31 Petty with law degrees

I’m still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the half-packed suitcase, trying to sort through the tangled mess of thoughts in my head. The air feels too thick, the silence too loud. I almost reach for my phone to distract myself, maybe text Chen or just scroll mindlessly. As if my phone understands the distraction I need, it buzzes with a message.

Robie. Ugh, not the distraction I was looking for. What does this shithead want this time?

Still, I open the message, figuring it’s just more of the same—him spouting some nonsense or trying to guilt-trip me for… well, existing.

It starts off with the usual anger and venom. Robie never wastes time with pleasantries.

You think you can fuck with me? You want to come after me now? You’re not getting a cent. I don’t owe you shit.

My brows furrow. Huh?

You want to lawyer up now? Is that what you want? Tell your Morin et Associé (Morin and Associates) to back the fuck off. Listen, I don’t owe you anything. Get that through your thick fucking skull, Rory. This is your mess, not mine.

Morin et Associé?

I blink, reading the line over and over again as if the words will rearrange themselves into something that makes sense.

And then it clicks and my blood runs cold.

It’s Benny’s law firm. It must be.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble.

Did Matéo tell Benny about the shitshow with Robie and Karine, and asked Benny to check up on it without asking me? This is exactly the kind of interference I didn’t want, the exact thing I’ve been trying to avoid.

I don’t need Matéo and his family bleeding into every aspect of my life.

I glance back down at the message from Robie, feeling the sting of his words all over again.

I march down the hallway like a woman on a mission, or a mild breakdown. Same difference. I don’t even knock when I reach Benny’s door, I bang.

The door swings open, and it’s Benny with that smug, confident look that tells me he has no idea how deep I’m about to go.

“Rory!” he says, all sunshine and cluelessness, like I’ve popped in to gossip, not rage.

“Don’t ‘Rory’ me,” I snap, pushing past him into the room. “I know what you did. You and Matéo went after Robie.”

“Whoa, slow down Rory, wait—” he says, hands up, voice dipping into that lawyer calm that only makes me madder.

“No, you wait,” I snap, holding up my phone like evidence. “I’ve been getting messages from Robie, full of rage, saying BS that I didn’t understand until he mentioned that I’ve lawyered up with Morin et Associé to fuck his life, Benny. It’s your firm, isn’t?”

Benny raises his hands in surrender, but I’m not done.

“You and Matéo—” I start, but Benny cuts me off. “Hold on, Rory. Matéo didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” I cut him off, my voice sharp, threading that dangerous edge right before it cracks.

“Didn’t team up with you to play superhero with my life? Didn’t decide for me what needed fixing and just go ahead and fix it like I’m some DIY project you two found on the curb? You think I’m flattered? That I’m supposed to be grateful and play along?”

“Darling, wait. I think you’ve got this all wrong… and you’ve definitely got Matéo all wrong,” Éric says, giving me that look—the one that says he sees something I don’t.

“Matéo has nothing to do with this,” Benny says firmly. “We looked into Robie ourselves.”

What? Matéo didn’t know?

“He had no clue,” Benny continues.

““We did it because we care, Rory. And because you don’t know how to ask for help until you’re already bleeding. And even then.” Benny says, voice gentler now, but I can still hear the damn self-righteousness.

“You two care about me? By digging into my past? By handling things I didn’t ask you to handle?”

“We were trying to help,” Benny mutters, dragging a hand down his face like the situation’s already exhausted him.

“Help?” My voice cracks on the word. “You think this is helping? This is just… you meddling with my life without even consulting me!”

Éric finally steps forward, “Rory, we didn’t mean to overstep. But we saw you struggling. We saw how much you were holding onto things that were weighing you down, and we thought we could take something off your plate.”

“You thought you’d just step in and solve my problems without telling me? Who the hell do you think you are?”

I shake my head, tears burning at the edges of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I refuse to show them that this has touched a nerve so deep I don’t even know how to put it into words. “Do you know what it’s like? Having people just… decide things for you? Like you don’t get a say in your own damn life?”

The words are raw, tearing out of me, and for a moment, I’m surprised at how much I’ve been keeping inside. But it’s true. My problems, my struggles, my stupid, broken life—it’s the only thing I’ve ever owned, the only thing that’s ever been mine.

And now, they’re taking that too.

It’s always been like this. My mom disappearing for her boyfriend, like I was disposable. Dad bringing me into his house and expecting me to just fit in, like I could somehow become part of a family that wasn’t mine. Robie dumping his mom’s care on me. I never agreed to any of that but I never had a say. It’s always been people deciding how my life should go, and I’m just supposed to cope with whatever they decide.

And now it’s happening again.

“You fight so hard you don’t even realize you’re allowed to stop swinging and ask for a damn hand,” Éric says quietly.

