions.

Accusations. The clean satisfaction of finally saying what a child could not. But there was no one here to answer you. Only an old man who looked at you and saw your mother. Only a mind trapped in the year he had left. Only the baby he had never stayed to meet, standing in front of him with two babies of her own. You turned away because you could not look at him anymore. Behind you, he murmured something soft and broken. “Scarlet… don’t go.” Your eyes closed. Harry understood before you spoke. “That’s enough,” he said gently. The woman from the facility said something behind you, but you did not hear it. Harry guided you into the corridor, one arm firm around your waist. You made it three steps before the sob broke loose. Harry pulled you into him. “I thought he would be different,” you choked out. “I know that’s stupid. I know he was never good.

But when I was little, I imagined this so many times.” “I know.” “He was supposed to be healthy. Arrogant. Shameless.” Your voice broke harder. “He was supposed to be the man who betrayed my mother and left two children behind. I was supposed to be able to hate him. To ask him why. To make him look at me.” Harry held you tighter. “But he can’t even do that,” you sobbed. “He can’t answer me. He can’t apologize. He can’t even know me.” “Breathe, baby,” Harry murmured. “Please. For me.” “He was supposed to see me.” Your fingers twisted in his jacket. “He doesn’t even know me, Harry.” “I know.” His voice was rough now. “I’m sorry.” You clutched at him, crying too hard to stand without him. “I’m right here,” he said, his hand moving slowly over your back. “You’re not that baby anymore. You hear me? You’re here. You have me. You have Richard—the father who stayed. You have our girls. He doesn’t get to take that from you.” You tried to nod. Harry’s hand moved to your stomach. “Think of them. Just breathe. In and out.” It took several minutes before you could move again.

The woman from the facility followed you into the corridor, holding a worn black notebook against her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said carefully. “There is one more thing.” Harry’s arm tightened around your waist. “Not now.” But your gaze had already dropped to the notebook. “What is that?” The woman hesitated. “They found it among his things when he was moved here. He kept it for years.” Her eyes softened with something like pity. “He knew about you, Ms. Queen. About both of you. It’s only in the last year that the illness began taking names from him.” The words landed too slowly. He knew.

You should have said no. Instead, you reached for it. The cover was cracked at the corners, the pages swollen from age. When you opened it, the first thing you saw was Mikey’s face, cut from a society magazine years ago and pasted crookedly onto yellowing paper. MICHAEL QUEEN CAUSES SCENE AT CHARITY AUCTION A laughless breath caught in your throat. Mikey looked younger in the photograph, grinning at someone outside the frame as if he had absolutely no intention of learning from the incident. The next page was Scarlet. SCARLET QUEEN TO STAR OPPOSITE ROBERT DE NIRO She was impossibly young, impossibly beautiful, her smile bright enough to belong to a woman who had not yet learned how much grief could cost. Then another. QUEEN AND CASTILLO FAMILIES UNITE IN HIGH-SOCIETY WEDDING Your first wedding. Your face beside Harry’s, both of you caught on the church steps, younger and shining with a kind of happiness you had not known enough to protect. Your fingers trembled as you turned the page. MS. QUEEN RETURNS TO NEW YORK A photograph from one of your first major public appearances after joining Queen Financial. Then another. QUEEN FINANCIAL’S HEIRESS STEPS INTO POWER And another. MS. QUEEN SHINES AT ANNUAL GALA Page after page. Your face, collected in silence. Not loved properly. Not claimed. Not protected. Just watched from a distance. Harry looked over your shoulder and went very still. Between the clippings, there were folded letters in shaky handwriting. Scarlet, forgive me. Scarlet, I made a mistake. Scarlet, tell me about my kids. The words blurred. A sound left you before you could stop it. “He…” you whispered. “All those years…” Harry turned toward you at once. “Baby—” “He knew.” Your hand moved to your stomach.

For one second, everything inside you went too quiet. Then a hard tightening pulled low across your abdomen. You gasped. Harry’s face changed instantly. “Baby?” Another wave came before you could answer. Not sharp enough to name, but deep and wrong enough to steal your breath. The notebook slipped from your fingers and hit the floor. “H-Harry.” He caught you before your knees gave way. “No, no, no.” His voice dropped into panic before he forced it steady. “Baby, look at me.” Your fingers clutched at his jacket. “The babies—” Harry lifted you into his arms before you could finish. “I’ve got you.” His voice was calm in the way it became only when he was terrified. “Open the doors,” he called down the corridor. “Now.” The woman from the facility moved quickly, shouting for help as Harry carried you toward the exit. “Look at me,” he said, holding you carefully against his chest. “Breathe for me.” Then he felt it. The warmth soaking through the fabric beneath his arm. For half a second, his mind went brutally blank. Then everything the doctor had said came back at once: thirty weeks, twins, stress, warning signs, early labor, rupture, pressure, do not wait. His hold tightened. “No,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Not yet.” Another pressure rolled through you, harder this time. A broken cry slipped from your mouth. “Harry.” Your voice cracked with fear. “It’s too early. It’s too early. I can’t—They can’t come now.” “Yes, you can.” He pressed his mouth briefly to your hair as he moved faster, his heart beating violently against you. “Listen to me. You can. I’m taking you to the hospital. You and the girls are going to be okay.” “I’m scared.” “I know.” His voice roughened.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.” The driver was already out of the car when Harry reached the entrance. “Mr. Castillo?” “Call the doctor,” Harry ordered as the doors opened ahead of him. “Now.” The driver grabbed his phone with shaking hands. Harry lowered you into the back seat, one arm still braced behind you, the other pressed protectively over your stomach. Another wave hit. You clutched his shirt, tears breaking free. “Harry…” He looked down at your face, all the color gone from his own. “Stay with me,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Please. Stay with me."

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You shake yourself back to reality, giving the soup another stir in the pot before you reach to turn off the stove. You move to take a spoon from one of the drawers. The smells in the kitchen makes your mouth water, and your moves are maybe too quick as you taste the still too hot food.

The moment the spoon touches your lips, you hear a loud and frustrated sigh coming from the living room.

Well, maybe today isn’t as peaceful as you thought it would be.

You swallow that spoonful of soup, humming at the taste before you put the used spoon in the dirty dishes. It clatters against the plates, but you’re already out the door, worry filling you as you round the corner and your eyes fall on Alex.

You furrow your brows, not noticing anything unusual. Alex is laying on the couch, headphones on, tapping on the bunch of paper in front of him in his lap with a pencil. You almost swoon at the way he looks like. Black tank top with gray sweatpants. One of those outfits he wears when he’s not in his practice room, playing on his cello in just a shirt and his underwear.

“Alex,” you call out, but quickly realize that he can’t hear you because of the music playing in both his ears.

So you walk through the room, your bare feet tapping on the wooden floor quietly as you get closer. When you arrive beside him he still doesn’t look up, and as you sit down a soft breeze hits you through the open window behind the couch.

“Alex,” you try again, leaning closer to him.

When he still doesn’t pay any attention, not even turning his gaze towards you for a second, you do something that you immediately know you would regret after.

You take hold of the bunch of paper in his lap, placing it on the coffee table in front of you, followed by his pencil too.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asks confused, brows furrowing, making the lines between them deeper.

You reach to push back his headphones, letting it hang around his neck as you look at him. “Lunch is ready,” you announce with a soft smile, pushing back a strand of hair that fell in front of his forehead.

His hands fall back onto his stomach, and with a frustrated sigh he throws his head back against the pillow. “I was in the middle of analyzing a very hard passage,” he murmurs under his breath, and you immediately feel guilty for interrupting him.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you couldn’t have known,” he shakes his head, lifting his head and looking at you. With one hand he reaches out, holding you by your waist and pulling you suddenly towards him. To prevent falling across him and landing on the floor, you throw your leg over his lap, straddling his hips. When your eyes fall on his face, you see a wide grin paying on his lips. “It’s okay.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, his arms circling your middle and pulling you down to his chest. You rest your head in the crook of his neck as much as the headphones allow, and you listen to the music playing from it, the pace too fast, notes flying so quickly you can’t even understand how someone is able to play that.

“What is it?” you ask, curiosity winning as you glance up at him from behind your eyelashes.

“Saint-Saëns, Cello Concerto No. 2, Op. 119,” he answers immediately. Your eyes widen at his precision for knowing the exact passage, and you smile up at him.

“Sounds complicated.”

“That’s why I’m analyzing it first. I may understand harder works, but not this one. The notes I’m making don't make any sense,” he explains, his thumb drawing small circles on your back.

“And it’s making you frustrated because you want everything to go perfectly on your first try.” It’s not even a question. You know him so well now, to understand that he’s a perfectionist, when it comes to his playing and music.

“At this point you know me better than me," he chuckles. He angles his head so he can place a soft kiss on your temple, hugging you tighter.

You stay like that for a few minutes. Him holding you, the music playing beside your ear, the occasional chirping of birds creeping through the window, filling the room. But no matter how peaceful the moment seems like, the position makes your legs go numb, so you start squirming in his lap, trying to find a better one.

As you move, you feel his hands tightening on your waist, and he lets out a low groan. “Shit. Stop moving around, baby.”

You look at him confused for a second, not understanding why he says that, but then realization dawns on you when you push yourself back to sit in his lap again. You can feel something hard under you, pressing against your center. You look at him with a surprised expression, but then a satisfied smile stretches across your face. “You’re hard.”

He tries to ignore your statement, clearing his throat as he looks up and down your body. “This is my shirt. The one that I played in yesterday.”

“Don’t avoid the conversation,” you warn him, leaning close so you are hovering above him, steadying yourself with your hands on his chest. “You’re hard just by me moving around a little in your lap.”

“That wasn’t moving around a little. You were basically dry humping me. Of course I get hard.”

“Oh, Alex. I see some concepts are not clear for you. This is what dry humping is,” you shoot back with a wicked smile, starting to move your hips around in his lap, dragging the most aching part of your body across the hard line of his cock in his pants, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh at the feeling, the thin fabric of your underwear not blocking the sensation.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, gripping your hips and guiding your movements as he occasionally lifts his hips to match your rhythm.

When he closes his eyes and throws his head back, you suddenly stop. He tries to thrust up again, but you lift off of him enough that he can’t reach you, and he looks at you with a wounded expression. “Why did you stop?”

“I thought you wanted me to stop, no? You said it moments before.”

“No, hell no. I don’t want you to stop. The music must have got to my brain for saying that. Too many notes, too many sounds, too many—”

You don’t let him finish the sentence, capturing his lips with yours. He groans into the kiss, and you take that quick moment to take control, slipping your tongue past his teeth. His hands wander down from your back to your ass, squeezing down hard when you teasingly nip at his bottom lip.

You can feel his hands moving again, up under your — technically his — shirt, caressing your back before he moves them to your front, moaning gently when he realized you don’t have any bra on. He immediately starts playing with your breasts, the callouses on his hands rough against your skin, but still igniting a fire on the path he takes with them.

You can feel the wetness between your thighs, and maybe because of the lack of oxygen getting to your brain because of the kiss, or because something else entirely, you get an idea you never had before.

You break away from him with a soft gasp, taking in a deep breath as you look into his eyes, seeing only hunger and desire burning in them, his soft brown eyes turning almost fully black.

When you feel like your brain can function again, you reach for his headphones, taking them off from around his neck, but not putting them down behind you on the coffee table. You just hold them while he looks at you with confusion. You nod towards his tank top. “Take it off.”

He complies without a sound, taking his hands from under your shirt and sitting up so he can quickly get out of his tank top, throwing it to the side. When he is done, he lays back again, his hands finding their place again on your waist.

You lift the headphones a little in the air, hovering above him again. “So I hear this piece is very fast. Must require some amazing finger work,” you wonder, and you watch how his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I wonder how yours is compared to it.”

Without warning you take hold of his left hand, guiding it down along the waistband of your underwear until you dip it into the fabric, his fingers immediately swiping across your wetness. He moves to dip his fingers lower, but you stop him with a soft squeeze on his wrist, and you hold up the headphones in your other hand. “You’ll follow this pace, alright?” you ask, and lift it to put it on his head, but he is the one stopping you now.

“I won’t be able to hear you that way.”

“Take it as a challenge or an experiment,” you answer. “Imagine a deaf musician. They simply rely on their feelings and eyes. They feel the vibration of the strings under their fingers, see where they’re supposed to hold them down. You feel too, no?” you ask, bucking your hips into his hand, his fingers gliding across your folds again.

“I do,” he nods, his voice strained.

“Great. Good thing you have this piece on repeat.”

You place the headphones on his head, pulling them over his ears so he can only hear the music and nothing else. You nod at him, and he dips his fingers between your folds, swiping them back and forth until his index settles on your clit, drawing slow and tight circles over it.

But his pace is not matching the music you heard coming from his headphone earlier, so you lean down next to his ear, lifting one side of the headphone so he can hear you. “I don’t think the music is this slow.”

That is all you say before placing the headphone back on his ear and leaning back again. At your words his finger immediately speeds up, following the pace of the piece in his ear. His eyes are studying your reactions closely, and you can see them glint when your mouth opens around a soft moan, your eyebrows running together.

You reach to unbutton the shirt you have on, giving him a free sight of your bare breasts, and he doesn’t miss a beat as he sits up to take one of your nipples in his mouth while his right hand plays with the other. His tongue circles around the hardened nub while his index finger wanders downwards towards your entrance. You hold on to him with your arms around his shoulders, and you tilt your hips a little when he eases one finger inside of you, a soft moan leaving your lips.

