“Yeah,” I lie. “Just…thinking.”
“About what?”
I want to tell her the truth. That there’s a Romero in the room and my brother’s name lives like a ghost in their family tree now that he’s married to Briar. That this could be nothing, or it could be the start of something ugly. That I’m doing math in my head. Exits, angles, who could be with him, who might be outside.
But the truth is a trap. Once you say it, you can’t unsay it. And I don’t know what Dallen would do with it.
She studies me, unimpressed by my vague answer. “Thinking about me?”
I almost smile at the out she offers me. “Always.”
Her eyes narrow like she doesn’t believe me, but her mouth betrays her—softening, pleased. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Then let’s talk about something less…mysterious. I’ll go first and talk about my career. Since you dodged it.”
“Go ahead,” I say, even as my attention keeps snagging toward the bar. The Romero lifts his glass. Takes a sip. Laughs at something the bartender says.
Dallen tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m a lawyer.”
The words hit like a glass dropped on marble. I keep my face neutral, but inside, everything shifts.
“A lawyer,” I repeat carefully.
“Mm-hmm,” she says. “Corporate litigation. Mostly. Sometimes personal cases, if they’re the right fit. But I’m usually buried in contracts and disputes.”
I nod. My throat feels tight. Not because she’s a lawyer. Because of what that means if this—whatever this is—becomes real. The Moretti name doesn’t come with clean edges. Not fully. Not even now, when we’re “legitimate.” There are always shadows. Always something that doesn’t fit neatly into board meetings and charity galas.
And if something happens—if someone comes for us, if a deal goes bad, if there’s retaliation or an accident or a body we never bet on—what would Dallen do with her conscience and her lawdegree and her belief in justice? What would she do if she found out I’m not just a guy who took her to dinner?
Her gaze flicks over my face, reading me too well. “Is that…a problem?”
“No,” I say immediately, too fast.
Shit.
Dallen leans back slightly, like she’s giving me space to either be honest or keep lying. “Stephen.”
I glance at the bar again without meaning to. The Romero has turned a fraction, his profile visible. He’s listening to something on his phone now, head tilted, smile fading.
I force myself to look at Dallen. “It’s not a problem,” I say again, slower. “It’s just…unexpected.”
“Why?”
Because lawyers come with questions. Because lawyers come with standards. Because lawyers come with a world I’ve never belonged to, even when I’m wearing a suit in a room full of people pretending we’re all the same.
I lift my glass and take a sip of water I don’t need. “What made you want to get into law?” I ask, buying time.
Dallen exhales, a little relieved that I’m engaging. “I like fixing things and arguing, so it’s a good fit for my personality.”
“You sound like you love it.”
“It’s everything to me,” she counters. “Not everything can be fixed, but a lot can. And I’m good at my job and hope to make partner soon.”
I nod, even as my mind runs through worst-case scenarios. If things go sideways, could she defend us? Would she? Or would she look at me like I’m the kind of man she should’ve crossed the street to avoid?
Dallen’s eyes soften. “What’s going on in that head of yours right now?”
Too much. I let my gaze drop to her hands on the table. Clean nails. A simple ring. No flashy jewelry. Grounded. Real. I want to keep her in my life.
That’s the problem.
