The morning after brunch, Tessa woke to the sound of her phone vibrating itself into an anxiety attack on the nightstand.
She flailed until she caught it, squinting at the too-bright screen.
Nine missed texts. Three missed calls. Two voice messages. A handful of notifications from apps she never opened.
The last name on the call list made her jolt fully awake.
“Mom?”
She sat up so fast her head spun and hit call back before her chill brain had a chance to clock the time.
Her mother answered on the first ring.
“Tessa.”
Her name, in that particular tone—a blend of disbelief, disappointment, and something frighteningly like hurt—made Tessa’s stomach drop.
“Hey, Mom,” she said carefully. “Everything okay? Did you sleep—”
“Why am I finding out from the *news* that you’re engaged?”
Tessa’s heart stopped, then restarted at double-speed.
“The… news?” she croaked.
The line crackled as her mother fumbled with her phone.
“It’s on the website I play bingo on,” Ana said, indignation thick in her voice. “You know, the one with the lucky leprechaun. I log in, and there is your face, next to the man from the billboards.”
Tessa’s blood turned to slush.
“Billboards?” she whispered.
“I thought it was a scam,” Ana barreled on. “I said, ‘That’s my daughter, you Photoshop bandit, how dare you.’ Then I clicked. And there he is: *Caleb Ward, Detroit’s Most Eligible Something*, with his arm around you. ‘Mystery fiancée revealed.’”
She mangled the word “fiancée” adorably. Tessa clung to that tiny sliver of normalcy.
“Mom, I—” Her voice died in her throat.
Of course. The gala.
She’d known, abstractly, that there might be coverage. She’d seen flashes of light at the edges of her vision as they’d walked the red carpet—a river of cameras, lenses as hungry as open mouths.
But she hadn’t thought she’d wake up to find herself on her mother’s bingo portal.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ana demanded. “We talk about everything. Boys. Bills. Bad TV. And now my only daughter is engaged to a billionaire and I am finding out like I am some stranger at the bus stop?”
The word billionaire punched her in the gut. Not because it was wrong. Because it was so horribly, glaringly right.
“Mom,” she said, panic prickling. “Can we—can we talk about this in person? Tonight? I have work in—”
“No,” Ana said sharply. “We talk now. Before I have a stroke.”
Tessa squeezed her eyes shut. Her brain pinballed between images: Elise’s appraising gaze at brunch, the chandelier’s glow sparkling off the diamond on her finger, the headlines she hadn’t bothered to look for last night because she’d been too busy replaying Caleb’s hand on her wrist under the table.
“Okay,” she said, throat tight. “Okay. Yes. Let’s… talk.”
“How long has this been going on?” Ana asked. “Who is this man? Why does he have more money than God? Why are you smiling in the photo like you just ate chocolate for the first time?”
Tessa winced. “What?”
“It’s… a look you get,” Ana said. “You were never good at hiding happy from me.”
Guilt stabbed sharp and quick. She rolled onto her side, staring at the cheap blinds filtering in gray morning light.
“We’ve been…” She swallowed. “Seeing each other for a while.”
“Define ‘a while,’” Ana said skeptically.
“A year,” Tessa lied, the number sticking in her throat now that she wasn’t tossing it out to deflect Denby. “We… kept it quiet. I didn’t want to jinx anything.”
“Jinx,” Ana repeated. “Like this is a baseball game, not your life.”
“You know what I mean,” Tessa said weakly.
Silence hummed on the line. When Ana spoke again, her voice was softer, edged with worry now instead of anger.
“Baby,” she said. “Are you sure about this? About him?”
Tessa stared at the ceiling, at the faint water stain that looked suspiciously like the map of Michigan.
She thought of Caleb’s thumb drawing soothing circles on her wrist at brunch. Of his quiet confession in the car: *I didn’t lie either.*
“Yes,” she said. It was easier than unpacking the mess of maybe.
Ana let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in her chest all night. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Okay. Then I will freak out… less.”
Tessa sagged in relief. “Less is good.”
“I still don’t like that I had to see it on the internet,” Ana added. “You know how I feel about the internet.”
“You send me minion memes daily,” Tessa said.
“Those are different,” Ana huffed. “Those bring joy.”
A laugh bubbled up, fragile but real. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t… plan for it to go like this.”