He starts to move it in and out of you to the music, and you can already feel your walls tightening around his finger, your orgasm building up faster in you than you expected.

It doesn’t take long until he adds a second finger too, and you look down at him.

He is now resting his chin on your sternum, your nipple still glistening from his saliva. But in his eyes you see such concentration like you never saw before. He is looking out for every small breath you let out against his face, every time you open your mouth when you moan, every time you furrow your brow at the sensation growing in you.

And you know he can also feel the way your walls are tightening around his fingers.

So when the music hits another fast point and he picks up the pace of his fingers again, you let go. You fall forward, letting your forehead rest against his while your orgasm washes over you. Your thighs are shaking slightly around his, but he holds you up, slowing his fingers so you can ride out your high without him overstimulating you.

When you feel like your body can work again, you lean in to kiss him. He reciprocates it, pulling his hand out from your underwear to place it on your thigh.

When you pull back, you also push off one side of his headphones. “And how is your timing?”

“What do you mean?” he asks confused.

“Your timing. When you have to hold down the note, or jump into a passage,” you explain, trying to sound like you understand everything about his world.

“It’s pretty good I guess,” he shrugs, still looking at you with furrowed brows, trying to guess where this conversation is going.

“How about we practice that too?” you ask, slowly climbing off of him to lay down on your back. He follows you, hovering above you. “Do you want the underwear to stay?” you ask, hooking your thumbs in the waistband.

“No, not this time,” he shakes his head, his answer coming out breathless. You start pushing the lacy material off, but he takes over halfway down your thighs, pulling them off himself and throwing it on the ground. His eyes fall on your exposed center for a second, and before you can say anything, he is already laying on his stomach between your thighs.

You place your leg on his shoulders, but realize that this position easily pushes off his headphones, so you reach down to pull it back in place, keeping your hands on either side of his head.

He doesn’t wait for you to approve his action, he dives in, swiping his tongue all the way from your entrance to your clit. You jerk your hips at the sudden contact, and he places one hand on your lower belly to keep you still.

You let out a loud moan when he starts drawing quick circles over your clit with his tongue, you are sure that he can hear it even through the headphones. And when he closes his lips around the little nub and starts sucking it gently between his teeth, you know you won’t be able to last too long this way.

And the second time you come, you want that to happen on his cock.

So you quickly pull him up by his hair, and the sight of him with your wetness glistening on his mustache and beard makes you go dizzy. You partially push back the headphones from his ears again.

You open your legs wider so he can settle in, and when he is leaning comfortably over you, you reach down to pull down his gray sweatpants along with his underwear too. The moment his cock is free, your focus falls on it. His tip is already glistening with his precum, the head almost an angry red for being denied any friction for so long.

You place your hand on his stomach first, following that path of coarse hair from his belly button leading down to his cock, taking a hold of him.

He lets out a long groan above you as you gather his precum with your fingers, spreading it over his length as you stroke him a few times.

When you pull your hand away, he tries to chase it at first, bucking his hips, but then he waits for what you are going to do next. You reach up taking a hold of his headphones. “Concentrate on the timing,” you remind him before you put the headphones back over his ears.

He purses his lips, but nods. He reaches down between your bodies, taking a hold of his cock and guiding it through your folds a few times before he lines himself up at your entrance, pushing in slowly. Your walls stretch around his length, and you throw your head back against the pillows at the feeling.

He lowers himself closer to your body, his forearms resting on both side of your head, his chest making contact with your breasts.

When he bottoms out, you both let out a strained moan. He waits for a few seconds for you to adjust to his size before he starts moving based on the music.

His rhythm is steady, and when he hits the spot in you, you don’t even care anymore if he really is following the music’s timing, or he is just making it up. Your arms are thrown around his shoulders, keeping him close while you wrap your legs around his waist, the new angle allowing him to go deeper in you, making you see stars.

You are moaning at every thrust, and next to your ear Alex is grunting too, breathing heavily and occasionally cursing under his breath. You can hear the music drifting out from his headphones, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

You tear it off from his head, throwing it to the ground carelessly.

Alex falters for a second, pulling back to look down at you, and when you nod in encouragement it is almost like a spell falls over him. He leans down to capture your mouth with his, and he starts driving into you with more force and determination, and you can’t help but hold on to him tighter, every thrust sending you further up on the couch.

The living room is filled with moans and the sound of skin slapping against each other, the smell of sweat and sex lingering in the air. Now the house is not filled with cello notes bouncing off the walls, but with the music of two people merging into one.

“Oh God, Alex,” you moan into his mouth.

He groans too, closing his eyes tightly. “Fuck, I missed hearing your moans,” he murmurs against your lips before kissing you again.

You can feel yourself get closer to your high again, and you pull back to warn him. “I’m close, Alex. I think I’m gonna—” Your sentence is broke off with a loud moan from you, your walls squeezing him tight as your orgasm washes over you in waves again, this one a lot more powerful than the previous.

Alex doesn’t stop moving above you, but you can feel how his thrusts become sloppier, and he doesn’t need more than a few before he comes hard, burying himself to the hilt, his warmth filling you. You can feel his cock twitching in you as your walls milk every last drop of cum from him, and then he collapses over you, careful not to crush you with his weight.

Neither of you says anything, but you don’t need to.

You brush your fingers through his hair, combing back the sweaty curls as he breathes into the crook of your neck. His hand is all over your body where he can reach — your arms, your shoulders, your sides, your outer thighs.

You have already learned that after such an intense time with you he always needs time to process. He is not used to such level of intimacy, not used to being vulnerable in front of anyone. So after these moments he needs some time to look back at them while you hold him close. Not because he is weak, but because he is afraid of the possibility that it was only just a dream that he made up to comfort himself.

And you always wait patiently until he is the one to break the silence.

Like now.

“I’m hungry,” he says with such simplicity that you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“I bet you are. We’ll need to re-heat the soup.”

“Maybe, but I don’t regret having this moment,” he shrugs, looking up at you with a loving smile. He cranes his neck to place a kiss on your jaw before he pushes himself off of you. Both of you let out a low hiss when he pulls out of you, the emptiness in you suddenly too unexpected. He gets up from the couch, pulling his underwear and sweats back on before he looks back down at you. “I’ll get a wet towel.”

You nod, resting your head on a soft pillow as you watch him walk away, the muscles in his back moving under his tanned skin, hips swaying slightly with every step he takes, making your eyes fall on the curve of his ass.

When he disappears around the corner, you look up at the ceiling, closing your eyes for a few minutes, listening to the birds chirping outside under the window.

You only open them again when you hear his footsteps.

He kneels down beside the couch, cleaning you gently, and you watch in silence as he works. When he is done, you look around for your underwear, and when you see it on the ground you reach for it, but he stops you. You glance at him holding up a simple black material, and you look at him with a questioning expression. “A new pair of underwear. So you wouldn’t have to put on back one that is… well, you know,” he tries to find the words, and you consider it adorable how he stumbles over his own thoughts.

“I get it, don’t worry,” you reassure him, taking it from his hand to put it on. When the material sits around you comfortably, you take his face between your palms, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead. “Thank you.”

“Right,” he laughs nervously, getting up from the ground and pointing in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll, uh, get us some food then. I’ll be right back,” he announces.

Before he can disappear behind the corner you call after him. “Alex.”

He turns around quickly, eyebrows pulled up, waiting for your next words. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

His lips pull into a small smile at those three words. He nods before he finally disappears.

He didn’t say it back. He never has, but you're patient with him. You know about some of the traumas that happened in his past. He sometimes is emotionally distant, but you don’t blame him. In those times you let him have his moment in his practice room, and when he comes out after spending hours in there, you keep him company.

Sometimes he talks about what happened at the rehearsal that day, or why he feels that way, sometimes he just prefers the silence and you close to him. There were times he asked you to read for him, or asked if he could play for you while you watched.

Even though he doesn’t say it out loud, you know he loves you. He shows it with his actions.

He just needs time to process his own emotions and feelings before he can say those three little words out loud too.

And you will be next to him when that day comes. Let it be days, weeks, months, or even years. But you know that you won’t ever be his first true love.

His true love will always be the music, and the beauty of playing. He fell in love with it as a child, and since then the bond between him and the music only grew. Nothing proves it better than him still playing on his first cello, that he got from his parents.

But you don’t mind. It was composed for him this way.

And his fingers run through the strings of life with a quiet, but strong confidence, creating a beautiful melody.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from it): @picketniffler, @speaktothehandpeasants, @harriedandharassed, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @misstokyo7love, @shadowqueen2024, @missadangel, @annwrites24, @eviispunk, @baronessvonglitter, @johnssherlock221, @goonersquad101, @my-tearsricochet, @nutbutterjellie, @kokoluwie, @cozymochaa

Voices of your family fill Javier’s ears, the bug you planted in your father’s office finally being put to use and listened to. For a while, they got absolutely no information from it. Jerónimo was rarely in his office after Andrés was killed, and when he was, it was for a few minutes and he didn’t say anything.

Now your family is planning a party to do damage control. Something like this is typical; a party is thrown to show that everything within the cartel is perfectly fine even when it’s not. When it comes to this world, it’s all about appearance. If your cartel name is being slaughtered in the newspaper, you throw a big expensive party and invite other cartels to show that it’s not getting to you.

Everyone knows about it and no one speaks on it.

Your father is constantly using vulgar language to describe everything he thinks you’ve been doing behind his back. Most of it is conspiracies he’s heard from extended family, while a sliver of it is factual. 

Honestly, Javier has to give props to you for standing your ground and not letting your father scare you out of the house. Based on the things this man is saying alone, he knows it must be difficult for you. The way he speaks about you gives Javier a nauseating feeling in his stomach, knowing that no father should ever talk about his daughter in this way, regardless of differences. 

His contact with you has been sparse yet again. He doesn’t blame you for taking a step back. He shouldn’t have pushed you to stay with him in the first place. To him, right now it feels like everything you were doing is on pause. His entire life is consumed by you – both at work and his apartment.

It makes him feel like a lovestruck teenager that never gets over their first crush.

Maybe in another life, the two of you won’t have to live in secret; but for now, this is the way things have to be.

He focuses on the conversation at hand, headphones over his ears, the setting sun painting golden rays along the desks in the room. The station funneled out a while ago, something about a celebration at a bar. He wasn’t really listening.

Now it’s just him, Steve, and the linguist, Edward Jacoby: a scrawny white guy with glasses. Javier isn’t necessarily friends with the man but he admires his work ethic. He’s been able to get a few hits but nothing too solid. 

As he listens, he taps his thumb against his pointer finger, putting together the pieces in his head. The name ‘Botero’ is mentioned and he and Steve share a glance.

“No quiero lidiar con ese cabrón esta noche (I don’t want to deal with that fucker tonight),” Jerónimo states firmly, voice slightly muffled from the placement of the bug.

The fake senator that was stopped in Cartagena eventually gave up the location of Sebastián. They haven’t had probable cause yet to storm his place, but they could tail him to the party tonight and figure out where your family is held up.

The sun licks at your skin, beading sweat down your torso. You’ve been laying out all day on a chaise, reading a dark romance book you picked out from the library. To say it’s kept you entertained is an understatement… and it makes you miss Javier, that’s for sure.

With everything that’s been going on, there’s been no time to stop by at his place for a late night booty call, or even please yourself. You haven’t been in the right headspace for any of that either.

A particular scene gets too hot and heavy, making you put the book down on the side table before you actually do consider slipping your hand into your skimpy bikini. For now, you relax, using your arm as a pillow and soaking up the mid-winter sun.

You close your eyes, easing your nerves by listening to your surroundings. The water in the pool laps gently in the whispering breeze, birds fly by, tweeting in harmony, and heavy footsteps… that couldn’t be anyone else’s but your father’s.

Just when you were starting to get comfortable.

You peek one eye open, doing a double take when you notice his appearance. He’s cleaned up, looking exactly like he did when you were younger. His hair is shorter, beard shaved but he still has that annoying goatee, his precious gold jewelry on his fingers and wrists; looking the part of a drug lord perfectly. A blue button down hugs his chest, white stitching giving it depth and personality.

It takes your eyes a second to adjust to the sunlight when you push your sunglasses down, eyeing him over the rim. “¿Por qué te ves así? (Why do you look like that?)”

“¿Cómo qué? (Like what?)” he questions, taking a step closer and casting a shadow over you.

Your eye twitches, pushing your glasses back in place and standing up. You grab the towel you were lying on, wrapping it around your body to cover yourself before he comments on how much skin you’re showing when your younger cousins are just inside. 

“Como si realmente fueras a trabajar (Like you’re actually going to work),” you respond, watching him shift his weight onto one foot.

Jerónimo chuckles lightly, resting a hand on his belt buckle, gripping the bulky piece. His presence is irking your soul right now, wondering why he’s bothering you when he’s been pretending like you don’t exist.

“Nosotros vamos a tener una fiesta aqui esta noche (We’re throwing a party here tonight),” he announces, “Tenemos que guardar las apariencias después del desastre que provocaste (Have to keep up appearances after the mess you caused.)”

You raise your brows slightly, “Is that right?”

“Yes,” he nods, “I expect you to crawl out of your hole for once.”