“Needing help doesn’t make you weak, Rory. It makes you human.” says Benny. “You don’t have to suffer alone, darling. You’ve got people who love you. Me. Éric. Matéo—hell, even our parents. To be honest, I think my mom already loves you more like a daughter than she ever loved us as her sons.”

I snap my gaze up at him, caught off guard. Benny catches my expression and sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’s got an incoming headache. “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t get it?”

Benny lets out an exaggerated sigh. “He hasn’t told you?” He mutters under his breath, clearly irritated, but loud enough for me to catch. “God, that baby brother of mine… such a beautiful dumbass.”

I shake my head, wanting to shut him out, but Benny isn’t letting me go.

Benny’s eyes soften as he steps closer. “We get it. You’ve had a hard life, Rory. You’ve been hurt by the people who should’ve been your support system. So, being the tough-cookie Rory we all adore, you became your own support system. But it doesn’t have to be like that forever.”

Éric steps in, his voice quieter but no less sincere. “You have us now.”

Benny nods, his gaze steady. “Yes, why can’t you let us be there for you for once? You’ve been there for everyone else. Why not let us return the favor?”

I swallow hard, my throat tight.

“You’re so badass at being this independent warrior, but what you’re really doing is sabotaging yourself. You push away the people who love you before they even get the chance to prove it. And yeah, I get it—you’re scared. You’re used to people walking out on you.”

He softens for just a beat, “But good luck getting rid of us, because we’re not going anywhere, Rory. Not unless you slam the door first.”

His words hit me like a slap. I stand there, feeling exposed, raw, like Benny’s just peeled back every layer of armor I’ve spent years building.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know how to respond because he’s right. Every word he’s said is true, but admitting it? Admitting that I’ve been sabotaging myself? That’s a whole different beast.

“Why didn’t we tell you from the start?” Benny shrugs with a knowing smirk. “Well, because we knew you’d react exactly like this.” He waves a hand in my direction, like he’s pointing out the obvious. “If my baby brother turns into the Hulk when things don’t go his way, then you turn into… whatever this gorgeous chaos is.”

Then he shifts, his tone slipping into something more serious. “And about Robie? Someone had to do something about that asshole, about how he’s treated you. We weren’t just gonna sit around and let that slide.”

“Do you remember when you came back with Matéo,” Éric continues, his voice softening, “looking like you’d cried every tear you had for the year?” He watches me closely. “We’ve never seen you so… so beaten down.”

I shift, uncomfortable, the memory creeping back in like a draft under the door.

“Naturally, we asked Matéo what the hell happened,” Benny picks up, the protective edge in his voice impossible to miss. “Didn’t love seeing you like that, especially in his arms. So yeah, we gave him the classic brotherly love speech. Just to remind him that our favorite bartender should never be looking like roadkill because of him.”

He grins, but there’s a seriousness underneath it. “He’s lucky there wasn’t a broom in plain sight,” Benny adds with a wink, though I can tell he means it.

“Matéo told us, briefly, about Robie. Karine. Everything that happened earlier that day.” Eric glances at Benny, then back at me. “So we dug in. Not because he asked us to, he didn’t. We did it because we couldn’t just sit on our hands after seeing you like that.”

Éric steps forward, his expression turning darker, more serious. “Here’s the thing, Rory. We dug into Robie because we needed to know what was really going on. And what we found out… well, it’s worse than we thought.” His voice is measured, but there’s a sharp edge to it, like he’s holding back his own frustration.

My stomach knots instantly. “What are you talking about?”

Éric meets my eyes, then looks down for a beat, like he’s bracing to drop a bomb. “Robie’s been trying to pin all of his mom’s debt on you.” He lets it hang there. “He’s been twisting everything, making it seem like you’re responsible for all the crap she owed.”

Benny adds grimly, “And he knows damn well that’s not how it works.”

Éric nods. “Exactly. There’s no such thing as debt inheritance in Canadian law—not the way he’s been framing it. He was banking on you not knowing that. Legally, her estate handles the debt. The house gets sold. Whatever’s left? That’s what Robie inherits.”

“I’m not legally responsible for it?”

“Exactly.” Éric nods, his voice sharp with anger. “Robie’s been feeding you lies, acting like it’s your debt so he can pocket more when the house sells.”

“But it doesn’t end there,” Éric continues, his tone sharp with disgust. “Robie was supposed to give you the death benefit from the government to help repay what you’ve spent on the funeral. It’s a few thousand dollars by itself. It’s the least he could’ve done, but he held onto it. He’s been screwing you over while you’ve been paying for everything.”

“And the cherry on top?” Éric’s voice drops, deadly calm. “He’s an accountant, Rory. He knows this system inside out. He knew damn well you weren’t responsible for the debt. But he used your grief, your trust, your silence, and let you carry the whole load while he planned his cash-out.”

He meets my eyes, and I see it—fury, but also something else. Pity. And that, somehow, hurts even more.

