Damon’s lip twitches. “The choice is easy, Quinton. She’ll come to her senses eventually.”
I sigh. He’s impossible. Always had been. “Or perhaps it’s time for us to come tooursenses.” My gaze floats to the grandfather clock hanging above the mantle. “We’ve been here before, Cavanaugh. We both know there’s a third option.”
“Over my dead body,” he spits. “There is nothirdoption.”
My composure crashes. “Stop being so fucking selfish, Cavanaugh,” I bark. “For once in your life, think about someone else for a change.”
“Oh, don’t act like some fucking martyr, Quinton,” Damon seethes. “You’re just as selfish as I am. You’re afraid to lose her, admit it. You can see her drifting away from you. You see it so fucking clearly, and that's why you’re sitting here, trying to convince me toshare.”
My teeth clench. Idiot. He’s a goddamn moron. “I would rather have a part of her than none of her.”
Damon scoffs. “That’s because you know you don’t deserveanyof her. You should be grateful she even offered you a fucking crumb.”
“If she leaves…” My tone softens with the sad realization of reality. “If she leaves, Cavanaugh, we both lose her. That’s a fact. And you know it.”
“So surrender,” he says, glowering at me. “Be a true martyr and give her up.” He cocks his head as I shift uncomfortably. “What? You can’t? You can’t let her go, can you? Do you know why, Quinton? Because you’re just as selfish as I am.” He flaps the newspaper, burrowing his nose back in the arts section. “We’ve always had that in common, Q. It’s why we could never make the third option work.”
My hands curl into fists as I stand up, towering over him as I state in a harsh, even whisper, “I won’t surrender, Cavanaugh, because I know she loves me.”
Damon stiffens as if he’s been punched in the gut. “Did she?—”
“She didn’t have to,” I say. “Not everything requires a label.”
“Wha—”
I don’t let him finish his thought as I exit the study. She loves me.Andshe also loves him. Otherwise, she wouldn’t want to leave. She’d stay. She’d stay and play our filthy little games. But she loves us.
She’s the one surrendering.
New Year’sEve is meant to bring hope, a promise of a fresh start. But as a symphony of soft classical music fills the ballroom, the melancholy melody tugging at my heart, I don’t feel as though we are celebrating a new beginning but a devastating ending.
I wait impatiently for Emery at the bottom of the grand staircase, willing the universe to weave a different tale. She cannot leave. She cannot close this chapter, this book. She cannot throw it all away. My throat strains as she appears at the top of the landing, her white chiffon dress swaying with every hesitant step she walks toward the final curtain.
I’d say she looks like an angel. But angels are seldom this sad.
“You look absolutely gorgeous,” I say, offering her my arm to escort her into the ballroom.
“Sophie picked it out,” Emery mutters, and my sister’s name twists my stomach with unease. Though Emery hasn’t revealed the catalyst for her impending departure, I know my sister was involved. I should be furious with her meddling, but some people show love in strange, destructive ways.
“It’s lovely,” I say as notes of a waltz sound around us, the dance floor beckoning us like a supportive friend. Like an ally that wishes for peace instead of turmoil. If she’s leaving tomorrow, I want to simply hold her. For as long as I can. With a small, tender smile, I ask, "May I have this dance?"
She hesitates for a moment, her wary gaze searching mine, and then she nods, giving me her hand. I hold it tight, knowing that she’s slowly slipping away. As we step onto the dance floor, she draws in a sharp, nervous breath, and I place my palm on her waist.
“Relax, darling,” I whisper. “And follow my lead.”
There are dozens of eyes on us, but I only see her. I only feel her. Nothing else matters. This moment is everything. It’s the stars and the sun and moon. In this moment, I can feel the entire wonder of the cosmos. It lives in her. In her eyes. And I’d swim in those irises for eons if I could.
I lead Emery across the dance floor, holding her tight, willing her to stay. We exchange no words, no sounds. I can feel the warmth of her hand in mine, the way she trusts me to keep her safe. Everything else fades. Everyone gone. It’s only us, the music, and the decisions that have led us to this bittersweet moment.
In the silence of our steadfast connection, her guard lowers, slowly at first, but then it drops completely and she finally graces me with her all-consuming smile.
“What are you thinking right now?”
“Nothing,” she says, cheeks blushing. “I’m just surprised that I haven’t tripped yet.”
I release a soft chuckle. “Two left feet?”
“I resent that,” she counters with a grin. “I’m actually a fairly coordinated woman.”
