"The Glasshouse." I'm stating it as fact rather than a question.
"The Glasshouse. Which means Wednesday isn't about joint investments. It's about determining if you're a threat." His expression is grim. "But we'll deal with that after you survive Solange's interrogation. One confrontation at a time."
He’s right. Solange is going to have questions, opinions, and concerns about me sleeping with Jax that require my full attention rather than being distracted by Ezra’s back and forth.
I shower and change into clothes that say "I'm fine" rather than "I've spent three days having sex in a safe house while being hunted by my dead husband's associates and brother." The transformation is mostly successful, though the marks on my neck from Jax's teeth last night are visible enoughthat I have to adjust my collar twice before giving up and accepting that Solange will notice regardless.
At 10:45, Derek arrives to drive me to Solange's townhouse. Jax walks me to the door, kisses me once with enough intensity to suggest he's already thinking about tonight, then steps back with professional distance that feels jarring after the intimacy of the past thirty-six hours.
"Be honest with her," he says. "She deserves that."
"I know." I do know. Solange has been my anchor through everything. She's earned honesty even when that honesty reveals choices she might not approve of.
The drive to Solange’s takes twenty minutes. Derek maintains professional presence without trying to make conversation, for which I'm grateful. My head is too full of preparing for Solange's interrogation to manage small talk about weather or weekend plans.
Solange answers the door before I can knock and pulls me inside with less ceremony than yesterday's professional distance at the foundation office. "Now we can actually talk without pretending everything's fine."
"I wasn't pretending everything's fine. I was just avoiding the conversation we're about to have." I follow her inside, past Derek who positions himself in the entryway with sight lines to both the street and interior.
"Coffee or mimosas?" she asks, leading me toward her kitchen.
"Coffee. Definitely coffee." I need to be sharp for this conversation, not buzzed on champagne at eleven AM.
Her kitchen is small and functional, similar to mine—basic appliances, limited counter space, the kind of setup meant for quick meals rather than elaborate cooking. She's alreadyprepared food—fruit, pastries, eggs benedict that smell better than anything I've eaten in days. We settle at her small dining table with plates full of food I'm not sure I can actually eat given the anxiety currently occupying my stomach.
"So," Solange says, not bothering with preamble. "Are you going to tell me what's actually happening with your surveillance expert, or am I supposed to pretend I didn't notice the way you flinched when I mentioned him yesterday?"
The directness shouldn't surprise me. Solange has never been one for subtle approaches. "I'm sleeping with him. With Jax." I blurt it out as I find no other reasonable way for me to do this.
"I figured as much when you showed up in a turtleneck." She gestures at my collar with her coffee mug. "The marks on your neck are fairly obvious if someone's actually looking, and you're not usually one for high necklines."
"And you're sleeping with him because...?" She's watching me over her coffee mug, expression carefully neutral in ways that suggest she's withholding judgment until she hears my reasoning.
"Because I want to. Because he makes me feel things I forgot were possible after five years with Gabriel. Because surveillance and attraction aren't mutually exclusive when the surveillance is chosen rather than imposed." I'm being as honest as I know how, even though I can see her processing each statement with the critical assessment of someone who loves me enough to be concerned.
"And you're certain this isn't just trauma response? Your therapist would probably call it transference—projecting safety onto the person providing protection because you can't distinguish between being protected and being wanted."
"Dr. Cross probably would say that. She'd also say that acknowledging the possibility doesn't mean I have to stop living while I figure out if it's accurate." I take a bite of eggs benedict, buying time to organize my thoughts. "Solange, I know this looks like history repeating itself. But the difference is choice. Jax removed the cameras when I asked. Gabriel would have punished me for asking. Jax tells me what he's doing, Gabriel hid his monitoring behind concern. With Jax, I get to decide. That wasn't an option before."
"Can you? Live with it?" She sets down her mug with precision that suggests this is the crux of her concern.
"I think so. Maybe. I'm still figuring it out." The uncertainty costs me something to admit. "But Solange, I need to try. I need to know if what I feel for him exists independent of the protection he provides. And I can't figure that out by maintaining distance and pretending I don't want him."
She's quiet for a long moment, studying my face with the particular attention of someone who's known me longer than most. "You're in love with him."
The statement should surprise me, but it doesn't. "Yeah. I am."
"And you're sure? This isn't—"
"I'm sure." I cut her off gently but firmly. "I've spent weeks analyzing this, questioning every feeling, wondering if it's real or just trauma seeking safety. I'm done with that. What I feel for Jax is real. Maybe it started complicated, maybe protection and attraction got tangled together, but it's real now. I know the difference."
Solange studies me, then nods slowly. "Okay. I believe you. And honestly? It's good to hear you sound certain about something."
"Gabriel made me question everything. My perceptions, my feelings, my reality. I'm not doing that anymore." I squeeze her hand. "I know what I want. And I'm allowed to want it."
"I know. And honestly, that's why I'm not dragging you out of this relationship despite every instinct telling me surveillance plus intimacy equals disaster." She studies me for a moment. "You seem... different. More certain."
"I am. I spent five years with Gabriel questioning my own reality. I'm not doing that anymore. I know what I feel. I know what I want."