A tight smile stretches across your face, silently telling him that he’s made his point and you don’t want to have this conversation anymore. He’s crawled out of his, so now it’s time for you to crawl out of yours.

“Don’t entertain any whores that you’re paying tonight,” you walk past him, tilting your head up to look at him. “Wouldn’t want mom to turn over in her grave.”

A muscle tics in his jaw, “Shut your mouth.”

Javier’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight that his knuckles are nearly white. Steve sits in the passenger’s seat, eyeing the front gate of Sebastián Botero’s million dollar mansion. The sun is long gone, the sky as dark as the shadow they’re idly sitting in.

He doesn’t have an explanation for it yet, but he feels like something is going to go wrong. All they can do is follow Botero to the house. If they tried to ambush the party, too many people would get away and they’d be killed. There’s no doubt about it.

He knows that, so why does all of this feel so unsettling?

The metal gate slowly opens, two sleek black SUVs and a limo pulling out and gliding down the street. He waits a few seconds before he turns the key, starting up the engine and trailing a few cars behind. 

Steve glances at him from his peripheral vision, deciding to ask something that’s been bothering him. “Why are you sticking your neck out for this girl?”

Javier tenses slightly, rolling his tongue over his teeth. Right now, he doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not when the stakes are so high and they could possibly be driving towards nearly every sicario in the city. It’s not a topic of conversation he wants to have with his partner, but he feels like he has to. If he doesn’t speak about it now, it’ll eat him alive in the future.

He shakes his head faintly, taking a slow left turn, keeping his eyes on the limo in the distance. “We were wrong about her,” he murmurs, “She actually has a heart… unlike her family.”

“Do you think you’re really in love with her or the idea of her?” the blonde man probes, his voice even.

He clenches his jaw, his mind running a million miles a minute. He never really thought of it that way. What if it’s not love and instead, the idea of being with someone that he can’t and isn’t supposed to have? The thrill of the chase could be getting to him and clouding his judgement. He doesn’t want to think that it’s that – they’re intrusive thoughts – but he also knows deep down that the chances of it lasting are slim to none.

You remind him of a flower sometimes; all you need is water, love, and sunshine before you can reach your full potential. He’d be appreciative if you allowed him to be the person to nurture you, but he also feels like he knows you well enough to know that you deserve better than himself.

Javier’s not a very attentive partner. He is in other aspects of his life but he lacks that quality when it comes to relationships. It’s a lot easier to just have one night stands with no strings attached; then, no feelings are involved and no one gets hurt.

You’re more than that, and it scares him shitless.

What you have going isn’t something that he wants to mess up, but he knows that he will eventually, even if he doesn’t have the intentions to. 

He’s been fighting himself since he last saw you, letting his thoughts swim. You’re right about everything – he knows that – but it doesn’t make it any easier. Maybe the best thing for him to do is let you go. All he’ll do is hold you back in the future… if there is one.

His brown eyes flick over to Steve’s blue ones for just a second but it says enough.

It’s complicated.

Eventually, the SUVs and limo turn onto a winding road that leads towards the country: quiet, isolated, out of sight from the main road. Javier doesn’t turn, instead driving a little further up and parking on the side of the road. The two of them get out, walking up the steep hill the winding pavement follows.

The view they’re met with takes Javier’s breath away. In the distance, a hacienda sits on the plot of land. At least 50 different cars surround the water fountain in the driveway, lush greenery outlines the circular platform, the mansion’s beautiful Spanish-colonial architecture: cream stucco and terracotta roofs. Faint rumba beats reach his ears, knowing this is the right spot and there has to be handfuls of drug lords here.

Inside, you finish getting ready in your room. The music blares through the house, chatter and laughter filling the space. You’re not in the partying mood but at least you look good. Francisco took you shopping beforehand and you managed to find the perfect dress. The black dress accentuates your curves, lace with floral designs along the length of it. It stops mid-calf, black red bottom Christian Louboutins to give you a bit of height and diamonds from your mother’s jewelry box to complete the look.

Jerónimo shot daggers into the back of your head while you went through Sara’s things yet again. When he sees you wearing his late wife’s clothing and jewelry, it’s like seeing a ghost from his past. He’ll never talk to you about it, but you know he hates it. 

That’s part of the reason why you love doing it. Though, it’s really because it makes you feel closer to her; like you’re keeping her spirit alive just by wearing what she used to.

Frankie stands post outside your room, following you down the spiral staircase once you exit. The voices get louder, men in tuxedos and women in expensive dresses scattered all over the place. One by one, eyes land on you. Some people admire your look, others reek of envy.

It feels weird having so many people in your home, but you know your father needs to save face.

You find him in the living room, a cigar between his lips while he laughs at something someone said. When he spots you, he throws his arms up, pretending to be happy to see you. “Ahí está mi princesa. (There’s my princess.)”

The sudden affection makes your skin crawl, a tight-lipped smile tugging at your lips when he pulls you in to kiss your temple. “¿No se parece cada día más a su madre? (Doesn’t she look more and more like her mother everyday?)” as he asks, he gives your upper arm a tight squeeze, presenting as a loving gesture to everyone else but you know it’s a warning squeeze to play nice.

You give Frankie a subtle look, a silent plea for help. All he does is nod faintly, reassuring that you’ll be fine. You know you won’t be. You already want to lock yourself back in your room and pretend like none of them exist.

Just then, at least 8 rugged looking guys walk through the front door; tall, well-built, clad in black from head to toe. Murmurs die down, heads turn, jaws drop. A tall, burly figure slips between all of them, puffing out his chest as he buttons the middle of his blazer. His dark curls are gelled back, thick shaped mustache hiding his top lip, wearing a tuxedo with a bowtie.

It takes you a moment to recognize him, but once you do, you move towards him. “Seba!” you call out to him, opening your arms for a hug.

Sebastián’s expression softens, meeting you halfway for a big bear hug. He grunts as he squeezes you tight, pulling back to look at you. “Eras mucho más pequeñita la última vez que te vi, pequeña. (You were so much smaller the last time I saw you, babygirl.)”

A small chuckle leaves you, feeling the warmth of his palm when he cups your face. “De eso hace ya una década. (That was a decade ago by now.)”

Your father interrupts the moment, clearing his throat to get your attention. He exhales the smoke from his cigar, narrowing his eyes at Sebastián in challenge. “¿Qué estás haciendo aquí? (What are you doing here?)”

He blinks in surprise, lips twitching underneath his mustache. In your opinion, Jerónimo has always been a little jealous of the relationship you have with Sebastián. You’ve always seen him as more of a father than your biological one and he hates it with a passion.

“No hay necesidad de ser hostil, papá (There’s no need to be hostile, dad),” you try to ease the tension, “¿No eran amigos en algún momento? (Weren’t you guys friends at some point?)”

They were, but it was only out of obligation. Both of them live and work in the same world. There’s never been any need for bad blood, which is why they work very closely together… in two completely different cities.

Jerónimo glances at you sideways, just about ready to send you back to your room for getting involved in business that doesn’t involve you in the slightest. You tilt your head as you look at him, “Be nice,” you whisper, patting him on the shoulder before you walk away; giving him the privacy that he wants to talk to Sebastián alone.

Later, you find yourself at the bar, watching the two men bicker. You’re on your fourth martini, mind starting to get a little fuzzy. Frankie watches you from the corner, noticing your intense stare on your father specifically.

He’s seen you and Botero interact a handful of times when you were younger. The appreciation you have for him over your father speaks volumes… in his opinion. He also remembers how close Sara and Sebastián were before she passed. The man checked on her frequently, just about the same amount as Jerónimo did.

If Frankie didn’t know any better, he’d think that the two of them had something going on behind Jerónimo’s back. But he also knew how loyal Sara was and she never would’ve done anything to break up her family.

You down another glass, popping the olive into your mouth. When you look back over, the two men have disappeared from your sight. You shoot up, almost losing your footing and prompting Francisco to appear at your side. He steadies you, anchoring you to reality.

You give him a small nod, grateful for his practicality. Without much of a second thought, you make your way through the crowd, unintentionally listening to the conversations around you. All of Sebastián’s guards are still standing around but you catch a glimpse of him and your father heading towards the office.

The station has been lively since this morning. Javier and Steve stayed a little while after finding your family’s safehouse, scoping it out and coming up with a gameplan. They’re going to need a lot of firepower before they can even consider raiding it. And he has to make sure you’re not in the house when it happens.

Their newly appointed boss, Claudia Messina is flown in to oversee the operation, working closely with Carrillo and his team. 

This is it, Javier thinks. Years of work is finally being put to use to stop this cartel once and for all, and he couldn’t be more relieved. The only thing is, he can’t get a hold of you right now. He’s paged you constantly since early this morning. 

Your father and Botero had a very long conversation in his office last night, and Javier needs to make sure that you’re okay. Steve keeps reassuring him that you’re fine but he’s not convinced.

The man ratted you out to his partner without hesitation and they spoke about business. A discreet location was mentioned and if they get the upperhand and surprise them, both Jerónimo and Sebastián can be arrested by nightfall.

Everyone meets in the communications room, Edward informed Javier that he got a match on a voice and gathered everyone up. He messes with the wiretap reels, a little intimidated by Javier’s frame hovering near him. It’s obvious to everyone that he’s on edge today and he doesn’t want to do anything to tip him off.

Distorted voices fill the space, not really audible at all. “This was recorded about five minutes ago.”

“You can barely fucking hear it,” Javier fumes, bringing his hand up to his mouth to rub your thumb over your bottom lip.

“Alright, let me clean it up,” Jacoby utters, rewinding the tape to clear it up.

Javier can see Messina eyeing him in his peripheral vision, spinning her pen in her hands. He feels like she’s had it out for him since she got here, reprimanding him for the way he’s handled things without the proper authorization. Honestly, he has nothing against his boss being a woman… he just doesn’t do well with people of authority telling him what to do.

The tape begins playing again, Jerónimo’s voice filling the space. “Todos apagan sus teléfonos satelitales. (Everyone turn off their satellite phones.)”

Steve throws his hands up, a faint triumphant look on his face. Your father isn’t alone it seems, but he’s also not at home. It’s now or never.

“That’s Cruz,” Javier states.

Carrillo speaks up, voice carrying command. “We have to move now.”

As Javier and Steve begin to move, Messina stands up. “You two are staying here.”

He almost scoffs, knowing that they’re getting sidelined because of his own actions. Everything he’s done has got them to this point and he’s tired of taking shit. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“No,” she starts, “You have caused enough damage for the both of you alone. Search Bloc can handle this without you.”

“Javi is the reason we’re standing in this room in the first place,” Steve defends his partner, snarling at the woman.

“It’s not negotiable,” she states firmly.

Silence stretches for a moment, both Javier and Steve silently fuming at her audacity to make them sit this raid out.

Carrillo presses his lips into a fine line, “We’ll be in radio contact.”

Javier scoffs, shaking his head. “Jesus.”

You stand against the wall of the poorly lit room, unsure of why you’re even here in the first place. A black long sleeve hugs your torso, gray slacks and black heels to complete the look. Your father told you this is a "business meeting,” Sebastián, your Tía Luciana and Tíos Luca and Alberto, and Francisco in the room with you. 

The shirt stretches as you cross your arms over your chest, already wanting to go back home. You have a bad feeling about this, remembering the last time you were forced to tag along on a “business” trip. You know what kind of business Jerónimo means.

“Todos apagan sus teléfonos satelitales (Everyone turn off their satellite phones),” your father instructs, not speaking again until everyone has done so.

He looks over at you, raising his brows expectantly. “You too.”

You furrow your brows, bewildered by the request. You don’t own a satellite phone – you never have. “No tengo uno de esos. (I don’t have one of those.)”

Jerónimo stares at you for a moment, a muscle in his jaw tensing as he takes a deep breath. From the look on his face alone, you can tell he’s already regretting bringing you here.

He doesn’t say anything else to you, going on about things that need to happen within the cartel now that Andrés is dead. Confusion settles over you once again. This should’ve been something that was discussed right after his death, and you know for a fact that it doesn’t involve Sebastián.

Still, you stay silent, mulling over everything in your head. Frankie nudges you with his elbow, picking up on your dismay and your father’s impatient tics. He constantly looks up at the clock on the wall as he speaks to everyone, standing up and starting to pace.

You watch him closely, narrowing your eyes by a fraction. He’s waiting for something. What it is, you don’t have the slightest clue. You don’t think you’ve seen him this antsy since your mother’s funeral; he didn’t sit down for hours on end that day, making sure that everything was perfectly in order because that’s the way she would’ve wanted it.

You’re about to open your mouth before a loud explosion sounds down the street, rumbling the building. Your heart drops, barely processing when everyone moves to grab their handguns.

“¿Qué carajo está pasando? (What the fuck is going on??)” you ask Frankie, being pulled to his side and protected by his body.

“He was waiting for it,” he murmurs, earning eyes from your father.

For a single second, Jerónimo studies the way Francisco guards you like his life depends on it. Sure, it’s his job, but it’s the comment that was murmured that catches him off guard. He has no time to think about it before multiple rounds of shots are fired.

You cover your ears, hiding behind your bodyguard’s frame like a scared little girl. Your father and everyone else step outside, walking straight into the chaos. All the air leaves your lungs, your breathing shallow and frantic. An unsettling feeling washes over you, your body suffocating being between the wall and the hard planes of Frankie’s body.