Benny, who had been letting Éric take the lead, finally steps in, he is seething. “The fact that Robie’s been screwing you over this whole time?” His jaw clenches. “Yeah, that’s why we stepped in. Because someone had to. He’s been taking advantage of you, darling, and we weren’t about to let that keep happening.”

There’s no mistaking the tone in his voice, a dangerous edge, a kind of calm fury that makes you listen.

“So here’s how this is gonna go.” He leans in, just slightly. “Our firm? Yours. We can sue the hell out of him and make him pay for every dime, every dirty lie. Or…” He pauses, lips curling into something wicked. “You can leave it to us to blow the whistle. And I promise, we’ll be a mean one.”

He lets the words hang for a second, giving me a slow, knowing smile. “One call, and he is toast. His career and credibility in accounting? Wiped out. Done. Because what he’s doing isn’t just nasty, it’s illegal.”

I raise an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. The best thing I can get with a single phone call is a pizza.

Benny’s expression hardens, his voice dropping lower. “So, your choice, darling. We can handle this however you like. Just say the word, and his life goes up in flames.”

I stare at Benny, chewing the inside of my cheek. “Thanks for the offer,” I say slowly, dragging out the words like I’m testing how they taste. “I will think about it.”

Éric sighs like I’m denying him a present. “Let us help, for God’s sake.”

Benny tilts his head, his expression softening like he’s about to explain something very simple to a toddler with trust issues. “Do you know why we’re doing this, Rory? Why we care so much about making that asshole pay?”

I shift uncomfortably, suddenly very interested in the state of my cuticles. “Because… you love me?” The words feel weird coming out of my mouth, like I stole them from someone else’s vocabulary.

“Well, yes, obviously,” he says, waving that away like it’s the most basic answer in the world. “But also because we’re petty as hell with encyclopedic legal knowledge. And those talents should be used for good.”

“Petty with law degrees. That’s actually terrifying,” I mumble, half awed, half thrilled at the thought of Robie’s future going up in flames.

“Exactly!” Éric grins, all teeth and mischief. “So let the professionals handle this.”

I let out a long, dramatic sigh and throw my hands up. “Fine. Do what you’ve gotta do. Just—keep me in the loop, okay? It’s still my damn life.”

Benny pats my hand with a reassuring squeeze. “Of course, darling. We’ll burn his life to the ground, but you get to roast marshmallows over the flames.”

Yikes, I wouldn’t want to be Robie right now. Not when Benny and Éric have a vendetta and a legal arsenal.

“And Rory, Matéo mentioned something… about Robie,” Eric says carefully, like he’s stepping onto thin ice. “Something about when you were a kid that got him kicked out of the house…” His voice softens, hesitant, like he already knows he’s treading dangerous ground. “We can look into that too, Rory. If you want.”

“Robie was a creep,” I say flatly. “He never touched me, he just… hovered too close. One day I caught him watching me through a peephole he drilled in the wall between our bedrooms. His eye was right there, staring through the hole like it was his goddamn right.”

I pause, “so I grabbed a pencil and stabbed it through. Got him just above the eyebrow. I was aiming for the eye.”

Éric makes a strangled noise, and Benny mutters something that sounds a lot like Jesus fucking Christ, but I keep going.

I glance at them both before adding, quieter this time, “Dad found out. Went straight to Robie’s room and caught him passed out on the bed… on hand holding his dick, my bralette over his face. Like a trophy.”

Benny’s fists clench at his sides.

“That’s when he kicked him out. Robie was twenty-one. Should’ve been gone already. But after that, he was.”

Benny shakes his head, fury and disbelief etched into every line of his face. “He’s lucky I didn’t know back then, or I would’ve shoved that pencil up his—”

“Benny.” My voice cuts through. “I said leave it alone. I dealt with it. He never got the chance to take it further because I stopped him. I don’t need you digging into that. It’s done.”

Éric nods, careful. “Okay. But if you ever change your mind…”

I lift a brow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I know which firm to call.”

32 Claire

After that emotional marathon with Benny and Eric, I need air. Like, lots of it.

The auberge is quiet now, hollow even. The chaos has cleared, the guests are gone, and Matéo’s off doing mysterious post-event Matéo things that probably involve lists, tools, and repressing feelings. Which leaves me alone. With my thoughts. Gross.

I pull out my phone and start snapping photos. Mostly for Chen, who’s going to lose her mind when she sees this place, but also for me. I want to remember this, the colors, the peace, the brief moments when everything felt perfect.

I’m mid-selfie, trying to get the daisies positioned just right, when I hear someone call my name. “Rory!”

I turn, and there’s Claire, arms wide, that warm smile that makes you feel instantly better about everything. She pulls me into one of those hugs that feels like being wrapped in sunshine. The kind that makes you want to hold on and never let go.

“Claire!” I grin, surprised by how much I mean it. Maybe I am getting soft..

