I sit at the center of the long table, Luan on my left and Driton on my right, feeling trapped between past and future, between what was promised and what might be. My hands rest in my lap beneath the table, fingers twisted together so tightly my knuckles ache.
I'm trying to collect my thoughts. Trying to process everything that's happened in the last hour, let alone the last week.
Luan's speech keeps replaying in my mind. His words weren't meant for me, I know that. They were carefully chosen for the audience, for the council members and family heads watching our every move, evaluating whether this American girl is worthy of the Krasniqi name. But when his eyes met mine, they were fierce. Intense. Burning with something that felt too real to be performance. I felt that intensity in my bones, in my chest, in the way my breath caught and held.
The gifts that kept coming in an endless parade. Wave after wave of gold and cash and heirlooms passed down through generations. I didn't know how to react at first, didn't know what was expected of me in this ritual I'd never heard of. Luan leaned close, his breath warm against my ear, and whispered that it was tradition. That I should just accept graciously or people might consider it disrespectful. So I smiled until my cheeks ached. I thanked each person. I played the role of grateful bride-to-be with what I hope was convincing sincerity.
I also can't stop thinking about the man who shook my hand earlier. Cormac O'Rourke. The Irish man who walked into the room like he owned it, like the threat of violence surrounding him was just another accessory he wore. There was something about him that felt familiar even though I've never seen him before in my life. I can't explain it. Just a feeling in my gut. A recognition that doesn't make logical sense but sits there anyway, insistent and strange.
The past few days have been the hardest of my life.
I've been trying to coordinate schedules with the men trying to avoiding them. Coming up with excuses not to be in their presence for too long because I know, I absolutely know, that if I'm near them I won't be able to resist this pull I have for them.
This gravitational force that draws me in even when I know I should stay away. Even when my brain is screaming warnings my body refuses to hear.
I miss them terribly. Miss Artan's steady presence, the way he looks at me like I'm something precious he's afraid to break. Miss Erion's sharp humor that makes me laugh even when I'm trying to stay angry. Miss Luan's intensity, the way he sees straight through every defense I build and refuses to look away from what he finds.
And somewhere in the missing, somewhere between the anger and the fear and the desperate longing, I realized something that changes everything.
I fell in love with them.
Not gradually. Not sensibly. Just completely and irrevocably and without any regard for logic or self-preservation.
Despite them being three different men with three different ways of touching me, three different ways of making me feel seen. Despite the complications that should make this impossible. Despite everything I've learned about who they are and what they do. I love them equally. Wholly. With a ferocity that terrifies me.
The realization doesn't bring joy or relief. Just makes everything infinitely harder.
Because loving them means accepting what they do. The violence that lives beneath their skin like a second skeleton. The crime that funds the luxury surrounding me right now. The fact that they operate outside the law, that rules are things other people follow. The danger that follows them everywhere like a shadow. The half-truths and careful omissions that pepper every conversation.
But I still want them.
Even knowing all of it. Even understanding the cost. I still want them in my life, in my future.
I feel like I'm losing my mind. Like I'm going to be overwhelmed by emotions I can't control, can't sort, can't make sense of. By wanting things I shouldn't want. By loving men I should fear. By choosing a path that leads somewhere dark and dangerous and utterly impossible to navigate safely.
I need space. Need air. Need to think away from their magnetic orbit and this irresistible attraction that's pulling me under like a riptide.
I stand up abruptly. My chair scrapes against the floor, the sound sharp and too loud in the elegant space.
Luan looks at me immediately, his green eyes sharp with concern. "Where are you going?"
I force a smile that feels like it might crack my face. "Just to the kitchen. To pass my compliments and thanks to the chef. The food was excellent."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue but comes out smooth as practiced truth.
Luan nods slowly, though I can see him evaluating my expression, looking for cracks in the facade. Then I catch the subtle gesture he makes with his head toward Artan. A silent command. Follow her.
I lean close to Luan, close enough that my words are for him alone. Say between my teeth with barely controlled frustration, "I don't need a bodyguard just to go to the kitchen."
But I don't wait for his response. Just turn and walk away before he can argue, before he can insist, before I lose my nerve entirely.
I walk quickly through the banquet room, weaving between tables where guests are still eating and drinking and laughing.Past conversations in Albanian that I can't understand, past measuring looks from women draped in gold. Past the music playing softly and the clink of silverware against fine china.
I can feel Artan following behind me. His presence is unmistakable even without looking back. But as I reach the door, I hear a man's voice call out his name enthusiastically. The sound of vigorous handshaking. Backslapping. Reunion.
I don't wait. Don't hesitate. Just slip through the door and into the hallway beyond.
The quiet hits me like a physical thing. The absence of noise, of people, of pressure. Just the soft hum of air conditioning and the muffled sounds of the hotel beyond these walls.