“Clearly not,” Ana said. She hesitated. “Is he… good to you?”
The question—simple, deadly—lodged in Tessa’s chest.
Yes, she thought. Then: Sometimes too much. Sometimes not enough. Sometimes in ways that scared her.
“He’s… good,” she said aloud. “He… listens.”
It was becoming her go-to praise for him, she realized. And not a small thing, either.
“Then that is something,” Ana said. “Will I get to meet him? Or do I have to win a bingo game first to claim my prize?”
Tessa’s throat closed up again. “Yes,” she said. “You’ll meet him. Soon.”
“Good,” Ana said. “Because if I raised you for twenty-five years alone, I at least get to make him sweat a little.”
“Oh God,” Tessa muttered. “Please don’t make him cry.”
“No promises,” Ana said, sounding more like herself. “Go get ready for work. And, Tessa?”
“Yeah?”
“Congratulations,” Ana said softly. “No matter how it happened.”
Tessa hung up and lay there for a moment, phone pressed to her chest, heart beating loud against cheap plastic.
She knew what she had to do.
She did not want to do it.
Still, she rolled over, opened her messages, and braced herself.
> Tessa: my mom found out.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
> Caleb: From the article?
> Tessa: from a BINGO website headline, actually. but yeah. article.
She added a screenshot: a grainy web banner with the words: *WARDSTONE TYCOON TAKEN: MYSTERY FIANCÉE IDENTIFIED* over a photo of them at the gala—his hand at her waist, her head tilted back in a laugh she barely remembered.
In the picture, she looked… happy. Not playing-it-for-the-cameras happy. The real kind.
Her stomach flipped.
> Caleb: …Wow.
> Caleb: They used that one.
> Tessa: what one?
> Caleb: The one where you’re looking at me like I personally invented jewelry.
Heat flooded her face.
> Tessa: I was looking at the waiter behind you. he had a tray of mozzarella balls.
> Caleb: Liar.
She smiled despite her anxiety.
> Tessa: my mom wants to meet you.
> Caleb: Okay.
No hesitation. No hedging.
> Tessa: like… soon.
> Caleb: When?
She bit her lip.
> Tessa: I have tonight off. she’ll insist on feeding you something. it’ll probably be slightly burnt and full of love.
> Caleb: My favorite flavor profile.
Her heart squeezed.
> Caleb: Text me the time.
> Caleb: And Tessa?
> Tessa: ?
> Caleb: I’m sorry she found out like that.
A lump rose in her throat.
> Tessa: me too.
> Caleb: I’ll talk to PR about tightening the leaks. We’d requested no close-up shots, but once one outlet runs it, the rest swarm.
> Tessa: papparazzi are like raccoons.
> Caleb: Yes. If raccoons had better cameras and worse morals.
She snorted. Then stared at the ring on her hand, half-buried in her blanket.
> Tessa: I have to go. Denby awaits.
> Caleb: Text me if he tries anything.
> Tessa: bossy.
> Caleb: Responsible.
> Caleb: See you tonight.
She turned her phone off, swung her legs out of bed, and braced for the next storm.
***
If the dinner at the cheesy faux-Italian place had been Act I of her lie with Caleb, the gala had been Act II: glittering, loud, choreographed.
It had also, she now realized, been recorded.
Radiance Jewelers opened at ten. At ten-oh-three, Leah was in her face with her phone.
“You absolute *traitor*,” she whispered, eyes incandescent. “You didn’t tell me your fiancé is *that* guy.”
On her screen: the same headline, the same photo. Caleb in his tux, chin resting near the top of her head. Me, laughing at some quip he’d made about the canapés. The caption: *WARDSTONE HEIR ENGAGED TO MYSTERY WORKING-CLASS BEAUTY.*
“Oh my God,” Tessa groaned. “They did not.”
“They did,” Leah hissed. “It’s like a Hallmark movie exploded on my newsfeed. *‘Working-class beauty?’* Did a retired romance author write this copy?”
“Working-class beauty makes it sound like I clock in at the steel mill,” Tessa muttered. “And why am I a ‘beauty’? Why not ‘competent woman with bills’?”
“Because patriarchy,” Leah said. “Also because that photo? Girl. You are glowing like you swallowed a ring light.”
The bell tinkled as a customer walked in. Leah plastered on a professional smile.