She holds me at arm’s length, looking me over like a proud mom. “Benny and Eric have been sending me photos all week. I had to come see it for myself—and see you, of course.”

Me? My heart warms at the idea that she came to see me too. “Really?”

Her eyes twinkle, like she’s reading me. “Of course, you. I heard quite a lot about how you helped make this whole thing such a success.”

Benny and Éric pop up like chaos twins summoned by compliments. As usual, Benny starts his dramatic recap of the week with all the flair and drama of a Broadway star.

I was half-listening when the air shifts, that familiar presence that makes my heart stutter. I look up, and there he is. Matéo. Walking toward us, and God, the sight of him still does things to me.

Our eyes meet and my breath catches. There’s something in his expression, intense, unresolved. Like we’re both thinking about our earlier conversation.

Matéo welcomes his parents and takes them on a tour of the place. I decide to test the waters, slowly reaching for his hand. Will he pull away after everything we said? Instead, his fingers lace with mine like they’ve been waiting.

As we stop by the edge of the property, overlooking the breathtaking view of the lake and the distant mountains, Claire sighs softly, taking in the beauty around us. “It’s… stunning.”

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” I murmur, still holding his hand. “I’m really going to miss this place.”

His grip tightens. Just a little. But I feel it.

——-

At lunch, Claire keeps the mood light, chatting about her plans to visit more often. Matéo sits beside me, his hand resting on lap under the table, but there’s still that weight between us.

Then Claire drops the bomb. “I’ll have to come visit you both at Matéo’s soon!” she says casually.

Oh shit. I nearly choke on my water.

I clear my throat, forcing a small smile. “Oh, I’ll make sure to come over that day too, just for you, Claire,” I say, the words coming out light, but they carry a heavier meaning.

The moment the words leave my mouth, I can see Claire’s expression shift. Her eyes widen, and panic flashes across her face. Her hand halts mid-air, still holding her glass.

“But, what do you mean?” she asks, her voice laced with concern, and a touch of suspicion. “What did you do, Matéo?”, she glances sharply at his son.

I blink, trying not to laugh at how quickly she’s jumped to conclusions. Phillipe, Matéo’s dad—who has been mostly quiet up until now—leans forward, his brows furrowed.

“What didn’t you do, son?” His voice is calm, but there’s a teasing undertone. He knows his son well enough to know when something’s up.

“He did everything fine, really. He’s perfect.” I say, raising my hand slightly, trying to sound convincing. “We’re just… seeing how things work out.” My voice falters just a little, but I plaster on a smile.

Not entirely a lie. We are okay. I just don’t know what we are yet.

Claire’s gaze darts between us, then shifts to Benny and Éric. It’s like she’s searching for an explanation, anything to make sense of what’s going on.

“Benny and Éric knew this would happen all along,” I add, my tone a little teasing, but pointed. “They saw this coming…” I trail off, watching as both of them freeze, realization dawning on their faces.

“Oh…” Benny says, blinking as if trying to quickly recalibrate. “Right… the deal.”, he mumbles to himself.

“What is happening?” Claire’s voice sharpens, her eyes narrowing slightly.

I give Matéo’s arm a soft squeeze, pulling it close as I lay my head against his shoulder, trying to keep things light, though the air around us feels anything but. “Don’t worry about it, Claire. Matéo… He’s been amazing. I’ve never been happier.” My voice softens, and I give him a quick peck on the shoulder, hoping the little affection will calm everyone down.

Matéo looks at me, his eyes locking with mine, and I can see something shift in his expression. He knows I’m telling the truth. I mean it—I’ve been happy. He’s been incredible. But I can’t stop the flutter of uncertainty in my chest. There’s this invisible line we keep hovering around, neither of us willing to cross it yet.

Matéo’s hand tightens slightly around mine, I think he’s about to say something for a second. Philippe clears his throat and cuts in, clearly not ready to let this go.

“So, what now, then?” Phillipe asks, eyeing both of us carefully. “You’re… what? Living separately and going to wait and see?” He doesn’t say it with judgment, but there’s a clear sense of confusion in his tone. Even a slight disappointment.

Matéo finally speaks. “As Rory said, we’re figuring things out,” he says, and I’m grateful for the way he puts it, like it’s just us in this, no pressure, no expectations.

“Yep. Exactly,” I echo, smiling like a PR rep for emotional limbo. “We’re good. Promise.”

But even as I say it, I can feel everyone waiting for more, for some kind of resolution we don’t have yet.

---

Lunch ended shorter than it normally does, no one was really in the mood for dessert. Matéo took his dad outside to check on the landscaping, and Benny and Éric, sensing the tension, tagged along.

That left me with Claire. “Come, let’s take a walk on the terrace,” Claire says softly, looping her arm through mine as if we’re about to stroll through a garden of roses, but it feels more like I’m being led to the court room.

My heart dropped. Oh God, I know what’s coming.

