I’ve spent my career helping people navigate the messy territory of human connection. Now I’m standing in the middle of my own emotional minefield without a map.
There’s no telling what either of them thought it meant, Chris especially. But I know what it meant to me.
I can still feel the weight of their bodies around me. The scent of sweat and skin clinging to the sheets, to my hair, to the deepest part of my memory. Chris’s hands trembled after. Wyatt reached for me like I was something precious instead of a battlefield between them.
My phone buzzes a third time. I expect Chris this time.
Instead, it’s a reminder about my flight back to Denver this afternoon. Reality in digital form.
I zip my carry-on closed with more force than necessary, as if I can compress last night’s memories as easily as my clothes. The room is nearly returned to its anonymous hotel state, all evidence of our presence erased, except for Wyatt’s navy silk tie still draped accusingly over the desk chair.
I stare at it for a moment, debating. Leave it? Take it to return later? Both options feel loaded with significance I’m not ready to address.
With a muttered curse, I grab the tie and stuff it into the outer pocket of my suitcase. I’ll figure out what to do with it later, when I’m safely back in Denver with a thousand miles between me and last night.
As I do a final sweep of the room, my phone buzzes again. Still Wyatt. Still unanswered.
I shoulder my bag and head for the door, leaving the room and its ghosts behind. Whatever happened last night, I have a breakfast to get through and a flight to catch. Everything else can wait until I’m back in Denver.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I step into the hallway, carefully avoiding looking at the spot where it all began.
The hotel restaurant buzzes with morning activity, but I spot our group immediately, the Longo-Nicolo-Black wedding party holding court at a long table near the windows. Mason’s arm is draped casually around Callie’s shoulders while she bounces Zoey on her knee. Senator Katherine Longo sits across from them, elegant as always even the morning after her daughter’s wedding, with Adrian Nicolo beside her looking pleasantly tired from the celebration.
Wyatt is there too, of course. Looking unfairly well-rested in a casual button-down, making faces at Zoey that have her giggling. Something hot flares through me, not just attraction or guilt, but a spike of something sharper. He left too. But he’s here now, easy and smiling, and Chris’s chair sits empty.
The therapist in me starts connecting dots I’d rather leave scattered. I think about the way Chris’s voice broke last night when he asked for what he wanted, how much that single request cost a man who’d rather swallow glass than admit need. And Wyatt gave it to him like it was nothing.
Maybe Chris didn’t run from me at all.
“There she is!” Callie calls out, waving me over. “We were about to send a search party.”
I paste on my best nothing-happened-last-night smile and navigate toward the empty chair, which, naturally, is right beside Wyatt. As I sit, the clean scent of his aftershave hits me with a sensory flashback so vivid I nearly miss Katherine’s greeting.
“Nina, darling,” the Senator says, reaching across to squeeze my hand. “We were just discussing Chris’s unfortunate morning call. Duty waits for no one, apparently, not even the day after his sister’s wedding.”
“Such a shame,” Adrian adds with a resigned smile. “But you know Chris—always the responsible one.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Responsible. Using work as an exit strategy is the most Chris thing imaginable, noble enough that no one questions it, convenient enough that he never has to stay.
“Coffee?” Wyatt offers, already pouring me a cup. His fingers brush mine as he passes it, and I wonder if anyone else notices how I flinch at the contact.
“Thanks,” I manage, focusing intently on adding cream. “So, honeymoon today?”
“Wherever the tide takes us,” Mason says with a grin. “Drake’s yacht is fully stocked, fully staffed, and ready to go.”
“Which means my husband will be playing captain for the next two weeks,” Callie adds, rolling her eyes affectionately.
Mason laughs. “Hey, when a billionaire offers you his yacht, you don’t say no.”
From the end of the table, Maddox chimes in. “Just remember who taught you how to sail, little brother.”
“You may have outranked me,” Mason retorts, “but I’m still the better navigator.”
“Children, please,” Marco interjects dryly. “Not in front of the civilians.”
The easy banter between the brothers brings an unexpected lump to my throat. Family. Connection. The things that seem so natural to everyone but me.
“Speaking of us civilians,” Katherine says with the subtle shift of someone who’s navigated a thousand political conversations, “Callie mentioned you and Wyatt have been taking a break?”