“Welcome to Radiance,” she chirped. “Let us know if we can help you.”
As soon as the woman drifted toward the bracelets, Leah leaned back toward Tessa, whispering. “What you didn’t tell me: he’s *that* Ward. As in, owns the mall. As in, richest man I’ve ever googled. As in, my student loans whimpered just looking at his net worth.”
“I found out after the fact,” Tessa hissed. “I thought he was just—”
“Hot?” Leah supplied.
“—a guy,” Tessa finished.
“You and your meet-cutes,” Leah sighed. “So. Are we mad you didn’t tell me, or thrilled you didn’t, so I get to experience this in real time? I can’t decide.”
“Stick with thrilled,” Tessa begged. “I need all the allies I can get.”
Leah straightened some necklaces, eyes dancing. “Allies, sure. But also: details. Later. After we survive the Denby Show.”
As if summoned, the office door opened. Denby emerged, checking his phone. He looked… off. A little paler, a little less sure in his movements.
Tessa wondered if he’d seen the article.
The question answered itself a second later when his gaze snagged on her left hand. His lips compressed.
“Nice photo spread, Tessa,” he said, voice acid-sweet. “You two clean up… adequately.”
Leah made a small strangled noise beside her.
“Thanks,” Tessa said, level. “We had a good photographer.”
“I’m sure you did,” Denby murmured. “The Ward family tends to get… premium press.”
The way he said *Ward*—with a sneer that barely covered jealousy—sent a prickle down her spine.
“You knew?” she asked before she could stop herself. “About… him?”
“Everyone knows who owns this place,” Denby said flatly. “Some of us knew *before* we started dating him.”
Leah choked on a laugh that turned into a cough.
“Anyway,” Denby went on. “Corporate sent a message. Apparently we’re having an audit. Surprise.”
He said the last word like it tasted bitter.
“Audit?” Tessa repeated, feigning confusion. “Like… money stuff?”
“Like everything stuff,” he snapped. “Customer service. Policy adherence. Staff… behavior.”
His eyes lingered on her in a way that made the hair on her neck rise.
“Someone’s been stirring up trouble,” he said. “Corporate thinks they can waltz in here and tell me how to run my store.”
“Oh no,” Leah deadpanned. “Accountability. How terrifying.”
His gaze flicked to her, icy. “Watch it, Leah.”
Leah rolled her eyes the second he turned away.
Tessa’s pulse hammered. This was it. The investigation Caleb had mentioned. Moving from theoretical to painfully real.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it.
“Smile, ladies,” Denby said, retreating to the back. “We have guests coming.”
***
The “guests” arrived just after lunch.
Two people. A woman in her forties in a navy blazer, tablet in hand, expression neutral. A man in his fifties with kind eyes and a folder.
“Hi,” the woman said, flipping open an ID badge for a second. “I’m Naomi Park from Wardstone Compliance. This is Steve. We’re just here to observe.”
Observe. The most deceptively terrifying word in retail.
“Of course,” Denby gushed, reappearing as if he’d been waiting behind the door for their cue. “Welcome to Radiance. We pride ourselves on our… customer-first approach.”
Naomi’s gaze flicked once, briefly, around the store, alighting on Tessa and Leah. “We’ll stay out of your way,” she said. “Just pretend we’re not here.”
As if that were possible.
The next four hours were a study in performance. Denby turned his charm up to eleven, hovering near customers, making a show of asking them about their experience. Leah radiated professionalism, her smile genuine but her eyes sharp.
Tessa felt like she was standing on a trapdoor, waiting for the lever to be pulled.
During a lull, Naomi drifted over to her station.
“How long have you worked here, Tessa?” she asked, consulting her tablet.
“Three years,” Tessa said.
“That’s some staying power,” Naomi said. “Most mall employees don’t last that long.”
“I have a high tolerance for Christmas music,” Tessa said. “And a low tolerance for job hunting.”
Naomi’s mouth twitched. “Fair enough.”
Her gaze dropped, almost accidentally, to Tessa’s ring. It lingered for a beat.
“Congratulations,” she said lightly. “It’s a nice one.”
Tessa’s throat dried. “Thanks.”
“Must be an interesting dynamic,” Naomi said, as if musing to herself. “Working in a property owned by your fiancé’s company.”
Tessa’s spine stiffened. “It’s… new.”