The shots go on for what feels like hours before they die down, making you raise your head and Frankie takes a step forward, still holding out a hand behind him to silently tell you that it’s not safe yet.

Ignoring him, you push past his body, bolting to the door and nearly twisting your ankle in the process. The sight you’re met with outside makes your breath hitch; smoke fills your lungs, fire reflecting off of buildings and puddles on the asphalt. At least a dozen police squad cars are scattered: windows shattered, blood splatters across them. Men in green uniforms lay on the ground, pools of crimson red underneath their lifeless bodies.

You do a 180°, frantically breathing in a weak attempt to get air back into your body. Why would he bring you here? To show you just how much of a monster he is?

He always promised your mother that he would never get this close to authority because his public view would change and people would turn on him; resulting in him getting caught. If she was still alive, all of this would feel like a punch to the gut. Not only would he have lied to her, but he would’ve put yours and her life at risk just because he felt like they deserved it.

A shuddering exhale escapes you, eyes wide as you take in the scene. Frankie grabs your arm just as you look over, spotting your father standing over Horacio Carrillo’s body. His handgun weighs heavily in his hand, your ears straining to hear what he’s saying over the crackle of the fire.

“Esto es para mi hermano, Andrés (This is for my brother, Andrés),” Jerónimo growls, cocking the chamber of his gun and unloading the entire clip directly into the man’s chest.

His body jerks with every bullet that hits him, laying out on the wet pavement.

Francisco cradles your head against his chest when a choked sound leaves you, bringing one of your trembling hands up to cover your mouth; too stunned to speak or move. Everyone’s heads turn towards you, Sebastián’s expression softening slightly and Jerónimo’s still cold as ice.

Sirens wail in the far distance, backup and ambulances already on their way. You don’t cry yet, keeping your unsteady hand over your mouth to keep your emotions at bay and the bile that threatens to come up.

Jerónimo removes the empty clip, handing it and the gun to your Tío Alberto so he can hold you instead. He may be a heartless bastard but he seems to still know when to comfort you. “Cariño,” he murmurs, waving a hand to beckon you to lean against him.

Something in you snaps at the term of endearment. You glare up at him, standing up straight and letting your hand fall to your side. Frankie shifts, when you pull away, taking a step back to give the two of you space.

You take in your surroundings – everything that he caused – and that’s when you come to the decision that this has to end. You’ve played this game for long enough and you’re tired of your life being like this. Bloodshed is not something you should be surrounded by and you don’t want to be.

You already wanted him dead. Now you have even more reason to.

Instead of leaning into his “comfort,” you take a slow step back, glass crunching underneath your heel.

Jerónimo says your name once, voice tight with warning. He has a feeling that he knows what you’re doing, following the steps that you take. “No lo hagas. (Don’t do it.)”

You don’t listen. When have you ever listened to him, really?

Defiance gleams in your eyes, etched all across your face as you pull back physically and emotionally. This isn’t your family, and it never will be again.

He says your name again, and you swear you hear an edge of pleading in his tone. It’s not enough to get you to change your mind, though. Everyone around you waits with bated breath, the sirens getting louder and closer. If you wait a little longer, you can get all of them arrested but you know you would be alongside them.

You retreat fully, turning your back on your father and walking into the darkness of the night. “Déjala ir. Déjala ir. (Let her go. Let her go),” you hear the scuffing behind you, Sebastián keeping him from going after you. “Ella volverá. (She’ll be back.)”

There’s no time to chase after you or think about it before they have to disappear into the shadows as well.

Javier’s not sure of how many traffic laws he breaks driving to the site. Him, Steve, Messina, and Jacoby heard everything go down on the comms. His palms are sweaty, jaw clenched, mind racing as he tries not to think the worst.

Fuck, who is he kidding? He heard the explosion and all the shots that were fired before he slammed his hand down on the machine and stormed out of the room.

Now, he watches the medics put a white sheet over his friend’s body, rolling the stretcher towards the ambulance. His hands feel useless at his side, mind betraying him and telling him that he’s responsible for Horacio’s death.

“If you hadn’t gotten so distracted with her, Carrillo would still be alive.”

It’s bullshit.

It’s all just a bunch of bullshit that he has no control over. Except this time, he did. Javier has failed someone yet again. And this time it ended in death.

He has to let you go. If he doesn’t, you may end up just like the people around him. To him, he feels that it’s best if he has no one close in his life because he always ends up hurting them in the end.

He has disappointed his father by leaving Texas and never calling, he’s pissed off Lorraine’s entire family because he left her at the altar (regardless of if they knew about her fake pregnancy), he betrayed Steve’s trust by getting involved with you when he told him countless times that it would end up horribly. And now he’s gotten a good friend killed over his selfishness and greed. 

His partner stands next to him, arms crossed with a cigarette between his fingers. “I’ll go back to Bogotá with the body until the funeral.”

Javier doesn’t answer for a second, Steve stubbing out his cancer stick after taking one final drag. “They call his wife?” he asks, watching them place the stretcher inside the back of the truck.

“Yeah, she’s on her way from Madrid,” Steve turns around, watching the firefighters behind them tame the fire. He places his hands on his hips, leaning in slightly. “This ain’t on you, Javi. It’s on Cruz. And one way or another, he pays.”

He stares at nothing in particular, spotting a familiar figure appearing from the shadows. “We all do. Right?”

You assess the damage, stumbling in your heels. From his place, he can see how red-rimmed your eyes are, like you’ve been crying or throwing up nonstop. 

For a second, he chastises himself in his mind, knowing that he doesn’t have the energy to be dealing with this right now. But then you freeze when you spot him, the tension in your shoulders dropping almost immediately.

How the fuck is he going to explain this to you when it’s all over?

You and Steve cross paths. You don’t notice him glancing at you sideways, too busy getting to Javier to wrap your arms around his neck. 

The second you’re in his arms, you break down completely. “I’m so sorry,” you murmur into his shirt, tears streaming down your face.

He runs a soothing hand down your back, his head in the crook of your neck. He shouldn’t be mad at you; it wasn’t you that did it, it was your father. But that’s the problem. You’re associated with them whether you like it or not, and right now, he can’t seem to separate the two.

Steve watches the two of you from the back of the ambulance until the doors close, noting the distant look in his partner’s eyes. You’re oblivious to it, your trembling body clinging desperately to Javier’s.

He pulls back, cupping your face in his hands and murmuring things that are meaningless to him right now.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“I got you.”

You explain everything that happened once he takes you to the DEA safehouse, sitting in a chair at the dining table with your knees up to your chest, cradling yourself. You smell of his bodywash: cedar and sandalwood, hair still damp from the shower that you took. One of his faded t-shirts drapes over your frame, swallowing you whole.

It feels weirdly domestic as he gazes at you, elbow resting on the table with his hand over his mouth. Lazy tendrils of smoke escape from his unfinished cigarette, sitting in an ashtray of old butts. He reaches for the crystallized glass he’s been pouring whiskey into, downing the rest of the brown liquid. It burns his throat, making him grit his teeth.

The dull ache remains, knowing that all of this could’ve been avoided if he just left you alone. He stares at you, watching you shrink into yourself and gaze at the floor. He balls up his fist, resting it against his cheek and pressing his fingers against his palm repeatedly. 

It’s a losing battle – he knows that. He’s buried his emotions under a stoic mask for so long that it feels like an elephant is weighing down on his chest. 

Absentmindedly, he reaches for the closest part of you to him, unsure of what he even needs right now. A shoulder to cry on? A warm body to hold? Or a different kind of emotional release.

You stand slowly, padding over until you’re between his legs. You stroke his hair back so gently, even though he doesn’t deserve it. For a moment, he lets you soothe him the way you want, pressing his forehead against your stomach and closing his eyes. When he feels your grip at the nape of his neck, he surges from his chair, the object scraping across the floor before he crashes his lips against yours.

A low moan leaves you, being swallowed eagerly by his mouth, slipping his tongue past your lips. He doesn’t ask for anything, he just takes, hoisting you up and carrying you towards his bedroom.

He kicks the door shut behind him, falling into bed with you. No time is wasted, his warm palms already guiding up your thighs and underneath the shirt you’re wearing. A growl leaves him when he slips his hand into the waistband of your panties, already finding you slick for him.

You tip your head back when he circles your clit, pressing your thighs together. He mouths at your exposed neck, nipping and sucking on the sensitive skin.

Is it wrong to use you like this? Yes.

But he can tell that you want it just as much as he does by the way you moan his name when he buries two thick fingers inside you, curling them relentlessly against the sensitive spot that makes you see stars.

“Suenas tan linda, princesa (You sound so pretty, princess),” he purrs, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. 

The kiss is messy, hungry, and tender all in one, stealing the air from both of your lungs. He pulls back just to slant his lips against yours again. Your sounds grow louder and more frequent, waves of arousal crashing over you unexpectedly.

Javier slows his fingers to a gentle caress, massaging your fluttering walls and prolonging your pleasure until you’re a puddle beneath him. It’s only then that he brings his hand up to his lips, holding the back of your neck with his other hand to make sure you’re watching him suck your creamy release off his fingers.

The sight shoots a fresh wave of heat through your body, pupils blown wide with desire. Without a second thought, you lick into his mouth, tasting your slick on his tongue. Your hands nimbly work the buttons on his shirt, tossing it across the room before cupping the prominent bulge straining his jeans.

He groans against your mouth, hips bucking into your hand to chase the friction. Hastily, you remove the rest of each other’s clothing, needing to feel each other the proper way.

Javier easily manhandles you, flipping you over onto your stomach and yanking your hips up. The bulbous head of his cock probes at your mouthing entrance, thrusting inside in one smooth motion. He doesn’t give you time to breathe or adjust to his girth before he sets a punishing pace; slamming into your tight cunt over and over.

You and your pussy sing for him, fresh slick washing over you when the curve of his dick hits just the right spot, his heavy sack slapping against your swollen clit. You can’t catch your breath and you’re not sure if you even want to. Every nerve end lights on fire, another peak already beginning to rise.

He wraps one hand around your hair, using it as leverage to fuck you harder. The bed creaks from his movements, headboard tapping against the wall. Neither of you care right now. Not when he’s pounding into you relentlessly.

Blindlessly, you reach back for his hand on your hip, needing some sort of anchor to reality. He responds immediately, grunting as he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you straight up against his sweaty chest. You cry out, the change in position allowing for deeper penetration that has your velvet walls tightening around his length.

Javier buries his head in the crook of your neck, teeth nibbling on your ear as he fucks every coherent thought out of your mind. You moan out unashamedly, his name spilling from your lips again and again when you finally tip over the edge, squeezing him so tight that it pulls his own release from him.

He slams into you one last time, grunting loudly as he paints your walls white, hips stuttering and burying his cum deeper inside you. You exhale contently, feeling his teeth on your earlobe; still needy after just having you in the most intimate way. 

You lay in his arms afterwards, back in his t-shirt and tracing the callouses on his hand. His heartbeat is steady under your ear, soothing your mind. Javier strokes your hair with his other hand, staring up at the ceiling as he replays tonight over again in his head.

He realizes now that it was wrong of him to blame you for something you had no part in. Even if he didn’t outright tell you that’s what he thought. He hates being the slightest bit mad at you, always longing to have you by his side regardless of if the two of you are fighting that day.

That scares him, yes. But it’s also refreshing to know that it is possible for him to be loved by someone as perfect as you.

The silence isn’t awkward, it’s safe and calm. It’s needed after the shitshow that tonight was, but it can’t last forever. Something always comes up to make it worse.

“He never wanted me,” you whisper, breaking the stillness in the room and intertwining your fingers with his. “Having children in his kind of world…” you trail off, shaking your head.

Javier stays quiet, giving you the space to speak freely and get everything off your chest.

“I’ve always been a liability to him, and he’s trying to shape me into somebody that I’m not.” Your voice wavers a bit, curling yourself against his side.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close and resting his cheek atop your head. 

“I know I’ve said it before,” you start, your voice small, “but I can’t live if he’s still around. I don’t see how it’s possible after everything he’s done–”

The dam finally breaks and you fall apart in his arms for the second time tonight. Seeing you like this tugs at his heartstrings. Personally, he doesn’t know what it’s like to not be wanted by a parent but he can imagine that it’s hell – especially in the drug world.

Kids become your one weak spot if you’re a drug lord. Enemies will do anything in their power to gain the upper hand, and sometimes that includes going after children.

“I could’ve stopped it,” you choke up, wiping your face, “I could’ve stopped him tonight and I just stood there.”

The guilt of Carrillo’s death visibly eats you alive, causing his protective instincts to flare up; even if he’s protecting you from yourself. He turns on his side – careful not to jostle you too much – and props himself up on his elbow. You wipe away your tears as you lay on your back, composing yourself to keep talking.

“That makes me just as bad as them,” you sniffle, avoiding direct eye contact.

Javier frowns, taking your chin between his pointer finger and thumb to turn your head towards him. His deep espresso eyes are soft, searching your face and patting your face dry. “You’re nothing like them,” he states.

You shake your head slowly, expression hardening slightly. Just by looking at you, he can tell that you’re not used to being this vulnerable with somebody. It hurts him to see you this upset and he wants you to know that you’re safe with him… and you will be safe in life.

“Mírame (Look at me),” he murmurs, waiting until you do. His pupils dilate when you meet his gaze, yours doing the same despite the look on your face. “No eres cruel como ellos. (You’re not heartless like they are.)”

