Kate's eyes narrow. "I mean attaching himself to a pregnant woman in crisis who's already sleeping with his best friend. Do you really not see how this looks? How it will affect his reputation, his business relationships?"
"I never asked him to get involved," I say quietly. "He chose this. He chose me."
Kate stares at me for a long moment, her expression venomous. Then she steps back, shaking her head. "I'm sure you'll get what you deserve eventually. And I'll be here for Tristan when it all falls apart."
I exhale slowly, pushing past her into the hallway. "Excuse me," I murmur, needing to get away from her before I start to cry.
My legs feel heavy as I walk back toward the dining room, my composure hanging by the thinnest thread. Julian and Tristan look up as I enter, their faces immediately registering concern. I don't know what my expression shows, but it's enough to make Julian stand immediately.
"I'd like to leave," I announce, my voice surprisingly steady. "Now, please."
Tristan is already on his feet, moving to my side without hesitation. He grabs my hand in his, warm and solid. "Of course," he says. "We're done here."
Julian grabs our coats, and within moments, we're headed for the door. Nobody says goodbye to our hostess. Nobody needs to. The evening—and perhaps much more—is already over.
Julian and I slide into the back of Tristan's car, his arm draped protectively around my shoulders. I lean against him, completely exhausted, the weight of the confrontation making me feel like I could just melt into a puddle.
"Let’s go to Julian’s place. It’s the closest," Tristan decides from the front seat. "And you have that ridiculously large television. I think we all need to lay on the couch and chill."
Julian's place it is. None of us speak much during the drive. Julian keeps his arm around me, holding me close. Tristan drives with careful precision, the city lights flowing past us in streaks of gold and white. I close my eyes, letting the gentle motion of the car and Julian's steady presence anchor me.
By the time we arrive, I'm caught in that strange limbo between exhaustion and hyper-alertness, my nerves still humming with leftover adrenaline from Kate's ambush. My body feels heavy, but my mind keeps replaying her words, her assumptions, her dismissal of what we've built.
Julian's penthouse welcomes us with soft lighting and familiar comfort. I've spent enough nights here that it feels almost like home—the oversized couch with its impossibly soft throws, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, the subtle scent of whatever cleaner his housekeeper uses.
"Sweatpants and a movie?" Julian suggests, already shrugging out of his jacket. "Something mindless with explosions?"
I nod, grateful for the suggestion. "Yes, please."
Tristan wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. "I'll make some tea."
Within minutes, I'm changed into a pair of Julian's sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts, both comically large on my frame but impossibly soft.
Julian scrolls through his movie collection while Tristan returns with three mugs of tea, setting mine on the coffee table within easy reach. I curl into the corner of the sectional sofa, feet tucked under me, still unable to fully relax.
"Here," Julian says, settling next to me. He pats his lap. "Give me those feet."
I hesitate only briefly before extending my legs across his thighs. His hands close around my right foot, thumbs pressinginto the arch with perfect pressure. A small sound escapes me—halfway between a sigh and a moan.
Julian chuckles as he watches my eyes roll back into my head.
"You have no idea how good that feels," I murmur, sinking deeper into the cushions.
Tristan sits on my other side, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. "May I?" he asks, fingers hovering near my neck.
I nod, and his hands begin to knead the tight muscles at the base of my skull, moving down to the knots that have formed between my shoulder blades.
On screen, some action movie plays out its predictable plot, but I’m barely paying attention. I’m completely consumed by these two men and how good their hands feel right now.
"Kate is wrong," Tristan says suddenly, his voice low near my ear. "About all of this."
I turn to look at him, finding his blue eyes intense and sincere. "I know."
Julian's fingers trace the delicate bones of my ankle. "She'll come around eventually. Or she won't. Doesn't change anything between us."
The simple certainty in his voice soothes something raw inside me. I let my head fall back against the cushions, feeling the day's tension begin to unravel under their careful ministrations.
My eyelids grow heavy as the movie drones on. Julian has moved to my other foot and Tristan's fingers have migrated to my scalp, running through my hair in slow, rhythmic strokes that make my skin tingle.