We settle onto the terrace, the view as stunning as ever, but my chest feels tight, like the weight of the mountains is resting on my shoulders. Claire’s silent for a moment, watching me carefully, and then, with a soft sigh, she starts.

“I don’t understand, Rory. Are you two really okay?” Her voice is gentle, but there’s a hint of worry there. A mother’s worry.

I blink, caught off guard by how quickly she dives in. I manage to nod, though my throat feels tight. “Yes, yes, we’re okay.”

Her brows knit together, she clearly isn’t convinced. “Rory… Benny has been sharing photos of the event with me all week. Every day, he sends me pictures of you and Matéo. You both look so happy together.”

She pulls out her phone, scrolling through the images, and then shows me a collection of photos of Matéo and me.

I feel a lump form in my throat as I stare at the photos, unable to speak. Those were my favorite moments too, I admit to myself. But still, I’m not sure what to say to her.

“Look, my son, Matéo… he can be intense. Intimidating, even. I know that. Sometimes he moves forward too fast, and he forgets about the little details.” She pauses, her eyes searching mine. “If he made you feel uncomfortable, I’m sorry. That’s never his intention. I promise you.”

I’m so caught off guard by her apology that I just blink at her for a second. Wait, what? I thought she’d be pointing fingers at me, or defending her son, but instead, she’s… apologizing?

“Claire, no… it’s not him. He’s… perfect. He’s like a walking, talking green flag,” I say, letting out a nervous laugh. “It’s just… we went into this honeymoon phase so fast. And now, I’m scared. What if it fades? What if it’s just infatuation?”

Claire’s face softens, and she shakes her head, like she knows something I don’t. “Oh, Rory, honey. This isn’t just infatuation. We can all see that.” She tilts her head, looking at me with a hint of curiosity. “He hasn’t said anything?”

I shake my head, biting my lip. Not a word.

Claire groans, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “Oh, honey, he can be such an idiot sometimes!”

I can’t help but smile at that. “It’s not him, though. It’s me. You see… my world and his? They’re completely opposite. I need a step back to sort out my life. I don’t want to jump into something and wonder if I’m with him because of him, or because of the comfort that comes with him.”

Claire looks at me, really looks at me, and suddenly pulls me into a hug. It’s so sudden, so warm, that for a moment, I feel my defenses crumbling. When she lets go, there’s something in her eyes—pain and appreciation, like she understands more than I’m giving her credit for.

“Besides,” I continue, swallowing hard, “I know how serious his relationship with Alyssa was. She told me they almost got married. She was preparing the wedding, and he just… walked out on that. So, I don’t even know what kind of relationship he’s looking for. I need my feet on the ground so that if he breaks my heart, I still have my life to go back to.”

Claire’s expression shifts, and I can see the realization dawn on her. She sits back slightly, her lips pressed into a tight line, then she shakes her head, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, Rory… you’ve got it all wrong.”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

Claire leans forward. “I know my son. He’s not the kind of man who leads someone on just for the fun of it. If he’s with you, it’s because he wants to be. He doesn’t do things halfway. He doesn’t do casual.”

“But… Alyssa said they were planning the wedding. That she’d already prepared everything. And he still walked away.”

“Did she also tell you she planned the entire wedding without even talking to him about it? She wanted a wedding. Matéo didn’t even know about half of it.”

I stare at her, stunned. “What?”

“Matéo didn’t leave because he wasn’t serious,” Claire explains. “He left because he didn’t feel like he was part of it. For Alyssa, it wasn’t about building something together, it was about getting what she wanted. It was just another thing to cross off her list. She wasn’t in it for the same reasons he was.”

“He gave her what she wanted,” Claire continues, “because it was easy for him. But it was never about him, Rory. She didn’t care if his assistant handled everything. As long as her whims were catered to, she didn’t care. They are both ambitious, that’s why they get along well at the beginning. It took awhile before he could see that they were both growing apart.”

Claire takes a deep breath and pats my hand that has been subtly fidgeting on my lap. “But I’m not going to do the talking for Matéo, Rory. This is your relationship—you and Matéo. It’s up to the two of you to figure it out. But I do want to say… I appreciate the way you care about my son.”

Her words settle into my chest like a warm blanket, though there’s still a small knot of anxiety there.

But then, Claire’s expression shifts, and her voice dips, a little softer, a little sadder. “My heart did sink a little when I heard you weren’t staying at his place, living with him. At first, I thought… all that’s left for the two of you was to move to the next step, I even thought I could almost hear wedding bells ring anytime soon.”

Her words hit like a light punch to the gut, not because they’re meant to hurt, but because she’s voicing the exact thing I’ve been running from. The next step forward. The step that terrifies me because what if it’s too fast? What if it’s only me taking this seriously? What if it doesn’t last? What ifs….

“But now,” she adds, her eyes meeting mine with a deep, motherly understanding, “I get it. I see now that you stepping back because you take this way more seriously than I thought.” She pauses, her voice softening, the weight of her words sinking in. “Oh, Rory… how could anyone have a heart as big as yours?”.