“Dejé que mi padre matara a tu amigo esta noche. (I let my father kill your friend tonight),” you weakly protest, all the fight actively draining out of you. “¿Qué clase de persona me hace eso? (What kind of person does that make me?)”

“Human,” he answers like it’s easy – because it is easy. You had no control over your father’s decision to kill Carrillo; it is not on you. “You were shocked and didn’t know what to do. That’s a normal reaction to seeing something like that.”

A scoff leaves your mouth, sitting up and crossing your legs. “How can you say that? How can you even look at me right now?”

Javier looks up at you, not reaching for you yet because he can tell you’re trying to pull away.

He should let you, but his feelings are stronger than his willpower. “You know why,” he whispers.

You tilt your head slightly, needing to hear him say it. He understands the silent gesture – of course he does – a smirk tugging at his lips before he leans up. The warmth of his palm cups your face, thumb rubbing your cheekbone.

“Because I love you.”

For the next week, you stay with Javier while Steve is gone. The funeral happened pretty fast, the blonde man doing damage control there and helping with appointing a new Commander for Search Bloc. Unfortunately, they need to have the proper authorization… otherwise they would’ve stormed Jerónimo’s place a long time ago. 

All you can replay in your head is everything you’ve seen your family do. You’ve seen two people killed in front of you, and it was two too many. 

To keep yourself safe, you never gave Javier the new location you moved to. It was better that way and it kept some of the blame off of you about snitching. Javier and the cops broke through the tough exterior shell your father built around himself and now it’s time to get to the middle.

He barely hears you when you mutter the neighborhood it’s in: your back towards him in bed. Your voice carries through the dead of night, sex still faintly lingering in the air. 

The bed dips behind you when he props himself up, “What?”

You turn over to look at him, “I think it’s time for this to end.”

He and Steve work like a dream team once he’s back in the city, and it’s not long before they get everything set up. But to your surprise and against your will, you have to be a pawn. Javier reassures you that you’ll be bugged and they’ll listen the entire time; it still doesn’t ease your nerves. The idea of going back into that house after everything haunts you. Surely by now, your father has figured everything out and doesn’t trust you one bit.

That would be the worst case scenario.

When you’re dropped off, to your shock, the front door is unlocked. It creaks faintly as you open it, your heels in one hand, still wearing the last thing everyone saw you in. Your mascara is a bit smudged under your eyes from not having the proper makeup remover to take it off, adding to the visible exhaustion in your face.

Thankfully, you don’t see any of your younger cousins running around the house today; but everyone else freezes when they see you. It’s eerily quiet, cardboard boxes stacked up in the corner. You ignore them and slowly climb the stairs. Voices trickle down the hall and catch your ears while your eyes catch more boxes.

The family must be in the process of moving again, you think, that nauseating feeling returning. Your gut is telling you that this is a horrible idea, but it’s too late to turn around when Luciana steps out of your room, bristling past you and shoulder checking you. You take the sudden impact, closing your eyes to keep yourself from grabbing her by the hair.

You have a task to do, and she’s not about to fuck it up with her pettiness.

With a deep breath, you continue down the hallway to your room; only to find your father hunched over the floor. The floorboard you hide everything under is off to the side, nearly everything you had under there scattered across the floor.

You see red, stepping into your bedroom and yelling at him. “¿Qué coño estás haciendo con mis cosas? (What the fuck are you doing with my stuff?)” It doesn’t even bother you that he found everything you’ve been using to contact Javier. What bothers you is the invasion of privacy.

Jerónimo scowls at you, licking a stripe over his teeth; which leads you to believe that he isn’t sober right now. He shoots daggers at you with his eyes, finally seeing you for what you’ve been this entire month and lied about. “Realmente quería creerte (I really did want to believe you),” disappointment drips from his words, tilting his head to the side slightly as he scolds you.

With a shake of his head, he continues, “Has estado trabajando para los gringos todo este tiempo. (You’ve been working for the gringos this entire time.)”

“No, I…” you stagger, trying and failing to come up with an excuse. There’s no point in attempting to convince him anymore, he’s not going to believe a word that comes out of your mouth.

His tall frame shoots up, stalking towards you and making you take a step back. The look on his face – twisted with rage – is a look you’ve never seen on him before. And for the first time in your life, you feel the fear that everyone that has ever crossed him felt before they met their utter demise.

“No te hagas la tonta conmigo, niñita (Don’t play dumb with me, little girl),” his voice seethes with anger, spreading goosebumps across your skin. “¿Te volviste contra tu propio y maldito padre para qué? ¿Para tener una vida mejor? (You turned on your own fucking father for what? A better life?)”

You nearly stumble backwards when he takes another step forward, looking up at him with glossy eyes. “Papá–”

“No!” he bellows, making you startled. “Debería haberme deshecho de ti cuando tuve la oportunidad. (I should’ve gotten rid of you when I had the chance.)”

That hurts more than you’ll ever admit, though your face dropping tells him everything. He truly has never wanted you, and you regret staying in his bubble for as long as you have. The only reason you haven’t tried to leave again is because you feel some sort of obligation towards him since he’s your father.

Clearly, he feels a completely different way.

Despite yourself, tears prick at your eyes and you feel like a little girl again. Your lip faintly quivers, accepting the fact that you were never wanted and you never will be.

A quiet, dark chuckle leaves his lips, raising his brows. “¿Ahora quieres llorar? (Now you want to cry?)” he taunts you, “Deberías haber pensado en lo que pasaría antes de abrirle las piernas a ese estadounidense. (You should’ve thought about what would happen before you went and opened your legs for that American.)”

God, you wish you were born into a different life. People who are going to throw their kids to the side should never have them in the first place. It makes you miss your mother tremendously. Despite how much of a sweetheart she was, she would cuss him out for the way he speaks to you and treats you.

You only ever felt that unconditional love with her, and despair towards your father.

“I hate you,” it leaves your mouth as a low whisper, composing yourself just long enough to stand your ground. “Te odio (I hate you),” you repeat, louder.

A muscle in his jaw ticks, fingers twitching at his sides. You don’t have time to move before his hand whips across your face, snapping your head to the side. Immediately, your cheek blooms with pain, your skin turning red and stinging from the impact. 

You look back up at him with teary eyes, cupping your cheek. For a split second, you can see the regret flash across his face before it’s gone in a heartbeat; his face hardening once again.

Heavy footsteps run down the hallway, nearly pushing past you to get to your father. “¡Nos encontraron! (They found us!)” Luca announces, prompting your father’s gaze to land on you once again.

Before he opens his mouth, the front door blows open and the chaos starts. They were supposed to wait for you to get out of the house before they raided it, but you know Javier. The second he heard the slap, he ordered everybody to move in.

Jerónimo manhandles you, grabbing you and dragging you down the hallway. You kick and scream in his hold, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“If I’m going down, you’re going down with me.”

For months, you’ve told yourself that you would be fine dying at his side, because at least he would be dead too. But now that it’s staring you in the face, you know you’re not ready for your life to be over. 

Because of your father’s antics, you haven’t been able to live like you’re supposed to. There are still things you want to do; you want to go to school and get your degree, you want to look into starting your mother’s fashion line up again, you want your dream house, you want to marry Javier and grow old and grey by his side.

Still, Jerónimo wraps his arms around your middle, your back against his chest as he carries you down the stairs. Luca protects the two of you, shooting men in uniforms until they drop like flies.

The gun fight is loud. This is the closest you’ve ever been to one, and it’s right in your home.

When he reaches for his gun in his waistband, you break free, heading for the front door only to be grabbed by your uncle. He pulls you back by your hair, your scalp stinging as your body falls back completely.

The impact to the floor knocks the wind out of you, holding your pounding head before Luca wraps his hand around your ankle to pull you closer. He lifts you up and pushes you right back into your father’s arms.

Bodies lie everywhere: both cops and family members. Blood turns the rug crimson, Francisco being placed in handcuffs with his eyes on you.

Jerónimo swings you around, yelling at the authority and pressing the barrel of his gun against your temple. You cry out, closing your eyes tightly when the safety clicks off. His forearm is a bar of steel across your shoulders, putting pressure on your throat.

You grip his arm with both hands, desperately pleading. “Papá, soy yo. Papá, soy yo, por favor. (Dad, it’s me. Dad, it’s me, please.)”

“¡Cierra la puta boca! (Shut the fuck up!)” he shakes your whole body, screaming in your ear.

Javier’s voice reaches you, making an attempt to calm your father down. They yell back and forth, Jerónimo pointing his gun at him before holding it back up to your head.

You’re sobbing at this point, trembling in your father’s grip. You had a feeling he’d take you down with him; you just didn’t expect this. You guess the movies are right when they say that your life flashes before your eyes, because that’s all you can picture right now.

Sara will be waiting for you on the other side, you know that–

A shot rings out, shattering the window behind you and hitting your father in his side. He lets out a guttural roar, doubling over and taking you down to the floor with him.

In a flash, Javier moves, pulling you away from your father while cops swarm Jerónimo’s bleeding body. You cling to your love, hands shaking where they grip him, eyes wide with shock and horror as you watch the scene unfold.

He cradles your face, brushing your hair back. You can’t hear a word he’s saying – not over your father’s screams and the ringing in your ears. Steve stands nearby, gun still in hand while he stares at the fallen drug lord.

Your vision blurs around the edges, a panic attack creeping in like ocean waves. Javier says your name, concern etched across his face when your lashes flutter. Something’s wrong, you assume, watching him search your expression desperately.

His eyes dart around your frame, landing on your side where blood is seeping through your black shirt. At first, he assumes that it’s your father’s, but the spot is too wet for it to be his. Carefully, he bunches up your shirt and lifts it, discovering that the sniper bullet didn’t just hit your dad, but it hit you too.

Before you know it, the world goes dark; the fear in Javier’s voice being the last thing that you hear.

part 8 - series masterlist - main masterlist

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Five years later and your life with Harry looked the same, yet different altogether. You both moved into a bigger home, away from the city, but closer to his parents and yours. And two children became three, with hopes for another child. 

You ended up closing your chapter with the diner when Sammy—the youngest—was born five years ago. It had been a decision you didn’t take lightly either. The diner and the people there had become your family, long before Harry and long before Stevie. They saw you grow up, so when you decided to leave, it was an emotional goodbye. 

But it made sense. You wanted to be part of your children’s lives without worrying about missing special moments, and there were times that you wondered if Stevie ever resented you for it. 

Her siblings managed to get all of your attention—something she didn’t quite have the luxury of when she was younger. 

Yet, she never complained. Stevie was still the same sassy little girl that Harry met all those years ago, except now, she was just a couple of years away of being a teenager and it showed too. She wanted to spend more time with her friends, asked relentlessly for a phone so she can be like everyone else (Harry caved, like always), but she was still the same girl who had the biggest heart.

Because she’d help you around the house. 

She slipped into the role of being the big sister so easily too. 

Frankie admired her—wanted to do everything her big sister did. 

And Sammy—short for Samuel after the singer, Sam Cooke—was a sensitive little boy who was the spitting image of Harry, who just wanted to be part of whatever his older sisters were doing.

And Harry, he started working more, especially since his parents retired from the company and named him and his brother as co-CEOs. 

But he still made time for you, for the family you both created. Harry still looked at you like the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, would come home every night and hold you. 

Five years later, and everything just felt right. 

“Dad,” Stevie sighed, leaning against Harry at the kitchen counter. She yawned and rubbed her eyes, blinking up at him afterwards. “Can I try a sip of your coffee?” 

Harry looked down at her and smiled. “No chance, Stevie girl.” 

“But I’m tired,” she said. 

“Then maybe you should’ve gone to bed on time,” he said, gently tapping the tip of her nose.

Stevie huffed and then yawned dramatically. 

Harry narrowed his eyes. 

She blinked up at him. Pleading. 

He sighed. Harry could never say to no to her. 

“Fine. One sip.” 

Her eyes widened with excitement and she nodded, leaning up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Yes, yes, of course. Just one sip. That’s all I need.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes and then set the mug down in front of her. He knew Stevie wouldn’t like his taste in coffee—black, no sugar or milk. 

“Don’t tell mom?” Stevie asked, reaching for the mug. 

“You kidding me? Of course not. I don’t want to get in trouble either,” he grinned. 

Stevie smiled and then brought the mug closer to her lips. She kept her eyes on Harry before she leaned forward to take a sip. Quickly, the dark and hot liquid hit her senses and she made a face. It was bitter. 

“Gross,” she said, turning around and spitting what she had sipped into the sink. “Why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t good?” 

Harry laughed, shaking his head as he looked at her. “Would you have believed me if I did?”

Stevie narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Well, no…” 

“Exactly,” he smiled, gently reaching for her hand and kissing the crown of her head. “Had to let you figure it out for yourself, Stevie girl.” 

Stevie leaned against him. “Do all coffee drinks taste like that?” 

Harry wrapped an arm around her and shook his head. “No, just mine.” 

“So… I’m hearing that I might like mom’s coffee?” 

He chuckled. “Oh, I’m positive you will. She likes her coffee with lots of sugar.” 

Stevie’s eyes widened. She smiled. “Then, I’ll give coffee another try.” 

“Maybe when you’re older.” 

“I’m eleven, dad.” 

“Yeah, older,” he repeated. 

She huffed and then tried to reach for his mug, but he clicked his tongue and took the mug before she could get to it. 

