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The first time she’d seen this place she’d called it a bit crowded, shocked to confusion by its size and the density of possessions within it.

Now, she suspected they must have downsized. Significantly.

Aster had said he’d do anything for her. He’d been completely honest about that. He’d said it more than once, in different ways. And she’d believed him to an extent, but she never would have imagined cutting ties with his powerful, wealthy family as part of what anything entailed. After all, who was Aster Bishop without his money and his family name behind him?

And just that morning. God. Just that morning. She’d joked he might be embezzling from his trust.

He said he’d tell her. And she believed him, she really did. She chose, consciously, to believe him.

Laughter bubbled up Molly’s throat.

As absurd and overwhelming as it was to learn that Aster had been disowned, the only battle Molly wanted to fight was the one about his birthday.

Because she cared about him, and the memory of that feeling lived on the surface of her soul, not in the gray matter in her mind. And as such, she didn’t want him to hate his birthday. More than anything else, she wanted this to be a good, happy day for him. Simple as that was.

She lay back on the sofa, a headache throbbing behind her eyes as she closed them. She felt overworked and exhausted, thoughts sluggish.

She woke to a whirlpool above her.

Aster had the tail end of her braid in his hand, lightly tickling her cheek with it. He kneeled next to her. His smile was warm and glowing under the light of the single lamp he’d turned on. A lock of disheveled blond hair fell forward over his forehead.

At some point, the sun had set. His birthday already almost gone.

“Hi,” Molly said, staring up at him as she struggled out of sleep.

“Hi,” he replied, smile growing. “Tired?”

She pushed herself up, capturing his hand in her own as it fell from her hair. She gave him a small tug, an invitation to sit with her. She might have been the one sleeping, but he looked wrecked by weariness.

“Is that new?” he asked of her dress, studying her openly, gaze lingering.

Molly hummed her affirmation as they sat side by side, her left arm touching his right. He laced their fingers together and melted into the contact. She melted too, coaxed by the comfort of it.

“Have you been at your meeting all day?”

“I have. It . . . is complicated. Not that I expected anything else.” He looked at her, tired eyes searching hers. “Could I explain it another time? I want to explain it right. It’s important. And complicated.”

She gave his hand a squeeze. He would tell her. And she would trust him to.

“Of course,” she said. “But you know, I have half a mind to be very upset with you, Aster Bishop.”

She immediately regretted her attempt at playfulness. The dread evident on his face nearly crushed her. She gave his hand another squeeze, a touch of reassurance.

“I have it on good authority that today is your birthday.”

His groan was instantaneous. His head fell to the back of the sofa. “Who was it?”

“Justine. By way of Eli.”

“Traitors,” Aster breathed before releasing a strangled laugh. “In what world are Roy and Alannah my only loyal friends?”

“You’ve got Bentley too.” Molly leaned against his arm. “She said I’m her best friend, you know. She made me this dress.”

“Ah, she did say she’d only wait as long as it took her to finish it. She can be a bit abrasive, but you two have always gotten along surprisingly well.”

“Well enough to start a business together, apparently.”

Aster stilled briefly, then released a long breath. “I’m glad they finally told you.”