There’s a tiny pause, just a heartbeat.
“I know,” she whispers.
The city bustles around me—car horns, rain, people rushing everywhere—but everything narrows to the warmth in her voice.
“Are you going to see him?” Lily asks suddenly.
My jaw tenses against the inevitable.
“Da?” I sigh. “Yeah. I’ll have to.”
“Ciaran’s going to lose his mind,” she tries to keep her words light, but they land unevenly, a thread of worry tugging beneath each one.
“He already lost it years ago.” I groan, exhausted by the mere thought of dealing with my Da. “Una did a number on him that Jen only worsened. I understand he’s got trust issues, but Christ.”
Silence sinks between us again, heavier this time, weighted with everything we’re not saying because we both know what’s running through her head.
Da will take one look at me and know I never cut her out.
Not the way he wanted.
Not the way he did.
He’ll see every truth I’ve been hiding in plain sight, how I went after her, how I fought for her, how I chose her.
How I’llalwayschoose her.
And when he realises how tangled we are—how deep this runs, how far I’ve already gone—he won’t just lose his mind.
He’ll go nuclear.
“He’s going to think you’re with me,” she protests quietly.
“Iamwith you.” The words leave before I can soften them, raw and real. “He can think whatever the hell he wants. I told you, I’m done hiding us.”
“Matt…” She exhales, sharp and controlled, but I catch the fear underneath it. “He still thinks I helped Jen. He thinks I had something to do with—”
“He’s wrong,” I cut in. “I’ll prove it if I have to.”
“I don’t want you getting dragged into another fight because of me,” she argues. The thread of guilt in her voice has me half tempted to turn the taxi around and head straight back to Lyon.
“Sweetheart,” I rasp, the urge to hold her a physical ache. “I’ve been in a fight because of you for four straight years. I think I’ll manage.”
She huffs a laugh—half exasperated, half helpless.
“You’re impossible.”
“Only for you.”
She goes quiet again, but this time the quiet feels warm, full. Like her fingers are hooked in the fabric of my shirt, even from miles away.
“You really think I should call the investor?” she asks eventually, her voice small in a way she rarely lets me hear anymore. It’s a glimpse of the Lily I used to know, the woman beneath the mask and sarcasm, the woman I’d do anything to have back, even for a moment.
“Absolutely,” I say without hesitation. “Set up the meeting, take every door that cracks open for you, and kick them wider if you have to.”
“Bossy,” she teases.
“Motivated,” I counter. “Also, that would be hot. You should try it sometime.”