“Fine,” she said. 

“I said one sip.” 

Stevie giggled. “I know. Figured I’d try my luck.” 

Harry smiled. “Nice try. I can say no to you.” 

“Yeah, sure… but you rarely do.” Stevie smiled, pulling away from him. “By the way, mom said it was okay that I stay after school today. Taylor’s mom will be bringing me home.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Taylor?” 

“Yes.” 

“Have we met this Taylor?” 

“Dad,” she sighed. “He’s cool! We both like the same things and we’re volunteering to help clean up at the school. It’s fine.” 

“He?” Harry asked. “Taylor is a boy?” 

“Dad—”

“I’ll pick you up,” he interjected. “What time will you be finished?” 

She sighed. “Around four.” 

“Great. I’ll be there. To pick you up.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“Oh, Stevie girl… if I was overreacting, you’d know it. Now, go get ready for school.” 

She sighed loudly and then walked away from him, disappearing around the corner and down the hallway. 

“I love you!” He yelled out to her. Harry sighed, hearing the door shut as a response as he looked down at his coffee. Seeing Stevie grow up—seeing his other two children grow up too—have been such an amazing thing to witness, but he did feel sad about it as well.

There would come a day where they wouldn’t need him anymore and Harry was just trying to hold on as long as he could before that day came. 

Harry stepped in the bedroom and noticed you come out of the closet with a towel wrapped around your head and a robe covering your body. He bit his lower lip and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. 

“Hey,” he whispered. 

You smiled and turned in his arms, looking up at him. Your hand moved to his cheek, gently brushing his facial hair. He had gone a bit more grey as the years passed, crows feet more prominent at the corners of his eyes. He aged, just like you did, but he still looked so damn good. If not better. 

“Morning, baby.” 

“I’m picking Stevie up from school later. After her… event or something.” 

“Oh, Taylor’s mom can’t take her home?” 

He sighed. “Did you know Taylor’s a boy?” 

“Yes,” you answered. “Harry, they’re just kids.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t feel comfortable with it.” 

“Okay,” you said quietly, nodding. “That’s okay. 

“Am I overreacting?” Harry asked, his lower lip jutting out unintentionally. 

You cupped his cheek and leaned forward to peck his lips. “No,” you answered. “You’re just a protective daddy.” 

Harry sighed and nodded, hands moving to your hips. “She’s not gonna need me anymore, will she?” 

“You know that’s not true.” 

“Feels like it.” 

You shook your head and walked away from him to shut the bedroom door, locking it behind you. With three kids in the house, you both started locking the door, especially when adult activities were happening. 

“Baby?”

You walked over to him and gently pressed your hands on his shoulders, pushing him to sit at the edge of the bed. He huffed quietly and unbuttoned his suit jacket, looking up at you as you straddled his waist and undid your robe to reveal your bare front to him. 

Harry cleared his throat. 

“You know that’s not true,” you repeated. “That little girl looks at you like you hung the moon, baby. She’s growing up, but she’s always going to need you.” 

“What if she doesn’t?” 

“She will.” 

“You’re trying to distract me,” Harry pointed out. “Trying to get me to not think about my little girl having a possible crush on a boy who won’t ever be good for her.” 

“She’s eleven.”

“You telling me you never had a crush at that age?” 

“Well, no…”

“Exactly,” Harry said, eyes dipping lower. 

“What will you do when she gets married?” 

His eyes narrowed. Harry wrapped his arms around your waist and slowly stood up only to lay you on your back with him above you. “She won’t.” 

You smiled and leaned up to cup his cheek. “I love you.”

“This isn’t amusing.”

“I know.”

“You’re looking at me like this is funny.” 

“Harry,” you sighed quietly, grabbing one hand and bringing to to rest against your chest. “She will always love you, okay?” 

“I know,” he sighed. “I know. I just—she’s my Stevie girl.” 

“I know, baby.” 

Harry bit his lower lip. “I should trust her, huh?” 

You nodded. “And trust me too.”

He nodded, moving his hand from your chest to your breast, covering it with his hand. Harry watched you gasp quietly, looking up at him with lips parted. “You’re good,” he whispered. “You know how to get me out of my head.” 

You smiled, grabbing his other hand and bringing it to your lips. You wrapped your mouth around the tip of his thumb, swirling your tongue around it as you felt him suddenly push into you. 

“Baby,” Harry groaned. “We’re gonna be late.” 

“I know,” you giggled, pulling his thumb from your mouth as his hand continued to massage your breast into his palm. “Mmm, don’t see you trying to pull away.” 

“God, how can I? Look at you.” Harry cleared his throat as he pulled away from you, standing upright between your legs as you remained on your back. “How much time do we have?” 

“About half an hour.” 

He grunted. “Can you stay quiet?” 

You grinned. “You know I’ll try.” 

Harry smirked, reaching down to undo his belt, followed by unbuttoning his slacks and lowering his zipper. He pushed his pants and boxers down to his ankles as he spit into his palm before wrapping a hand around himself. “Oh, I know what you want me to do.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, biting your lower lip as you parted your legs for him even further. 

“Yeah, baby,” Harry said, eyes taking in every inch of your bare frame. He leaned forward, rubbing the tip of his manhood along you, applying pressure to your clit. “You always did like it when I covered your mouth.” 

A strained whimper escaped your lips. You felt him slide the length of his hardened member along your lips, gathering your arousal with each movement. He was hot, throbbing against you lower half and you impatiently reached down to grab a hold of him. 

“And you always liked to take your time,” you whispered, guiding him to your entrance. “Please, Harry…” 

“God, I love it when you beg,” he smirked, sliding into you in one full thrust. Harry’s eyes fluttered—like it always did whenever he slid into you. Your walls were tight and wet, wrapping around him and sucking him in with each movement. 

When you felt him fill you to the hilt, you let out a relieved moan. It always felt like your first time with him—even five years later, you still looked at each other like you both just realized you were both in love. 

“Hmm, I’ll beg anytime,” you whimpered, sitting up just so you could remove the robe and the towel from your head. Now completely exposed for him, Harry delivered a rough thrust, causing your body to jerk upwards. 

“You promise?” He asked, hands moving to grip your hips. Harry was still in his jacket, dress shirt and tie, but he was completely bare from his lower half. He watched himself slide into you with ease, his length glistening with your own arousal. Harry tried to keep it slow, tried to force himself not to just hammer into you, but it was hard. He never could control himself around you. 

“H—Harry,” you moaned, hands moving to grip the end of his tie as you slowly pulled him down. 

He grinned and leaned down, brushing his lips along your own. Harry rolled his hips into you, savoring the feel of himself sliding along your walls. “Feel so good, baby.” 

“Fuck,” you moaned. The grip around his tie tightened, but he grabbed your hands only to pin them above your head. 

“Can’t have you ruining my suit,” he grinned. “Because if you do, I’ll have to change and I—” Harry groaned, one sharp thrust into you. “I actually like this one.” 

“Oh fuck,” you said loudly, his free hand coming up to cover your mouth. It was still early, and he certainly didn’t want any of his children barging in either. 

“Look at you… at my fucking mercy,” he said, his hips speeding up but being very careful in ensuring he didn’t make too much noise either. 

Your moans muffled against his palm, legs loosely wrapped around his hips as you arched your back. He wasn’t going as fast as you’d like him to, but he was still hitting that spongy part deep inside of you with each hard thrust. 

“How am I supposed to go to work now?” He asked, growling lowly under his breath. “When all I’ll be thinking about is how good you fucking feel around me, baby.” 

You moaned again. 

He pressed his hand over your mouth more firmly. 

“Gonna let go of your hands now, okay? Be a good girl and grip the sheets if you need to,” Harry smiled, releasing your wrists only to bring the same hand between your legs. 

Your hands needed to hold onto something, especially when you felt him begin to apply pressure to your clit and rub it in circles. Instantly, your hands flew to the sheets, gripping them tightly as Harry continued his movements. 

He wouldn’t ever get tired of this, of you. You were an absolute dream. The way you looked as you were nearing the peak of your climax—he’d commit it to memory every chance he could get and still, it felt like it wasn’t enough. 

“Harry,” you mumbled into his palm, tightening your legs around his hips to pull him closer. 

He grinned. Harry was close too. He sped up his thrusts, but still remaining careful to not make it sound like skin slapping against one another. 

You were moaning against his hand, gripping the sheets even tighter, as you felt the pressure build and build until it finally spilled over. Your legs pulled him in, body trembling against the bed, as Harry smirked down at you. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling out to his tip only to slide back into you with ease. He could feel how fucking wet you were, how tight your walls were sucking him back in. He moved both hands now to your hips, hearing you gasp loudly as he gripped you tightly. 

You bit your lower lip—hard. You couldn’t moan or make any noise as you normally would, but you knew that Harry was close too. You could feel it in the way he gripped your hips, could see it in his face too. 

His hips stuttered, eyes shut tight once he felt himself get closer and closer to the edge. Harry’s hands on your hips tightened even further, fingertips digging into your flesh. 

Then suddenly, after a few more rough thrusts, Harry slammed into you and came. Hard. He dragged his fingertips down your hips to the side of your legs and back up, growling under his breath as he filled you with his come. 

You smiled up at him and sat up, careful not to wrinkle his shirt or his jacket as you tugged on the edge of his tie to pull him down. He groaned quietly, rolling his hips slowly before pulling out, biting his lower lip as he looked down between your legs. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. 

“Morning, baby,” you teased, leaning up and pecking his lips. “Gonna feel you all day now.” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed down at you. “I love you.” 

You chuckled quietly. “I love you too. Help me clean up?” 

“Always,” he said softly, licking his lip as he looked down to see his come trickle out of you. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.” 

Then, he stepped away and pulled up his boxers and pants, walking to the bathroom afterwards to grab a small towel to clean you up. 

“You ready for the day?” You asked, teasingly. 

Harry chuckled and nodded, stepping back between your legs and carefully cleaning up the mess that seeped out of you. “I am now, yeah.” 

“Good.” 

“But I’m still picking Stevie up,” he said. 

You smiled. “I know, baby.” 

Then, the both of you heard quiet sounds of footsteps down the hallway. You both looked at each other and smiled. 

“Guess the other two are now awake,” you said. 

Harry smiled. “Come on, baby. Let’s get the cavalry ready for school.” 

Later that morning once all three kids were dressed and ready for school, the three of them sat at the kitchen table each with a plate of pancakes. Harry smiled to himself at the sight of the three of them, keeping an arm around your waist. 

“Mama,” Frankie said, looking up at both you and Harry. “We’re going to the park after school today, right?” 

“How about we go after we pick up Stevie? That way, it’s all of us.” You replied, walking over to her and kissing the crown of her head.

“And we get pizza?” Sammy, your youngest, asked. You looked across the table at him and grinned—deep brown eyes and dark curls that matched Harry’s.  

“Oh, of course,” Harry chimed in. “It’s pizza night.” 

Stevie couldn’t help but smile. “I guess… it’s okay that you pick me up then, dad.” 

Harry sighed in relief. “Oh good,” he said, walking towards her and kissing her cheek. “I’m glad I have your approval, Stevie girl.” 

Frankie giggled and looked over at her older sister. While Stevie had always cared about dressing up and doing her hair now that she was older, Frankie was the complete opposite. She was messy—like Stevie had been at the same age—but she didn’t like dresses or putting her hair in bows. She liked sports, always managed to get dirty and giggle about it too. 

Sammy had finished his pancakes first, sliding off his chair and walking towards the kitchen to put his plate away. Harry looked over at him and smiled, following him and picking him up into his arms. “You’ve got syrup all over your face, Sammy.” 

The younger boy giggled and then stuck his tongue out to try and clean his mouth. “Mmm, still good!” 

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Let’s wash our hands and face, buddy.” Then, he held Sammy at sink level for the younger boy to reach. While Stevie and Frankie had the same attitude and features as you, Sammy had reminded Harry of himself when he was younger. A sensitive boy who felt so many emotions, but still had the biggest heart like his two older sisters. 

“I think I’m clean now, daddy,” he smiled, turning the sink off and reaching for a towel to dry off his hands and face. 

“Good job, buddy. You ready for school?” Harry asked. 

Sammy nodded. “My teacher said I’ll be able to write my name soon.” 

“Oh yeah?” Harry smiled. “You excited?” 

The young boy grinned. Dimples appeared at his cheeks. “Yes, then I can start writing you and mama letters too.” 

“You’re so sweet, buddy,” Harry chuckled, kissing the tip of his nose. His attention was pulled briefly when he heard laughter coming from the kitchen table, glancing over to see you, Frankie and Stevie giggling amongst one another.

And he stared at you for a few seconds longer. 

Still, you were as beautiful as the day he met you. 

You and Harry stood in front of the school as you dropped your children off. It was Stevie’s last year at this school before moving onto middle school next year, but still, it was convenient that all three of them were under the same school for now. 

“Frankie,” Harry said, kneeling down in front of her. “Is it basketball or soccer today?” 

Frankie grinned. “Basketball,” she answered. “I think I’ll beat the boys this time.” 

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Give them hell, babygirl.” 

“Harry,” you chuckled, moving a hand to his shoulder. 

Frankie giggled and then wrapped her arms around Harry, turning her head to kiss his cheek. “Love you daddy! Love you, mama!” 

“Have a good day at school, baby,” you said, leaning down to kiss the crown of her head before she turned on her heel to go into the school. 

