“Ethan—”
“I’m serious,” he insisted, though his voice wavered. “I’m not doing this thing where I build castles in my head and then watch him knock them down again. I’m not doing that twice.”
Henry stayed quiet, letting him keep going.
“So no,” Ethan continued, quieter now. “I don’t know where we are right now—whatwe are. We’re… whatever. Temporary. Situational.” A humorless breath. “Who knows? Maybe in a few weeks there’ll be some article or scandal, and suddenly there’s a branch to open in India. Or Singapore. Or Jupiter.”
“He’s trying,” Henry said gently. “Look at what happened here tonight.”
“Yeah,” Ethan replied. “He is, and I’m not saying I don’t believe him. I just… can’t afford to believetoomuch, you know?”
My chest clenched—not in anger or offense, but with a deep, aching grief for the damage I’d done.
“Things are always complicated with us,” Ethan said. “Circumstances haven’t changed. I just need to see if he has.”
Henry nudged his shoulder lightly. “For what it’s worth, I think he knows that.”
Ethan didn’t respond.
And I didn’t move.
Because, yes—it hurt. But I deserved every bit of it.
He didn’t doubt me because he was dramatic or suspicious. He doubted me because I’d taught him to. I’d trained him to brace for impact when it came to me. Reinforced the same lessons life—and his fucking father—kept drilling into him. If that didn’t make me want to drop to my knees and apologize forever, nothing would.
Their voices softened after that, the conversation drifting into something lighter. A quieter laugh dissolved into the night air, and that finally broke whatever held me there. I stepped back from the door and moved farther into the room, giving them the privacy I should have given from the start.
Leaning my shoulder against the wall, I pulled in a slow, steady breath.
He wasn’t wrong to protect himself… But I wasn’t walking away. Not this time.
My resolve came quietly but with certainty as I straightened. I was done reacting—done waiting. From now on, I was choosing.
If he needed proof, I’d fucking give it to him.
For as long as it took.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ETHAN
This… was not what I was expecting.
On my last night in the city, Sebastian and I had fallen into bed fully clothed, too exhausted for anything but slow, sleepy kisses. He’d kept me tucked against him, and I’d drifted off with his hand warm at my back, neither of us wanting more than the quiet comfort of staying close.
The next day, when he’d pulled up to departures, I’d already been bracing for a quick kiss, a distracted “call me,” and a wave through the glass. Instead, he’d cupped my face and kissed me slow and deep, like he hadn’t been in a rush for once in his life.
Long enough that a horn had blared behind us, snapping the moment in half.
Sebastian had been there in a way that had felt unfamiliar. Not even like Barcelona. This had been more. Realer. Softer without losing himself.
He had promised he’d stay in touch.
And then he actually did.
Every day for the next two weeks, there was a message waiting for me when I woke up. More throughout the day. Usually a call at night when he knew I’d be home. We didn’t talk about us, but everything else in our lives was suddenly fair game.
He told me about his dad—how some days felt a little easier. Some days harder. How sometimes seeing him dragged up memories of his mom and all that pain, and sometimes it made him furious all over again.
