“Babe.” His smile tightens. “It’s once in a lifetime.” The way he says it makes it sound like the once-in-a-lifetime thing is the content. Not us.
Still, I follow him.
Because maybe later—after the photos, after the perfect shot, after he’s satisfied—he’ll turn to me and say,I brought you here for a reason. And maybe that reason will glitter.
By late afternoon, my cheeks hurt from smiling. We’ve walked half the city. The river. A narrow lane Connor found on a travel blog. Every time we stop, he adjusts me like I’m part of the scenery.
“Turn your shoulders.”
“Relax your mouth.”
“Less teeth.”
I laugh at first. It feels playful. But after the tenth correction, I start to feel like a prop. At one point, a woman in a green sequined jacket offers to take a photo of us together.
Connor hesitates.
I notice.
Then he hands her his phone and wraps an arm around me. It’s warm, possessive. For the camera. We smile. She hands it back, and he barely glances at the shot before tucking the phone away. “Let’s keep moving.”
“Don’t you want to see it?”
“I know it’s good.”
We pass a group of older people singing outside a shop. One of them has Connor’s eyes. Dark. Deep-set. Familiar.
I slow down. “Connor,” I say quietly. “Is that?—”
He doesn’t look. “Probably.”
“Probably?”
He keeps walking.
“Wait.” I tug his sleeve. “Is that your family?”
He exhales sharply. “Sage.”
“What?”
“I told you. It’s a lot.”
“So we’re just… not saying hi?”
He finally turns to me, and there’s something in his expression I don’t recognize. Not anger. Impatience. “They don’t get what I’m doing,” he says. “They think I should be working at my family’s labs. Or settling down with some nice Irish girl who makes soda bread.”
I blink. “Okay.”
“It’s just easier if we skip it.”
“Easier for who?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t make this a thing.”
I look back at the group. The woman with his eyes laughs, throws her head back. For a second, I imagine walking over there. Introducing myself.
Hi, I’m Sage. I love your nephew.