Sammy bit his lower lip. This was his first year in school and he was still trying to find his footing, trying to make friends. 

“Mama?” He called out. 

You knelt down in front of him. “You’re okay, baby.” 

Sammy nodded. “You’ll be here when school is done?” 

“Yup, me and daddy will be here.” 

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll see you soon?” 

You smiled and gently cupped his cheek. “I’ll see you soon, baby.” 

“Love you,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around you before moving onto Harry to do the same. 

“Love you, Sammy,” Harry said, kissing the crown of his head. 

Once Sammy walked into the school, Stevie was already about to turn on her heel before Harry gently tugged on her backpack. 

“Um, hello?” He said. 

You smiled and watched Stevie turn around. 

“Dad…” 

“Give us a hug and tell us you love us,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes playfully. “But my friends—”

“Will see how much you love us,” Harry finished for her. “Isn’t that a great thing?” 

You let out a quiet laugh and then gently pulled Stevie into your arms. “Have a good day at school, Stevie.” 

She let herself relax in your arms for a second. It felt like she was that same five year old all those years ago. Then, almost like she remembered where she was, Stevie pulled away. 

“Okay, my turn,” Harry smiled, tugging Stevie into his arms. “Be good, Stevie girl.” 

“I always am,” she smiled. 

“See you later, okay?” 

Stevie nodded and pulled away to look between the both of you. 

“You really will pick me up?” Stevie asked. 

Harry answered without pause. “Yes, Stevie girl.” 

She nodded and then heard her name being called. She bit her lower lip and then noticed the both of you nod once. 

“I love you guys,” she said. 

Harry grinned. 

You smiled. 

“We love you too,” you said, leaning against Harry. 

“I love you, Stevie girl.” He repeated. 

Stevie smiled and then turned on her heel, jogging to catch up with her friends as she walked into the school with them. 

Harry sighed and looked down at you. “Why does drop off feel so sad now?” 

You looked up at him. “Because our babies are growing up,” you answered, turning around with him to begin walking back towards the car. 

Harry nodded in agreement, keeping one arm draped over your shoulder. “Growing up too fast,” he added. 

Now that all three kids were in school, you had plenty of time to yourself when Harry was at work too. You had been so used to working that it took a very long time to get used to this. Even Harry had to constantly remind you that it was okay, that he wanted you to stay home. It was his way of taking care of you. 

And everyday, you’d show up to his work with lunch. It was ironic, how you were now the one to make sure he was eating during his lunch break when he used to do it for you. 

As you walked toward his office with the food you cooked, you heard Peter from behind you. Turning, you looked over to see the other man who was grinning at you. 

“My brother’s lucky,” Peter said, now walking alongside you. “I should convince Charlotte to visit me during my lunch.” 

You laughed quietly and shook your head. “Charlotte’s seven months pregnant. You’d be cruel to have her come here,” you teased. 

“You’re right,” Peter chuckled. “I should be going home to her to make sure she’s resting.” 

“Second pregnancy tough on her?” You asked. 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he sighed. “That and it took a while for us to get pregnant a second time.” 

You nodded in understanding. Both you and Harry were experiencing your own troubles with getting pregnant again. “Well, just make sure you’re there. I’m sure she appreciates it.” 

“What about you and Harry? Trying for a fourth?” 

You smiled. “Trying, yeah. No luck.” 

Peter gave you a look of understanding. Then, he reached to rest a hand over your shoulder comfortingly. “Well, you guys will figure it out. You always do.” 

You nodded and then glanced over at Harry’s office door. “Is he overworking himself?” You asked honestly. 

Peter shrugged. “We’re co-CEOs, but I feel like since Charlotte got pregnant, he’s been taking more of the responsibility.” 

“So… that’s a yes. He’s overworking himself.” You bit your lower lip. 

“I tried to tell him I can handle it,” he whispered. “But—”

“He doesn’t want to burden you,” you finished for him. Then, it was your turn to reach out to rest a hand on his forearm. “Just look out for him when you are here, okay?” 

“Always will,” Peter smiled. He reached out and knocked lightly on Harry’s door. 

Within seconds, Harry opened the door and you noticed the look on his face before he turned to look at you. You could tell he was stressed—noticed it in his features and his posture too. 

“You’re here,” he said, a hint of relief in his voice. 

“Did you forget?” You asked. 

Harry shook his head. He glanced over your shoulder at Peter and nodded. “Lost track of time.” 

“Take a long lunch,” Peter said. “I’ll get to the next meeting.” 

“You should be going home,” Harry replied. “Charlotte is—”

“I can handle one meeting, Harry,” Peter interjected. “I’ll go home after that one, that okay with you?” 

He sighed. Harry glanced at you and felt the tension in his shoulders loosen just at the sight of you. He finally nodded at Peter and gently reached for the bag of food you were carrying. “Okay, sure. Yeah, thanks,” Harry said. “But if you need to go—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted. Peter gave you a hug before leaving both of you at Harry’s office. 

“I’m sorry, baby, come in, come in,” he said, opening the door further for you to step inside. Once you were, Harry shut the door and locked it, bringing the food to the coffee table where the couch was at. 

“How many cups of coffee have you had?” You asked, biting your lower lip. 

“Three.”

“Harry.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” Harry removed his blazer and set it against the back of his office chair before he walked back over to you, wrapped his arms around your waist. “Missed you, though.” 

“You need a break,” you sighed. “You’re… overworking yourself, baby.”

Harry shook his head and leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Just making sure this company doesn’t go under. My parents trusted me—”

“Trusted both you and your brother,” you corrected. 

“He’s got a baby on the way,” Harry sighed. 

“And you have a family too,” you replied. “You know, if your mom ever found out how much you’re working, she’d—”

“She wouldn’t let me hear the end of it,” Harry interrupted quietly. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Can you just—try to take it easy?” You asked. 

He bit his lower lip. “Okay,” he answered. “I’ll try.” 

“Promise?” 

Harry nodded and moved a hand to your cheek. “Yeah, baby. I promise.” 

“Good, now, let’s eat?” 

He smiled and leaned in to peck your lips. This time, he lingered though. “What if… what if I want to do something else before we eat?” 

You hummed against his lips and moved your hands to his shoulders. “Is that why you locked your door?” 

He chuckled and nodded, moving his lips to your jawline now. “You’re my stress relief,” he whispered. “Whenever you’re around, I don’t feel the weight of this company on my shoulders. Feel like I can breathe.” 

“Maybe I should be here more often then,” you teased. 

Harry pulled back to look down at you. “Really?” 

“What would I even do here?” You asked. 

He shrugged. “Just… stay in my office? I don’t know.” 

“How about… when you feel like the walls are closing in on you, you send me a text and I’ll make my way over here?” You suggested. “Or… you can pencil me in everyday and we can take a walk in the park every morning.” 

Harry nodded. “How about both?”

“Yeah?” 

He leaned in and rested his forehead against yours. “I just… feel better whenever you’re around.” 

“Okay,” you said softly. “We’ll take a walk every morning—does ten sound good?” 

Harry kissed your cheek before releasing his hold on you to go back to his desk where his computer sat. He pulled up his calendar and nodded, setting a daily meeting every morning at ten. Now, his assistant would know to never schedule a meeting at that time. 

“Ten in the morning. Everyday. You and me,” Harry said. 

You smiled and then reached for his hand once he made his way back over to you. “Good. For now, you need to eat.” 

He nodded and sat on the couch, tugging you onto his lap and holding you there for a few seconds longer. “I love you, baby.” 

You smiled and draped an arm around his shoulders, leaning in to kiss his temple. “I love you too, Harry.” 

He stared at you and let the corner of his lips. He rested his head against your shoulder as you reached for the Tupperware, opening the lid and handing it to him. 

He knew he had been working a lot lately. More so than usual. But since his parents had retired and named him and Peter as co-CEOs, he had taken his role seriously. Harry had lots of ideas to expand the company, to make even more money than his parents could ever dream of, but he didn’t want it to be at the cost of his relationship with you or his family. He was still trying to balance work and his home life. 

Stevie was the last one to be picked up after her after school clean up with other kids, especially Taylor. Harry watched his little girl come out of the school building with a young boy standing next to her and he could have sworn he had never seen her this smitten before. The boy was inching closer to her and Stevie bit her lip from smiling. It wasn’t until she looked up that she saw Harry with his arms crossed over his chest and his brows pulled together. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Taylor,” Stevie smiled. 

“Oh,” the boy said. “Okay. Thanks for volunteering with me.” 

She nodded. “I’m always happy to help.” 

The boy stopped walking and looked at her with nervous eyes. “Do you think—do you think I could sit with you tomorrow at lunch or something?” 

Stevie’s eyes widened. Her smile grew. “Yeah, I think that’d be cool.” 

Taylor grinned. “Cool, yeah, that’s… that’s awesome.” Then, he leaned in and gave her a one armed hug before he pulled away abruptly, turning on his heel and jogging to where his mother was parked. 

Stevie could feel the warmth in her cheeks as she walked over to Harry, noticing that you were seated in the passenger seat of the car behind him. 

“Dad…”

“He hugged you,” Harry said. “Was that okay with you?” 

“Yes,” she answered. “Can you… not make a scene? In case he’s looking,” Stevie whispered, turning to look over her shoulder in time for Taylor to wave at her. She waved back and then turned her gaze back on Harry. “Please?” 

Harry sighed. He had been stressed at work. He didn’t want to be stressed about this too. So, he gently reached out and took Stevie’s backpack from her. “Okay, I can be… cool.” 

“Are you sure? It looks like you want to say something.” 

“I just—it’s nothing.” 

“Dad.” 

Harry sighed and gently took her hand, pulling her to his side as he let out a breath of relief when Stevie leaned into him. “You’re just getting bigger,” he said. “One minute you’re that same five year old girl who wanted to be around me all the time and now you’re… you’re a preteen with a crush.” 

“I do not have a crush!” 

Harry chuckled. “Stevie girl, touch your cheeks. They’re warm, aren’t they?” 

“So?” 

“So… you’re blushing.” 

She sighed. “For the record,” Stevie said, opening the door to the car once they were close enough. “I still want to be around you all the time. You’re just… busy with work.” 

Then, she climbed in and Harry felt his heart drop. He heard the muffled sounds of greeting as the door shut, biting his lower lip. Stevie had noticed it too. And if she noticed his stress, he was sure Frankie and Sammy did too. 

Harry set her backpack in the trunk before rounding the car to the drivers side. He pulled his phone out and texted his mom. Simple, two words that meant so much more. Meant that he was struggling, meant that he was lost. 

HARRY: Need advice. 

His mother didn’t waste a second to reply. He looked down at his phone at her response. Harry let out a breath. She replied and said that she’d come by the office tomorrow. 

After the five of you walked Central Park, Harry kept a tight hold on your hand as your three kids walked ahead of you to go to the same pizza shop that you had been going to with Stevie when it was just the two of you. Marco was like family now, watching your family grow over the years. 

“Stevie noticed that I’ve been busy at work,” Harry said with a sigh. “Do I make it that obvious?” 

You looked over at him, tightening your hold on his hand. “You just… wear your heart on your sleeve and your expressions say everything.” 

“I expect you to notice that, but Stevie?” 

“Harry, she’s always been aware of your emotions. Mine too. Even at a young age,” you answered. 

He sighed. You were right. Stevie was such an empath—always noticing and feeling other people’s emotions. “I should get better at hiding it.” 

You shook your head. “Hiding it doesn’t fix it.” 

He bit his lower lip. “Right.” 

“Will you at least reach out to your mom?” You asked. 

Harry squeezed your hand. “Already did, actually. She’s coming by the office tomorrow.” 

“Good,” you said, leaning up to kiss him cheek. “She did this before too, you know. Both your parents.” 

“I know.” 

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you whispered. “Not for the company. Not for us.” 

Harry’s eyes softened down at you. “It’s hard,” he answered honestly. “I just want the best for you guys and for the company.”

“We’ve got it already,” you answered. “We’ve got you, baby.” 

The corner of his lips lifted. “You know all the right things to say.” 

You smiled proudly. “I learn from the best. Not too long ago, you were the one saying all the right things.” 

Harry looked down at you. He noticed the age in your features now, the subtle strands of grey streaked in your hair. You were still younger than he was, but having three kids did tend to age you a bit. 

And yet, you still looked like the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. 

“I love you,” he said quietly. “Thinking when we get back home, after the kids are asleep, we can have more alone time?” 

You smiled. “I think I’d like that.” 

Harry smiled and kissed your temple. “Good.”

As the five of you approached Marco’s, Sammy was the first one to speak. 

“Cannoli?” Sammy asked, looking over his shoulder at both you and Harry. 

You smiled and nodded. “After dinner though, baby.” 

Harry pulled you closer, releasing your hand only to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Just like Stevie,” he mumbled with a quiet chuckle. 

“I think Frankie’s the only one who isn’t too big on sweets like the other two,” you smiled. “Our little athlete.” 

The three of them jogged inside with excitement in their eyes. Harry chuckled and kissed your temple, nodding over to the same table. “I’ll grab the food.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, baby,” Harry said, hand moving from your lower back to give a gentle pat to your ass. “Now, go. Sit down.” 

“Naughty, Mr. Castillo.” 