I swallow, feeling a tightness in my throat. She’s not mad or disappointed. She actually understands. And for some reason, that hits harder than anything else.

“Thanks. And I also need to… I mean, we need to check our own feelings department.” I let out a nervous laugh.

Claire laughs and nudges me on my shoulder. “Oh, you’re serious?” Yet she laughs even louder.

She smiles knowingly. “Rory, we all can see it, how you care about him this whole time. You don’t even notice you’re doing it. But we do. You care about him—a lot. And it shows.”

I frown, trying to piece together what she means.

“And that banjo serenade?” Claire says with a teasing grin, her tone lightening. “Oh, honey. If that’s not a sign of love, I don’t know what is.”

I blush furiously, feeling the heat rise to my face. Great. Thanks to Benny filming everything, now everyone’s latched onto the whole banjo serenade thing. I clear my throat, trying to brush it off. “Oh, come on. That was just… I mean… it wasn’t even about him.”

Claire raises an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Not about him? Oh Rory, you precious little thing, everyone in that room knew who you were singing to.”

“Okay, fine,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “Maybe… maybe I do care about him a little more than I let on.”

“A little?” Claire keeps on teasing. “Honey, you’ve got it bad.”

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “I blame Benny for blowing everything out of proportion.”

Claire chuckles, but it fades into something softer. “And on his side?” Her tone turns thoughtful. “I’ve just… never seen him so relaxed with someone.”

She looks out at the view, then back at me. “Matéo’s always been a bit distant, even with us. He keeps things close to the chest. But around you, it’s like something shifts. He’s lighter. Calmer. Like he doesn’t have to keep his guard up.”

Her expression grows more thoughtful. “With Alyssa, he was a good boyfriend. Attentive, responsible. But there was always this wall up, you know? Like he was going through the motions of what he thought love should look like.”

“But you?” She leans in and gives my hand a squeeze. “You make him laugh. Really laugh. And he touches you without thinking—your hand, your shoulder… You don’t think we didn’t notice his hand was on your lap the entire lunch, do you?”

Oh damn. So much for subtle.

She pauses, then grins. “You know, even his breakup with Alyssa wasn’t as dramatic as the scene he pulled over a single gerbera daisy.”

I blink. “What?”

“Oh, don’t play innocent.” Claire waves a hand, clearly savoring this. “One flower from Jérôme and suddenly he was one heartbeat away from becoming a cautionary tale. I’ve never seen him jealous like that. Not even when he found out Alyssa and Guillaume were… well. You know.”

I can’t help the laugh that slips out, even as my cheeks flush. Claire’s smile softens.

“I’m not trying to compare, it’s just… I can see how much you matter to him. And I hope you see it too.”

She reaches out again, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Just… talk to him, okay? Give him a chance to show you what’s on his mind. He’s probably stumbling through this just as much as you are.”

Then, with a wink, she adds, “But I hope Matéo comes around and convinces you. Because I’d love to have you as part of our family.”

Her words hit me like a warm breeze. She says it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, to imagine me in their family. Like it’s already a given.

I let out a shaky laugh. “No pressure, right?”

Claire chuckles, still holding my hand. “None at all, darling. But you belong with us, Rory. Whether you believe it yet or not.”

33 One step at a time

Three months later, and the auberge already feels like a fever dream, a soft-focus montage of paddleboards, mountain sunsets, and one-too-many snuggles I definitely didn’t get emotionally attached to (ha ha, sure).

Matéo and I are taking it “one step at a time”—his words, my pace. Which is adorable because he is ready to make a full sprint toward forever. Meanwhile, I’m still… untangling wires from past trauma. Still figuring out what it means to let someone love me without feeling like I’m handing over the deed to my soul.

It’s not that I don’t want him. God, I do—so much that it scares me. But the idea of handing my heart over without a backup plan feels terrifying. There’s always this tiny voice in the back of my head whispering all the ways it could go wrong. What if I give everything and still end up sifting through the wreckage of us?

At least the debt that used to haunt me is gone, thanks to Benny and Eric’s legal wizardry with the Robie mess, and yes, the leftover money from our “deal.” Enough to start over.

So I got myself a cozy little studio. And by cozy, I mean “real estate agents would call it space-efficient.” One room. One bathroom. View of my neighbor’s brick wall. But it’s mine. I need this space to remind myself that I can stand on my own two feet and I can figure my life out. Even if I’m balancing three jobs like I’m a one-woman circus, it’s my circus.

Matéo hates it. Hates it with the fire of a thousand suns. He took one look around and said, “It’s… small”—which, in Matéo-speak, translates to absolute horror.

