“What are you doing here?” The question must have come out sharper than she’d intended, because she immediately squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. When she opened them again, her expression had softened. “I mean, I’m surprised to see you. Enzo said he wasn’t bringing Dom, so I assumed...”
“Yeah, I’m getting a crash course in Enzo’s habit of being ambiguous about plans while sounding completely normal,” I scratched the back of my head. “He said he got us a place to stay. Turns out that was technically true, just not what I expected.”
“Typical Enzo,” she snorted, crossing her arms. “He’s lucky he’s so lovable.”
“Can wepleasecome inside?” Enzo appeared next to me, practically vibrating. “I had two Kalimotxos on the plane and I really need to pee.”
“Gross, dude,” Jason moved toward the door. Sasha stepped aside and they filed past us, leaving me alone on the porch.
“Listen, I don’t want to intrude,” I started, suddenly fascinatedby the slatted privacy wall to my right. I reached for my dog tags. Ugh—still gone. “I can grab a hotel room...”
“You’re not intruding,” she pulled my gaze back to her face again. Her eyes were worried. “Why would you think you were?”
“Because your brother apparently specializes in surprise guests?”
She was already walking into the house, tossing a casual shrug over her shoulder. “Enzo never tells me when he’s bringing someone, and I have plenty of room.”
I followed her into what looked like a magazine spread come to life—all clean lines and preserved character that felt lived-in rather than precious. Game controller tossed on the ottoman, soft jazz barely audible until you caught it in a quiet moment, and enough throw blankets and pillows to make a nest.
“Won’t Alex be annoyed?” I asked, taking in the space.
She stiffened before turning back with a practiced and unreadable smile. “Don’t worry about Alex.” She gestured toward the hall. “If you walk straight back, the door on the left is the guest room. Enzo can take the pull-out in my office. Serves him right for not telling either of us about his nefarious plans.”
“Thanks,” I murmured, heading down the hall while trying not to look like I was cataloging escape routes. I opened the door on the left, just past the now-vacated bathroom. The small but cozy room hit me like a gentle exhale. Natural light poured through gauzy curtains, making the dark green walls look like deep water, and for the first time in months, I felt like I could take a full deep breath. After years of sterile Navy quarters, this felt like being wrapped in velvet.
I dropped my bag next to the bed and returned to the hall. Voices drifted from the kitchen—Sasha and her brothers catching up, laughing at something Enzo said. My heart did a small flop at the sound of Sasha’s full, genuine laugh. The open door to my left revealed what was clearly her office space with dual monitors, enough books to supply a small library, and moisture rings on the large window-facing desk that suggested she actually used thespace instead of just photographing it for social media.
Down the hall, another door stood slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of dark navy walls. Either Sasha had a thing for bold colors, or she’d gotten a screaming deal on dramatic paint. Given everything else I’d seen so far, I was betting on the first option.
The house smelled like her, mixed with hints of something sweet, and high-quality tobacco like my grandfather used to smoke—warm and complex. It was as if she’d figured out how to make “safe” into a scent and then just let it settle into the walls.
Framed photos lined the hallway, and I drifted toward them without consciously deciding to. The casual snooping said more about me than I wanted to admit, but curiosity had always been one of my more persistent character flaws.
The photos told the story you’d expect from someone who enjoyed their family—wedding shots of what had to be her parents (she’d gotten her mother’s smile and her father’s bright shrewd eyes), graduation ceremonies, vacations where everyone looked genuinely happy instead of just Instagram-ready. I touched the corner of a frame showing a tiny girl perched on her dad’s lap, blonde pigtails and wide smile—and obviously Sasha.
What didn’t appear anywhere was Sasha with the mysterious Alex. No candid couple shots, no casual arm-around-the-shoulder moments, nothing that screamed “here’s my significant other and we’re deeply in disgusting love.” Either they were very private people, or Alex was the kind of guy who avoided cameras. Given how much Sasha seemed to enjoy documenting family moments, the absence felt deliberate.
I moved back to the office, telling myself I was just checking on Enzo’s setup and not conducting amateur detective work on someone I’d met twice. Enzo’s bag had already claimed the pull-out couch opposite the desk, and the walls here traded family sentiment for a carefully curated collection of pop art pieces, some of which probably cost more than my first car.
I spotted the diploma by the door, elegant script on creampaper that made most of my Navy certificates look like participation trophies by comparison.
The name stopped me cold.
Alexandra J. Archer, Bachelor of Fine Arts
My chest felt hollow. All those weeks of wondering about “Alex”—imagining some guy who got to come home to her every night, hating myself for the jealousy that pricked at me whenever Dom mentioned him.
“Shit,” I breathed, pressing my palms against my eyes.
Enzo appeared in the doorway, and I watched his face cycle through confusion to realization to slight panic. “Finn...”
“How long have you known I’m an idiot?” my voice came out rougher than I intended.
“The night of our engagement party, she came to us after putting you to bed and said you didn’t like Alex,” Enzo shrugged. “She asked us to call her Sasha around you. It wasn’t much of a stretch. Sasha is what she went by growing up. She wasn’t Alex until college. She was Alex when I met her.”
My stomach dropped. She didn’t want me to know who she was because I’d said I didn’t like Alex. I turned to Enzo, my cheeks burning.
“You can’t tell her you know,” Enzo added.