He grinned. “You like it, Mrs. Castillo,” Harry winked. He walked into the pizza shop as you moved to sit at the table, smiling to yourself as you watched the four of them with loving eyes. You couldn’t believe that five years ago, you and Harry shared a pizza on the very first day you met. 

And now, here you both were, five years later. Married. With three kids. 

Sammy ran outside and climbed into your lap, snuggling closer to you as the two other girls remained inside with Harry. 

“Hi, baby,” you said, cradling Sammy in your arms. “How was school?” 

“Good,” he answered. “I made a friend.”

You grinned. “You did? That’s amazing, baby.” 

Sammy smiled to himself. “Yeah, he’s nice. He’s new to the school.” 

“Oh, yeah?” 

Sammy nodded. “I volunteered to help him in class.” 

You looked down at him and cupped his cheek. “You’re so sweet, Sammy. I bet it was nice of him to not feel alone on his first day.” 

“He said he was sad,” he said. “Because all his friends were back home where he used to live.” 

“And now he’s got one friend here,” you said, gently tapping the tip of his nose. 

Sammy grinned and nodded to himself, nuzzling his cheek further into the crook of your neck now. You held him closer to your chest and shut your eyes, reveling in the sounds of the city. 

“Alright, Frankie, Stevie, what are we getting?” Harry asked, keeping a hold on Frankie’s hand as she slid her own into his. 

“Pepperoni,” Frankie answered, looking up at Harry with a grin. 

Stevie nodded in agreement. “And cannolis.” 

“And breadsticks!” Frankie added. 

Stevie giggled. “Yes, breadsticks.” 

Harry smiled. “Okay, so the works. Got it.” He glanced at Stevie for a moment and noticed her pull out her phone that he had gotten for her a few months ago before she left the pizza shop to go sit outside with you and Sammy. He sighed and then scooped Frankie into his arms. 

“How was school, babygirl?” 

Frankie leaned against him. “Good. Our team won the basketball game during recess.” 

“Ooh,” Harry smiled. She was so different than Stevie and it had been great seeing the different personalities each child had. “So, mama and I were thinking… do you wanna join a sports team or something? You know, outside of school.” 

Her eyes lit up. “Really?” 

“Yeah, Frankie. You’ll get to go to practice, play games on the weekend. That sound like something you wanna do?” 

She nodded quickly. “Yes!” 

He smiled to himself. He didn’t know where Frankie got her athleticism from, but it excited him—getting to go to soccer or basketball games every weekend to cheer her on. 

“But first, pizza?” She asked. 

Harry chuckled and nodded, kissing her temple. “Yeah, babygirl. First, pizza.” 

Frankie smiled and then rested her cheek on his shoulder, holding onto him tightly. Just like Stevie, Frankie was a daddy’s girl. Wherever he went, she wanted to join. 

Dinner lasted for about an hour and a half before all three kids yawned, signaling that they were ready to go home and get ready for bed. Harry looked across the table at you, still cradling Sammy in your arms as Frankie leaned against your side, blinking slowly. 

Harry glanced at Stevie, seated to his left who had her eyes glued to her phone. 

“I think your screen time is done for the day, Stevie girl,” he whispered. 

Stevie looked up at him and nodded. “Okay, dad.” 

“Been glued to that thing ever since I got you it,” he said. 

She shrugged. “Just texting my friends.” 

“Friends?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, friends.” 

Harry arched a brow. “Taylor being one of these friends you’re texting?” 

Stevie rolled her eyes playfully and put her phone away, shaking her head. “He doesn’t have a phone.” 

“Oh? So, what I’m hearing is that kids your age can live without a phone.” 

“What? No…” 

He chuckled quietly and wrapped an arm around her. “Uh huh,” he teased. 

Stevie leaned against him then looked across the table at you. “Mom?” 

“Yeah, baby?” You said, looking over at her. 

“Can you… can you curl my hair tomorrow?” Stevie asked. 

Harry arched a brow. He looked at you and noticed your gaze shift to him. You gave him a look, one that said not to say anything. He sighed quietly and looked back down at Stevie. 

“Yeah, of course, baby. You gonna wake up early enough for me to do your hair though?” 

Stevie nodded. “I’ll be up and ready, I promise… but if I’m tired, can I get a sip of your coffee?” 

Harry looked over at you. 

“Coffee?” You asked. 

Stevie glanced at Harry. “Yeah, coffee.” 

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously between the both of them. “Stevie, I don’t think you’d like coffee, baby.” 

“Only one way to find out, right?” 

You shook your head. 

Harry cleared his throat. “Alright, should we get going?” He interrupted. 

You arched a brow at him. “You’re acting… suspiciously weird, Harry.” 

“What?” 

Stevie gently elbowed his side. He looked down at the younger girl. She gave him the same look you’d give him—don’t say anything. He let the corner of his lips lift before he shook his head. “I’m fine, baby. Those two are ready to pass out and this one needs to sleep early so she’s not sleepy when she wakes up tomorrow.” 

Stevie giggled. 

Sammy stirred in your arms. 

Frankie rubbed her eyes. 

“Okay then,” you said, looking between Harry and Stevie again. “Are you two hiding something?” 

“Nope!” They both said simultaneously. 

Harry smiled and then stood up, gently reaching for Frankie and pulling her into his arms. “Ready to go, baby?” 

You nodded slowly, standing from the seat as you reached for Stevie’s hand with your free one. “What are you guys hiding?” 

“Nothing,” Stevie giggled, leaning against your side. 

Sammy buried his face against your neck and yawned, his eyes now falling shut. 

Harry walked ahead of you, whispering into Frankie’s ear as she giggled quietly. Her tiny arms tightened even further around his neck as her cheek rested against his shoulder. 

“So, curled hair tomorrow, huh?” You said, looking down at Stevie. 

She nodded. “I—uh, I’m having lunch with Taylor tomorrow, so I don’t know. I just want to look nice.” 

You smiled and adjusted Sammy against your hip before your released Stevie’s hand only to wrap your arm around her shoulders. “Oh, baby, you always look nice.” 

She sighed. “Okay, I want to look nicer.” 

You nodded and leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. “My baby’s got a crush.” 

She rolled her eyes. “He’s just… he’s nice.” 

“Yeah?” 

Stevie bit her lower lip. “And he’s friendly… and kind to everyone.” 

You smiled and held her closer. “Good, baby. That’s really good.” 

“And you know his mom, so…” 

“Yeah, she’s kind too,” you said softly. “Sometimes, I forget that you’re eleven. To me, you’re still that same little girl who would get syrup or ice cream all over her face. For a long time, it was just you and me, you know?” 

Stevie looked up at you and nodded. You reached up and gently stroked her hair back and away from her face. “I love you, mom. Our family… I love it. It’s what I always dreamed of.” 

“And daddy? You know you’ve got him wrapped around your finger from day one,” you smiled. “But that doesn’t mean you get to take advantage of that now that you’re older, okay?” 

“I know,” Stevie said. 

“So, what’s this about coffee? Hm?” 

Her eyes widened. “Nothing.”

“Uh huh.” 

She giggled. “I asked for a one sip,” she admitted. “I didn’t like it, but dad said that I might like yours… because you have sugar in yours.” 

You laughed quietly and shook your head. “You know, I don’t like daddy’s coffee either.” 

Stevie smiled. 

Then, you continued. “Also… he’s going to be overprotective, okay? You’re his little girl. To him, no one’s good enough.” 

Stevie nodded slowly, glancing over at Harry who kept Frankie close to his chest. “I know,” she whispered. 

“You know, he’d give you the world if he could,” you said, smiling to yourself as you crossed the street to walk towards the car. “So… if he’s overreacting, it’s coming from a place of love… and fear.” 

“Fear?”

You nodded, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, baby. Us parents… when our kids get older, we think that they won’t need us anymore.”

“I’ll always need you, mom. And I’ll always need him too,” Stevie said quietly. 

Stevie gave you a quick hug before jogging towards the car after you all crossed the street. Harry buckled Frankie into her car seat before he felt Stevie collide against him, her arms snaking around his waist as she held onto him tightly. 

“Hey…” he said quietly, his arms coming to wrap around her too. “Everything okay?” 

Stevie looked up at him and nodded. “I love you,” she said. 

Harry’s eyes softened. “Aw, Stevie girl. I love you too.” 

She buried her face against him and tightened her hold. “Daddy?” 

He felt his heart rate pick up. Stevie had stopped calling him daddy for a while now and started calling him dad—just another sign of her getting older. 

“Yeah, Stevie girl?” 

“No matter how old I get, I’m always going to need you.” 

His eyes watered. “Yeah? Even when you’re adult and you have a family of your own?” 

Stevie nodded. “Yes, even then. Especially then.”

Harry smiled and wrapped his arms around her even tighter. He kissed the crown of her head and sighed quietly, looking up to see you set Sammy in his own car seat. He knew this was your doing, so he mouthed thank you before you shut the door. 

Later that night, after the kids were asleep, you climbed into bed where Harry was seated against the headboard. Before you could even move to lay on your side of the bed, he reached out for you and tugged you onto his lap instead. 

“Hey,” he whispered. 

“Hi, baby,” you said softly. “Dinner was great tonight.” 

Harry nodded and rested his hands on your hips, leaning forward to peck your lips lightly. “You talked to Stevie.” 

“I just… reminded her, that’s all.”

“You didn’t need to,” he said quietly. 

“I know,” you answered. “I wanted to. She’s going to get to that age where she’ll want nothing to do with you or me… but I just wanted to make sure she knew that we’re still her parents.” 

Harry nodded. “She called me daddy tonight. I don’t think I’ve heard her say that in a long time.” 

“She’s always gonna be our little girl, Harry.” 

“I know that,” he whispered. “Just wish time would just freeze, you know? Keep them little forever.” 

“I know, me too,” you sighed. “But hey, we’re doing this together.” 

He smiled at that. His hands moved from your hips to your ribcage, sliding his hands under your shirt. “Have I told you today how lucky I am?” 

You shook your head. “Ah, I knew you were forgetting something.” 

Harry chuckled quietly. “I’m gonna do better, okay? I don’t… want to miss anymore moments.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, leaning forward to pepper kisses along his jawline. “Maybe I should just show up at the office unannounced to distract you.” 

Harry felt his manhood stir beneath you. He tilted his head back against the headboard and shut his eyes, moving his hands further up your body until they covered your breasts. He brushed his thumbs of your nipples as you rolled your hips into his, lips moving down the side of his neck. 

“Hmm, that could work,” he mumbled, letting out a quiet groan. 

You felt his hardening length against your core, grounding your hips further into his. “I love you, you know that?” You asked, pulling back to look down at him.

He looked up at you and smiled. “I know, baby. I love you too.” 

“So… will you let me take care of you?” 

His brow arched. “What?” 

You pecked his lips and then slowly climbed off his lap only to settle himself between your legs. You palmed the center of his boxers, his hardened manhood against your palm now. “Just sit back… let me do all the work.” 

Harry groaned and nodded. He looked down at you and bit his lower lip. He couldn’t believe that this was his life. Today was a wake up call for him—he hadn’t been present in his kids’ lives and he certainly hadn’t been present for you either. 

“You spoil me,” he mumbled. 

“Good. I’m trying to return the favor,” you grinned, moving your lips now to brush against his clothed manhood. 

Harry’s hand darted out immediately to hold your hair back, biting his lower lip in anticipation. “Maybe… maybe you should do this every night,” he suggested. 

You smiled up at him and pulled down his boxers, watching his manhood twitch against his lower half. “Yeah? I wouldn’t mind that,” you grinned. 

“God,” he groaned, watching your lips wrap around the tip of his manhood. Harry cleared his throat, your eyes still locked with his. “Fuck, baby.” 

You pulled back and ran your tongue around his leaking tip. A smile still lined your lips. “Harry?” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“I fall in love with you every day,” you said. 

Harry grinned. He reached out with his free hand to cup your cheek. “Oh, baby… I fell in love with you five years ago and I haven’t stopped falling since.” 

Before he could continue though, you wrapped your mouth back around him and began bobbing your head slowly. Harry tipped his head back and reveled in the way your lips felt around him, your tongue swirling around the base of him. 

“Fuck, baby…” Harry’s hand around your hair tightened as he slowly lifted his hips off the bed. “Wanna try for another baby, hm?” 

You nodded, but with his length in your mouth, caused you to just bob around him. He growled before he pulled out of your mouth, his free hand moving from your cheek to grab hold of his base. 

“Take off your panties,” he said, licking his lower lip. “And then sit on it. Take what you need, baby.” 

You nodded quickly. You were already throbbing and wet between your legs, sliding your panties off like he said before you straddled his hips yet again. 

Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, feeling his tip breach your opening first followed by the rest of his girth, stretching you slowly. 

Both of you moaned. 

You stared into his eyes.

Harry stared back. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he whispered. “So much that I’ll be dripping out of you in your sleep.” 

You gasped, lifting your hips before sliding back down. “Get me pregnant, Harry,” you added. “Please.” 

Harry smiled. Both of you had been wanting to expand your family, but this time, it wasn’t easy. At least not as easy as it had been with Frankie and Sammy. 

He gripped your hips and pulled you firmly down onto him. As you sat firmly on his lap, his entire length filling you to the hilt, you both stared at each other and let out a breathy sigh. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too,” you replied, leaning forward to press your forehead against his. 

It had been a while since you and Harry had sex twice in one day. You both just hoped that it was a sign that you’d end up pregnant this time around.