He doesn’t get why I won’t just move into his football-field-sized house. I know it frustrates him, even if he doesn’t say it. I see it in the way he ducks under my doorway, in the muttered French when he bonks his knee on my coffee table, in the way he glares at my space-saving furniture like it personally insulted his architectural sensibilities.

Still, Matéo has started to appreciate my little studio. Okay, “appreciate” might be a stretch. Tolerate. He tolerates it.

One night, after deciding not to keep giving me that judgmental “why aren’t you living with me?” face, he sprawled on my tiny double bed, pillow behind his head, watching me from across the room.

I was folding laundry. Laundry. And he watched me like it was an early screening of the new James Bond.

“You enjoy yourself over there?” I asked, tossing a pair of socks at him.

He catches it, all slow grin and sleepy eyes. “Immensely.”

I rolled my eyes, turning back to my laundry, but the way his gaze lingered didn’t feel uncomfortable. If anything, it felt… comforting. Like he’s happy just to be here, in my cramped studio, watching me fold mismatched socks.

That’s become our rhythm, no labels, no grand declarations. But we spend nights together, tangled in each other’s arms, waking up in a mess of sheets and limbs. Sometimes he stays over, waking me up with his ridiculously perfect morning wood, not even bothering to check the time before he rolls on top of me, kissing me like we don’t have anywhere else to be.

And the occasional “sorry I left at 5am” texts when he sneaks out to attend Serious Business Things.

We don’t make a big deal out of it. We’re taking it slow, but the tension is there. Every now and then, I can sense the frustration in him. “You know, you don’t have to work three jobs anymore,” he’ll say, voice carefully neutral. And I’ll shrug. “I like my jobs. Keeps me busy.”

He huffs out a soft breath, not quite an argument, but not quite an acceptance either. We’re dancing around it, both of us knowing that this isn’t exactly sustainable. But for now, it works.

Still, I can feel the undercurrent of something more. Matéo’s not one for half-measures, and I can tell he wants to define whatever this is. I’ve caught him staring at me, a kind of quiet frustration in his eyes, like he’s trying to figure out how to navigate this slow-moving train when all he wants is to speed things up.

But we haven’t talked about it. Not really. We’re both just… here, together, sharing these moments, waiting to see how it all plays out. And for now, I’m okay with that. I think.

---

Here’s a weird feeling: saving up to take your hyper-succesful boyfriend to a regular-ass movie theater. Not one of those private VIP ones where they bring you artisanal popcorn and the seats are basically mini beds with cashmere blankets. No, I mean an actual theater where the floor is sticky with soda, the seats squeak when you sit down, and the crowd yells at the screen like it’s their best friend making dumb life choices.

And I fucking love it.

And Matéo is… adjusting.

We’re standing in line to get tickets—yes, an actual line, and he’s side-eyeing the popcorn machine like it’s an alien. His posture is too perfect for this place, like a misplaced magazine ad. One spilled soda and I’ll have to explain this is part of an authentic ambiance.

I nudge him with my elbow. “What, don’t tell me you’re too fancy for regular popcorn.”

He smirks, glancing down at me. “Popcorn? No. But this line…?”

I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Come on, it’s not even a long line.”

“We could’ve had a private screening, Rory. We could spend the time doing something more… entertaining than standing in line, and—”

“—miss out on the sticky floors? Absolutely not.” I clutch my crumpled bills. “This is my treat.”

He hates when I pay for anything. But this is my little way of reminding myself that I’m not here for the luxury that comes with him—I’m here for the luxury of him. Of us. Of time spent together, whether it’s humble or over-the-top. That’s what matters.

And I think he’s starting to get it.

After the movie, we hit up a local pub, where the drinks are cheap, and the live band isn’t anything to write home about, but they’ve got heart. The place is dim, sticky, and perfect. As we sit at a small table, sharing a basket of fries, I catch Matéo watching me. His eyes have softened, his usual tension long gone. And there’s this new thing he does—this little smirk whenever he notices me catching him staring.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I tease, dipping a fry in ketchup and popping it into my mouth.

He quirks an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “I am, Rory. I enjoy every second with you—whether it’s on satin sheets or in some dim, sticky room with off-key music playing in the background.”

“Careful, Morin. Say one more swoony thing like that and I might start thinking you’re a romantic. And we both know that would ruin your broody architect street cred.”

His hand finds mine across the table, his fingers lacing through mine as he pulls me closer. His thumb rubs small circles on my palm, a habit he’s picked up when he’s feeling particularly territorial. It’s not possessive, it’s more like he’s quietly claiming me in the best possible way.

He leans in, presses a kiss to my temple, and whispers, “I’m proud to be your boyfriend.”

My heart stumbles a bit in my chest. It’s such a simple thing to say, but the way he says it, so casual but so full of meaning, it hits deeper than I expect. He doesn’t need to know no one’s ever said to me that they are proud of me for anything before.

I glance up at him, feeling a grin tug at my lips. “Oh, really? Not embarrassed by the fact that I’m making you share fries at a local pub?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Not at all. Besides…” He leans closer, his voice dropping an octave. “I plan on making it up to you later.”

