Page 99 of My Real Love Affair

“Nobody has ever done something like this for me.” His hand tightened slightly on my waist. “No one has showed up when they didn’t have to. Or put themselves in an uncomfortable situation just because they wanted to be there. For me. Not for the Bancroft name or the connections or the photo opportunity. Just for me.”

I saw something in his expression I’d never seen before. Vulnerability. Raw and unguarded. Like he’d let down every wall he kept between himself and the world. He was just a man.Not just a man. A guy that had real feelings. He wasn’t just the playboy that screwed around and didn’t take anything seriously.

And he was beautiful like this. Maybe the most beautiful I had ever seen him.

Not the charming playboy or the confident Bancroft heir. Just Austin. Uncertain and grateful and a little bit scared.

“I’m glad I came,” I said softly. “I’ve been thinking about you. A lot. Since the podcast. Since… everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I let myself lean into him slightly. I mentally sighed. I was falling for him. Again. Not that I everun-fell for him. Getting to touch him was messing with my senses.

“How have you been?” I asked, tilting my head to look up at him.

“Lonely,” he said without hesitation. No charm, no deflection. Just honest. “Really fucking lonely, actually.”

The admission caught me off guard. I’d expected him to say busy or fine or some other deflection. But lonely? That raw honesty made my heart hurt. The man had a million acquaintances, but I had never heard him talk about a friend. He had brothers and I knew he was close to a couple of them, but who did he really have, especially when there was so much drama with his family?

I felt like I was seeing him so differently now. And I was sad for him.

“What about you?” he asked.

I laughed, though it came out a little breathless. “Busy. Really busy. Cleo’s been keeping me on a tight schedule. Content planning, photo shoots, engagement. The usual.”

“Busy.” His lips curved into that teasing smile I’d missed more than I wanted to admit. “Not lonely at all, then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t say you were lonely either.” He spun me gently, pulling me back against him. “You’re wounding my ego here, Melody. Making me think I was the only one suffering.”

“Your ego could use a little wounding,” I said, but I was smiling. “It’s big enough to survive.”

“Ouch.” He pressed his hand more firmly against my back, drawing me closer. “Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you’re attacking my ego.”

“I wasn’t attacking. I was stating a fact.”

“A very hurtful fact.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the warm and fuzzy feeling spreading through my body. This teasing—the easy back-and-forth, the way we fit together—this was what I had missed. Not just the physical attraction or the chemistry, but this. The way he made me feel seen and heard and like I could be myself without pretense. I loved how easy it was to just hang out with him.

“Fine,” I said. “I was lonely too. Happy?”

His expression softened, the teasing falling away. “Not happy you were lonely. But happy you missed me.”

“I didn’t say I missed you.”

“You didn’t have to.” His hand against my back increased pressure, pulling me against his hard body. “You showed up tonight. That says more than words ever could.”

He was right, of course. I could have stayed home and let him face his family alone. I could have kept my distance and protected my heart. I probably should have done just that.

But I decided to come anyway, knowing I was risking my heart.

Because despite everything—the hurt, the embarrassment, the fear of getting burned again—I wanted to be here. With him.

And that terrified me more than any amount of judgment from New York’s elite ever could.

“I do see you.”