“I imagine so,” Naomi said. “For what it’s worth, nobody from upstairs asked me to… target you. We’re here because of a pattern of complaints. Not because of a… headline.”
Relief and dread warred in Tessa’s chest.
“Good to know,” she said quietly.
Naomi’s eyes softened. “If you have anything you want to share,” she said, tone careful, “off the record… I’m around.”
“I’m fine,” Tessa said automatically.
Naomi’s look said *Sure you are*. But she nodded and moved on, leaving Tessa with her rattling thoughts.
By closing, Tessa’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Her lower back ached. The ring on her finger felt like both a shield and a target.
Naomi and Steve thanked them for their time and left, promising follow-up.
Denby watched them go, jaw tight.
“Ungrateful,” he muttered under his breath. “All the long hours I’ve put in for this company, and this is how they treat me.”
Tessa busied herself with counting the drawer, willing her face bland.
“I know it was you,” he said suddenly.
She looked up. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t play innocent,” he said, low and ugly. “You’re the one who cried to corporate. Who else? Leah? She’s been here longer than you. She knows how to pick her battles.”
Tessa’s heart pounded. “I didn’t ‘cry’ to anyone.”
“You got yourself a rich fiancé and decided you could make trouble,” he sneered. “Thought you had a safety net.”
Anger rose, hot and bright.
“Nobody should have to tolerate harassment to keep their job,” she said, keeping her voice level. “Fiancé or no fiancé.”
He took a step closer, eyes glittering mean. “Careful, Tessa. Rich boys get bored. When your little fairy tale is over, you’ll come crawling back here begging for hours.”
Her hand tightened on the roll of quarters she was holding.
“I won’t be crawling anywhere near you,” she said. “Ever.”
He laughed, a short, nasty bark. “We’ll see.”
The bell above the door chimed. Tessa’s shoulders relaxed reflexively—until she saw who it was.
Caleb.
He stood in the doorway in jeans and a dark sweater, hands in his pockets, hair ruffled by the wind. His gaze swept the store, took in Tessa’s posture, Denby’s proximity.
Something dangerous settled in his face.
“Hi,” he said, voice mild. “Hope I’m not too late to pick up my fiancée.”
Leah materialized out of nowhere, eyes wild. “Eli,” she breathed. “My favorite person.”
“Leah,” he acknowledged with a quick smile before his gaze slid back to Tessa. “Ready?”
She swallowed. “Almost. Just finishing the drawer.”
“I’ll help,” Leah said quickly, nudging her aside with faux-nonchalance. “You two lovebirds… do whatever. Stare into each other’s eyes. That sort of thing.”
Caleb moved closer to Tessa, putting a polite distance between her and Denby with the ease of someone who’d spent his life in boardrooms arranging space to his advantage.
“Mr. Denby,” he said pleasantly. “Nice seeing you again. How was your day?”
Denby’s nostrils flared. “Busy. As you saw.”
“Yes,” Caleb said. “I did.”
A beat.
“Corporate is very… thorough,” Caleb added. “When they believe something needs attention.”
Denby’s jaw flexed. “Is that a threat?”
“An observation,” Caleb said. “You like those, don’t you? Observations. Tests.”
Leah coughed to hide a grin.
“Have a good night, Mr. Denby,” Caleb finished. “We’ll see you around.”
The *we* landed hard.
Denby forced a tight smile. “Goodnight, Tessa. Enjoy… your evening.”
The implied *while you still can* hung in the air.
Caleb didn’t react until they were out of the store, the gate rattling down behind them.
Then he exhaled slowly, fingers flexing at his sides like he was resisting the urge to go back in and rip something up.
“What did he say?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing,” she said automatically.
“Tessa,” he said, that warning in his tone. “Don’t default to minimizing.”
She huffed out a humorless laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”
They walked toward the exit. The mall was in its twilight stage—fewer shoppers, tired parents, clusters of teenagers orbiting the food court.
“He thinks I reported him,” she said. “He’s not wrong. Just… incomplete.”
Caleb’s jaw ticked. “He retaliated?”
“He… implied some things,” she said. “About you. About me. About… crawling.”
His nostrils flared. “I will—”
“You will do *nothing* obvious,” she cut in. “Not yet. He wants to paint me as the little girl who ran crying to her sugar daddy. Don’t hand him the brush.”
