“My job is global,” he says simply. “I work in cybersecurity. Almost everything I do is on a computer. Adam already lets me work from home whenever I need to. We have secure VPNs. Encrypted connections. I can log on from anywhere, as long as there’s decent internet and I’m not in a wildly incompatible time zone when people need me live. I looked into it.” His cheeks pinkslightly. “I thought, if there was ever someone I’d change my lifestyle for, it’d be you. So I checked the practicalities. As far as Arcus is concerned, my location is a line of metadata and a good firewall.”
I gape at him. “You researched how to be my traveling cyber nerd and didn’t tell me?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “I didn’t want to frighten you. Or myself, if I’m honest. But then I watched you sit there and try to work out how to break both our hearts for our own alleged good.” His throat moves as he swallows. “It seemed important to mention.”
I laugh, half-sobbing. “Oh my god.”
He glances down, then back up, nerves flickering in the set of his shoulders. “I would needsomestructure,” he says. “Quiet places to decompress. A clear work schedule. Noise-canceling headphones. You might have to drag me out of a hotel bathroom occasionally if I get overwhelmed by a crowd. But I can learn, and adapt. My brain isn’t broken, it just needs the right parameters.”
“Iknow,” I say, fiercely proud. “I know it isn’t broken.”
He smiles a little. “Thenstop treating me like glass.”
I wince. “Yeah. OK. Point taken.”
We stand there for a beat, breathing the same air.
I turn back to him, heart pounding for a whole new reason. “There is one more thing we need to talk about.”
He nods, bracing. “Your non-monogamy.”
“Yeah.” I exhale, crossing back to him until we’re only a foot apart. “I wasn’t exaggerating earlier. I amnotgoing to be a one-person-for-life girl. It’s not a phase. It’s not trauma. It’s just… me. I get a lot of joy and fulfillment out of connecting with different people in different ways. Sexually, emotionally, whatever. And I don’t want to give that up, not even for you. I can’t promise I’ll always come home exactly when I say I will. I can’t promise I’ll never wake up one day and say ‘hey, there’s a sex-positive festival in Berlin, let’s go’. And I can’t promise that my bed, or yours, will only ever have two people in it at once.”
His pupils dilate.Interesting.
“And if that’s something youneed,” I push on, voice shaking, “if you need traditional monogamy to feel safe and secure and loved, then I’m not your woman. And that would suck so bad, but I’d rather face it now.”
He is quiet for a moment, considering, which I’ve learned means he’s taking me very seriously. Then he says, very calmly:
“So you’re worried about us havingfun?”
It takes me a second. Then my jaw drops. “Um...”
He shrugs slightly, the faintest hint of a blush painting his cheekbones. “We went to Pink Sugar together. Webothmade Marissa climax. And her g-going down on me while you kissed me was the sexiest thing that ever happened to me. I’m not… threatened by the idea of you with other people. I’m not opposed to taking part. As long as it’s safe, consensual, and you’re enjoying yourself, I actually rather like the idea.”
I blink. “You… do.”
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “I don’t have a template for this. I wasn’t exactly… experimenting wildly in my twenties. But the thought of being in a room with you while you’re… ah, having a good time, and knowing that you’ve chosen me as your anchor in thatspace, that you’ll come back to me afterwards and tell me what you liked… That appeals. A lot. Awholelot.”
My brain flashes, unhelpfully, to any upcoming club night. To Jacob in a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled, sitting in an armchair while I sink to my knees between someone else’s thighs—and his eyes on me the whole time.
OK then.
“But feelings,” I say, a little hoarsely. “Jealousy. Attachment. Me sleeping with other people, or you sleeping with other people, because that’s part of it too. Ethical non-monogamy isn’tI get to fuck around and you sit in a chastity cage. It cuts both ways.”
He nods seriously. “I’m aware.” He hesitates. “I think, realistically, it will be a learning curve. There may be moments where I feel… threatened. Or insecure. Or overwhelmed. But I would rather work through those feelingswith youthan sit alone in my house imagining what you might be doing without me. I’m going to be anxious either way, Tippi. I’d prefer my anxiety to come with orgasms and frequent flyer miles.”
I actually laugh, watery and disbelieving. “God, I love your brain.”
“Thank you.” Then he says, oh so very carefully, “And I… love you.”
The world goes silent.
I stare at him. The words hang there between us, simple and monumental.
“You what?” My voice cracks.
He makes a faint noise of frustration with himself, like he wishes he’d been more eloquent. “I know it’s only been a short time. Iknow we haven’t done this the usual way, with dates and labels and whatever people do nowadays. But when I picture my future, now, you’re in it. When I’m at work, I think about what you’d say about my colleagues. When I’m home alone, my house feels wrong if you’re not there. When you cried last night, every part of me wanted to fix whatever hurt you, even though I know that wasn’t in my remit. And when I watched you on that live, trying to cut yourself out of my life for my own good, I realized that the idea of you leaving and never coming back made me feel physically ill.” He swallows. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is, but it’s more than enough for me.”
