To her credit, Gloria doesn't act surprised. "And?"
"And he kissed me back. Until he didn't." I swallow hard around the lump forming in my throat. "He walked away. Said everything was over."
"I see." Her tone is neutral, giving nothing away. "And?..."
My laugh is hollow, humorless. "I also kissed Mateo. On theplane from Bali."
This time, her eyebrows do rise slightly. "Well. You've been busy."
"It's not funny, Gloria." I set my mug down with force, tea sloshing over the rim. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I've never... I don't do this. I don't get involved with people I work with. I don't get involved with anyone. That's been my rule for years."
"Rules are meant to be broken." She shrugs, unperturbed by my outburst. "And there's nothing wrong with being attracted to more than one person at a time."
I look at her skeptically. "Society would disagree with you there."
"Society," she says dismissively, waving her hand, "has many opinions about what women should and shouldn't do with their bodies and hearts. Most of them are garbage."
She leans back, a faraway look crossing her face. "Did I ever tell you about the summer of '98? I was working the European circuit. Milan, Paris, London. There was this photographer's assistant in Milan, Paolo. Beautiful man, hands like magic. And then in Paris, I met Jean-Luc, a lighting designer with the wickedest smile you've ever seen."
I stare at her, momentarily distracted from my own drama. "Gloria, are you saying...?"
"That I enjoyed the company of both men that summer? Yes, indeed." Her smile is unrepentant, tinged with fondnostalgia. "And for a wonderful week in Nice, they both enjoyed my company together."
"Gloria!" I'm scandalized and intrigued in equal measure.
She laughs at my expression. "Oh, don't look so shocked. It was a different time. We were young, beautiful, free. No social media to document our every move, no phones with cameras, just living in the moment."
Her expression grows more serious. "What I'm saying, Jade, is that your heart is your own. It doesn't have to follow rules or conform to expectations. If you have feelings for more than one person, that doesn't make you wrong or broken. It makes you human."
I absorb this, turning her words over in my mind. "But they're friends. Brothers, practically. They would never..."
"You might be surprised," she says cryptically. "Men can be more flexible than we give them credit for, especially when something, or someone, matters enough."
The implication sends heat rushing to my cheeks. Could that even be possible? The three of them and me? The thought is so outlandish, so far outside my carefully ordered existence that I nearly laugh. Yet something about it resonates, settling into a place inside me I didn't know existed.
"It doesn't matter anyway," I say, shaking off the fantasy. "Ethan made his position clear. And Mateo... who knows what he wants? And Declan hasn't shownany interest at all."
Gloria makes a skeptical noise. "That mountain of a man watches you like you're water in the desert. Just because he doesn't speak much doesn't mean he isn't feeling."
I think about Declan. Stoic, silent, intense. The way his dark eyes follow me when he thinks I'm not looking. The assuredness in his massive hands when he helped me into the car yesterday, contrasting with the fierce protectiveness in his expression. And that moment at gym…
"I don't know what to do, Gloria," I admit, the confession small and vulnerable in the quiet room. "I've never felt this way before. About anyone, let alone three someones. I'm scared," I whisper. "Of losing them. Of doing the wrong thing and breaking something before I even know what it is."
Gloria leans her head against mine. "Then don't rush. Let it unfold. One heartbeat at a time."
She reaches over, covering my hand with hers. "You don't have to figure it all out tonight. Just know that life is short, and chances for real connection are rare, especially in our world. When happiness presents itself, in whatever form, only a fool turns away."
We sit together in companionable silence after that, finishing our tea as the sun dips below the horizon. Her words echo in my mind, challenging everything I've believed about relationships, about protection, about keeping myself safe.
What if the walls I've built to keep pain out have also been keeping love at bay?
What if, in my determination to never be vulnerable again, I've denied myself the very thing that makes vulnerability worthwhile?
Three men. Three different types of connection. Three chances to be brave in ways that have nothing to do with facing my stalker or my phobias.
"Gloria," I say softly as she stands to leave, "thank you."
She smiles, patting my cheek affectionately. "Just promise me one thing."
