“That the one with the Thorne cousin who tried to bribe the stylist?”
My head snapped back.“What?”
He blinked, eyes still on the screen. “The one where the host hinted at it without saying his name. ‘Sources say one candidate attempted to secure a favourable tailoring slot through additional incentives,’” he quoted, tone dead-on.
My stomach dropped.
“That was three episodes ago. You weren’t here.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve got eyes and comms, Madeline. Veil exists outside your penthouse weekends.”
“Have you been watching this without me?”
He finally looked down at me, expression completely unbothered. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
He frowned slightly, like the question confused him. “Because you like it.”
“I—” My voice trembled. “You… what?”
He went back to the screen, casual as anything. “I started streaming it during paperwork. Helps me keep up with dynasty idiocy you don’t have time to explain.”
Tears pricked before I could stop them.
I blinked hard, furious with myself. The last thing I needed was to cry over my boyfriend having opinions on a gossip show.
He felt the tension anyway. “Talk to me, baby.”
“I’m—” I took a breath that came out wrong. “Fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m just—” The tears pushed through, hot and stupid. “You can’t just be sweet about my trash shows. It’s unfair.”
He paused the screen with a tap of his thumb.
“Okay. That’s my cue.”
Then he pulled me fully into his chest.
I hadn’t planned on it happening. One second I was swallowing it back, the next my eyes were overflowing and there was a ridiculous choked sound coming out of my throat.
“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” His voice dropped into that low, steady register he used when the city was on fire and he needed everyone else calm. “No apologies.”
“It’s—” I tried to pull in a normal breath. “It’s not okay. I’m crying because you care about my stupid show. That’s insane.”
“It’s okay,” he said.
“It is not.”
His thumb traced my cheekbone, catching a tear before it slid down. He studied my face for a few seconds, then exhaled, like something had just slotted into place in his head.
“You’re due,” he said.
I sniffed. “Due for what, a meltdown?”
