Page 32 of Bad Men's Good Girl

"About the program schedule? Because if this is about the Pompeii logistics, I already spoke with?—"

"About Baleigh."

The words hang in the air, loaded with implications I'm not ready to examine. Max closes the door behind him and leans against it, arms crossed over his chest.

"I've been teaching for nearly twenty years," he continues. "I've worked with hundreds of students, maintained appropriate professional boundaries with all of them. I don't get personally involved."

"But?"

"But I'm personally involved." He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture betraying more vulnerability than I've ever seen from him. "And unless I'm completely misreading the situation, I'm not the only one."

I turn to the window, avoiding his direct gaze. Below, Amos is making Baleigh laugh, her whole face lighting up with genuine delight.

"This is complicated," I say finally.

"That's an understatement." Max joins me at the window, following my line of sight. "The question is, what do we do about it?"

The silence hangs between us while we watch Baleigh gesture animatedly at something Amos is showing her on his phone. Her laughter carries up through the open window, and I feel that familiar tightness in my chest.

"The traditional approach would be to compete," Max says quietly. "Establish territory, make our intentions clear, force her to choose."

"Sounds exhausting." I lean my shoulder against the window frame. "Also potentially devastating for everyone involved."

"Including her." Max's voice carries a note of concern that surprises me. "She's not the type who handles conflict well. Competition would send her running back to North Carolina before any of us had a chance."

The observation is uncomfortably accurate. I've watched Baleigh navigate even minor disagreements with careful diplomacy, always looking for ways to avoid disappointing anyone. The idea of three men vying for her attention would probably terrify her.

"So what's the alternative?" I ask. "We all pretend we're not interested and hope she picks one of us at random?"

"Or we acknowledge that this situation is unprecedented and requires an unprecedented solution."

Max's tone suggests he's been thinking about this longer than the past ten minutes. I turn to study his profile, noting the tension in his jaw.

"You've been wrestling with this for a while."

"Weeks." He admits it without embarrassment. "Since that evening she stayed after my lecture to discuss the Renaissance marriage contracts. She had this theory about economic motivations versus romantic ideals that was completely wrong but utterly charming in its naivety."

"You fell for her being wrong about history?"

"I fell for her being unafraid to be wrong about history." Max's smile is rueful. "When was the last time someone challenged your assumptions without worrying about looking foolish?"

The question hits closer to home than I'm comfortable admitting. Most of my interactions are carefully curated—interview subjects who want something from me, editors who pay me, fellow expats who share my commitment to keeping things surface-level.

"She asks me about places I've been like she genuinely wants to understand what draws me to them," I hear myself saying. "Not because she's planning her own itinerary or looking for recommendations. Because she wants to understand me."

"Exactly." Max nods. "And with Amos?—"

"She laughs." The words come out more bitter than intended. "Really laughs, not the polite version she gives everyone else."

"You've noticed that too."

Below us, Amos stands and extends his hand to Baleigh, clearly inviting her somewhere. She hesitates for exactly three seconds before taking it, and they disappear from view toward the hotel entrance.

"The thing is," I continue, watching the empty courtyard, "I don't think any of us alone gives her everything she needs."

Max raises an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"Meaning she lights up differently with each of us. Amos makes her feel safe enough to be spontaneous. You challenge her intellectually in ways that excite her. And I..." I trail off, unsure how to articulate what passes between Baleigh and me during our photography excursions.