I don’t know if she’ll take it. I don’t know if I’ve already ruined us beyond repair.
But this is the most honest thing I’ve done in months.
I find Rosanna's eyes.
"We already know who that someone is."
Chapter thirty-nine
Rosanna
Luna tugs my arm, suggesting we leave.
I could.
I could figure out the lease thing later.
But I don’t move.
"I need to talk to him," I tell Luna quietly.
She searches my face, then nods. "You want me to wait?"
"No. Go home. I'll call you when I'm done." Whenever that is. However this goes.
Luna hugs me quickly, whispers "Be brave," and disappears into the thinning crowd. And I'm left standing in the conference room watching Seamus talk to Talia near the podium, his posture tense despite the calm expression on his face.
He looks exhausted. Like he hasn't slept properly in days. Like standing up there and making that announcement cost him something significant.
I walk toward him before I can overthink it. His head turns as I approach. The expression that crosses his face is so raw and hopeful and scared that it makes my chest ache.
"Rosanna." My name sounds different in his mouth now. "I wasn't sure you'd stay."
"I need to talk to you," I say, and I'm proud that my voice sounds steadier than I feel. "Privately. Not about the press conference or the lease terms. About... everything else."
Talia excuses herself with a meaningful look at Seamus, and suddenly we're alone in the conference room. He gestures toward the chairs near the window—away from the podium, away from the space that still feels public even though it's empty now.
We sit, and the silence stretches between us. I'm trying to figure out how to ask what I need to ask, and he's clearly assuming this is about logistics.
“The lease is straightforward,” he says. “Thirty years. Full control. No interference from O'malleyMart.”
"Why?" The question comes out sharper than I intended. "Why did you save the building? And don't give me the press conference answer. Tell me the real reason."
He's quiet for a long moment, and I watch him struggle with how much to reveal. I can see the old instinct to protect himself warring with whatever new commitment to honesty he's trying to build.
"Because you were right," he finally says, and his voice is rough. "About all of it."
He looks at me directly now, and I see no calculation in his expression. Just exhaustion and honesty and something that looks like grief.
"I spent my whole life trying to control everything because I thought that was the same as safety." He pauses. "But it's not."
"The building—" I start, but he continues.
"Saving the building doesn't fix what I did to you. But I couldn't sit by and watch anymore."
He leans forward slightly, and I can see him fighting the urge to reach for my hand.
"You asked me once what I was so afraid of." His voice drops. "The answer is: I was afraid of this. Of caring about someone so much that losing them would break me."