He bristled. “That is not what this is.”
“I know that,” she said. “You know that. But he doesn’t. And honestly? Half the internet doesn’t either.”
She gestured at a group of girls huddled around a phone, one of them pointing excitedly at the screen.
“That headline,” she said. “‘Working-class beauty.’ ‘Tycoon’s bride.’ It… sets a story. One I don’t exactly control.”
He stopped walking. Turned to face her squarely.
“You do control it,” he said quietly. “At least the parts that matter. You say no, we stop. Today. No three months. No arrangement. No… anything. I’ll handle Denby myself. I’ll pay your debts anyway.”
Her breath caught. “That’s not—”
“You think I’m doing this because I need a fake fiancée?” he cut in, voice low. “I could have hired an actress. I could have let my aunt pick someone. I chose you because you needed a way out and I needed… someone I could trust in these rooms.”
She stared at him, the mall fading, the fountain noise dimming.
“You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “Not your time. Not your… *self.* If this is hurting more than it’s helping, say the word and I will find another way to deal with my family.”
The sincerity in his eyes was like a punch.
She swallowed hard. “It’s not… hurting. Not exactly.”
“What is it, then?” he asked, softer.
“Complicated,” she said, almost helplessly. “It’s… a lot. Your world. The spotlight. My mom seeing you online before she sees you in person.”
He winced. “That part I can’t fix. But I can show up now. The way I should have before the article hit.”
“You are,” she said. “Tonight. With her.”
He searched her face. “You’re sure you still want to do this?”
Do what? the voice in her head asked. The arrangement? The dinner? Him?
She exhaled. “Yes.”
Relief flickered across his features. “Okay.”
They resumed walking. At the entrance, the cold evening air rushed in.
“My car’s in the same spot,” he said. “Want to ride with me, or should I follow your bus like a weirdo?”
“You even have to ask?” she deadpanned. “You’d freeze the entire bus with your intense driving face.”
He smirked. “Intense driving face?”
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s like your boardroom face, but with slightly more panic at potholes.”
He gave a huff of laughter. “Get in the car, Morales.”
She did.
***
Her mother’s apartment always smelled like onions and bleach—a combination of sofrito experiments and obsessive cleaning.
Tonight, it also smelled like nerves.
Ana had clearly gone all out. The tiny kitchen table was covered with a floral tablecloth Tessa hadn’t seen since childhood. Three mismatched plates were set out, along with actual cloth napkins that had to have been dug from some long-forgotten drawer.
“I swear, if she made the fancy arroz…” Tessa muttered as she fit her key in the lock.
“You have fancy arroz?” Caleb asked. “I’ve been deprived.”
“Don’t get excited,” she said. “Fancy just means extra peas and the expensive olive oil.”
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Ma, we’re—”
Her mother was there before they’d fully stepped in, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes bright and a little watery.
“Tessa,” she said, pulling her into a hug that nearly knocked the air out of her. “You’re late.”
“You said seven,” Tessa wheezed.
“It is seven-oh-three,” Ana said. “Do not argue with me on my night of power.”
Then she turned to Caleb.
He straightened instinctively, like a schoolboy caught passing notes.
“Ana Morales,” she said, sticking out her hand. “You must be Caleb. Or… Eli?”
Tessa’s stomach dropped. “Mom—”
Caleb took her hand like it was made of glass. “Caleb is fine,” he said gently. “I’m… sorry you had to find out the way you did.”
Ana stared at him for a long beat. Then she nodded once.
“You look like the photos,” she said. “Less airbrushed. More… tired.”
He huffed a startled laugh. “That… sounds accurate.”
“Good,” she said. “I don’t trust men who look too rested. Means they’re not working.”
“Ma,” Tessa groaned. “Can you not interrogate him before he’s even taken his shoes off?”
“I’ve been waiting all day,” Ana said. “He can stand.”
“In his defense,” Caleb said, “I prepared. I, uh… brought something.”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a brown paper bag. It was carefully folded at the top, a faint grease spot hinting at its contents.
Ana narrowed her eyes. “If that is store-bought dessert, I will judge you.”
“Worse,” he said. “It’s from a bakery. On Jefferson. They make these guava pastries—”
Ana’s eyes widened. “With the sugar on top?”
“Yes,” he said. “You know them?”
“You think I do not know the best guava pastry within bus distance?” she demanded. “Give me that.”
She snatched the bag, peeked inside, and her stern expression cracked into something like delight.
“Okay,” she conceded. “You can stay.”
Tessa sagged against the doorframe in relief. Caleb shot her a small, triumphant smile.
Dinner was… chaotic. Warm. Loud.
Ana monologued about her bingo nemesis (“She always wins the big pot, and I know she is rigging it somehow”), about her doctor’s new intern (“Too handsome, I do not trust him with my veins”), about the telenovela she’d been binge-watching.
Caleb listened. He asked questions. He laughed in all the right places.
“So,” Ana said finally, pointing her fork at him as they picked meat from chicken bones. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”
“Ma,” Tessa hissed. “You cannot ask that at dinner like we are in a Western.”
“I absolutely can,” Ana said. “I have not raised her alone for twenty-five years for some man to come in and make a mess.”
Caleb sobered. He set his fork down.
“My intentions,” he said slowly, “are to… not make a mess.”
Ana arched a brow. “That is very romantic.”
He smiled slightly. “Okay. More specifically? To make her life… easier. Not harder. To support her, not… control her. To listen. To show up.”
He glanced at Tessa when he said the last one. Her chest tightened.
Ana sat back, studying him.
“And in three months?” she asked. “Six? A year?”
“Ma,” Tessa warned.
“I’m allowed to plan ahead,” Ana said. “I’m her mother, not her roommate.”
“I don’t know,” Caleb said honestly. “I’m figuring it out as we go. But… I don’t plan to disappear. Not unless… she asks me to.”
The weight of that settled over the table.
“You talk pretty,” Ana said. “But I care what you do. Not what you say.”
“I understand,” he said quietly.
“You better,” she said. “Because if you hurt her…”
“You’ll make me cry,” he said, lips twitching.
Ana narrowed her eyes. “You think I’m joking.”
“No,” he said. “I really don’t.”
Something like grudging approval warmed her gaze.
After dinner, Ana insisted on packing each of them containers of leftovers. She shoved two extra guava pastries into Caleb’s hands “for the road.”
On the way out, she pulled Tessa aside in the hallway.
“He is… something,” Ana said, eyes following Caleb’s silhouette through the frosted glass of the building’s front door.
“Something good?” Tessa asked, heart in her throat.
“Something dangerous,” Ana said. “But… maybe good dangerous.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Tessa muttered.
Ana cupped her face, thumbs brushing under her eyes. “You look happy,” she said softly. “Scared. But happy.”
Tessa swallowed. “I’m… trying.”
Ana kissed her forehead. “That’s all we can ever do.”
As Tessa walked back to Caleb’s car, she felt that line between real and pretend blur a little more.
He opened her door for her, the gesture automatic now.
“How mad is she?” he asked, sliding into the driver’s seat.
“She likes the pastries,” Tessa said. “You’re safe for now.”
“Good,” he said. “I’d hate to get banned before dessert.”
He drove her home in comfortable quiet.
At her building, he parked and turned to her.
“She reminds me of my grandmother,” he said. “In a less… terrifying way.”
“That’s the nicest thing you could’ve said,” Tessa replied. “She’ll be insufferable if I tell her.”
“Don’t,” he said. “I’m not ready for those two to join forces.”
She snorted. “World domination by tiny older women.”
He smiled. Then his gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before darting away.
The air thickened.
“Tonight was… good,” he said. “She’s… incredible.”
“She thinks you’re dangerous,” Tessa blurted.
He blinked. “Fair.”
“In a… maybe good way,” she amended.
He huffed a soft laugh. “Progress.”
Silence stretched. The rules rustled at the edges of her mind.
No kissing when nobody’s watching.
She reached for the door handle, breaking the tension.
“See you soon,” she said. “Gala-boy.”
He groaned. “If that sticks, I’m blaming you.”
“Blame the minions,” she said. “They saw you first.”
“Go inside before I break a rule,” he said, voice low.
Her pulse tripped.
She slipped out of the car, the night air cold on her flushed cheeks.
Upstairs, she leaned against her door again, heart pounding, the echo of his *before I break a rule* replaying like a lyric she couldn’t shake.
She was in deeper than she’d meant to be. And the water was only getting murkier.
***