I raise an eyebrow, my heart doing a little flip. “Is that so?”

He smirks, his eyes darkening just slightly. “You’ll see.”

And that’s how the night always ends with us. We’ll go out, have our date, and then we’ll come back to my cramped little studio, or his mega mansion. And once the door’s closed, the smirk he’s been wearing all night slips into something more… primal.

Because while I might save up for our dates, he always makes it up to me in ways that leave me breathless, tangled in sheets, and completely spent by morning.

I’d call this a solid return on investment, and yes, I’m using fancy business terms I learned from dating a rich guy. But considering I’m chosing to be chronically broke for the sake of love, maybe don’t take financial advice from me. Or love for that matter.

34 Uh oh

I’ve been planning it for weeks, a surprise party to celebrate Matéo landing those huge projects with the government and some private investors, including Stephane Oursons. The kitchen still smells of butterscotch and chocolate, scents that have inexplicably made my stomach flutter all afternoon.

The second he walks into my tiny studio, he freezes, taking in the sight of the balloons I’ve hung up spelling out “BJ TIME” in big, golden shiny letters. I’ve baked cupcakes too, the icing uneven and a little wonky, but I tried, damn it. The whole thing is a hot mess of confetti, balloons, and dollar-store decorations, but the way his eyes soften, I know he loves it.

“BJ Time?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, clearly loving himself for catching on so quickly.

“Big Job time,” I deadpan, though my cheeks betray me. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Monsieur Morin.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, his eyes scanning the room before landing on the homemade cupcakes. “You made these?”

“Obviously,” I deadpan, leaning back against the counter, folding my arms over my tender chest. “Couldn’t you tell by the lopsided frosting?”

He takes a bite, eyes lighting up. “Perfect.”

“Liar.” But the way he’s looking at me says he means it, at least about the thought behind it.

That softness stays in his eyes, but there’s something underneath tonight. A weight. I can feel it building, simmering beneath the surface even as we laugh over lopsided cupcakes.

“God, Rory, I hate that I’m doing this now, after everything you did tonight. But I can’t pretend anymore.” He says gently.

Huh?

“You don’t come with an instruction manual. No wish lists. No demands. That’s what I love most—it forces me to actually see you. You melt over an iced cappuccino like I’ve handed you the moon. You take me to sticky-floor movie theaters and somehow make it feel magical.”

My chest tightens. Compliments from Matéo aren’t rare, but the edge in his voice is.

“You’re so easy to make happy,” he goes on. “And sometimes, that drives me crazy. It makes me feel like I’ll never give enough. Not because you ask for it, but because I want to.”

He lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair, his frustration giving way to something softer, more vulnerable. “And I see how much you care. The way you fight for us, for me. It makes me feel something I’ve never felt before, like someone actually wants to fight for me, not just what I can give them. You have changed completely how it feels to be… loved. Really loved.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” But I suddenly have a bad feeling about where this is going.

He shakes his head slightly, his voice dipping lower. “Being with you… it makes me the happiest I’ve ever been, but…”

His words trail off, heavy with meaning, leaving the air thick with unspoken feelings. My chest tightens, the pause stretching between us, daring me to respond. But I don’t. I can’t. Because whatever comes after that “but”… I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it.

He pauses, taking a breath as if he’s preparing himself for what he has to say next. I can feel the shift in the air, the weight of his words pressing down on both of us.

He reaches for my hand, his grip gentle but firm, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as if grounding himself. “But I can’t keep doing this if you don’t let me love you back,” he says, the softness giving way to something sharper. “Not in the way I know how to love. I’ve let you set the pace because I know you need time. But I need the freedom to love you my way. I can’t keep holding back, afraid of pushing you too far or too fast. It’s starting to feel… unfair.”

“Unfair?” The word comes out before I can stop it.

He nods, his jaw tightening like he’s forcing himself to stay calm. “Yeah,” he says, steady but raw. “Because I want to give you everything. And you act like accepting anything from me is weakness, like you have to earn every damn thing in this relationship. And it’s not just frustrating—it hurts.”

“Matéo—”

“Rory,” he cuts in. “Do you know what it feels like to think you’d be fine if I disappeared tomorrow? Maybe you would be. But I wouldn’t survive it.”

“That’s why this isn’t enough for me anymore. I need to love you the way I love, not just the way you’re comfortable with. You’re everything. But you don’t see that, do you? You don’t see how much I want to take care of you, how much I need to be there for you. Because that’s how I love. That’s who I am.”

I swallow hard, his words hitting me like a tidal wave, wrapping around my chest like a vice and squeezing the air out of my lungs. The intensity in his voice, in his eyes, in the way he stands there so open and exposed, is almost too much.

“Rory,” his raw tone makes the weight of his words sink in before they even fully land. “I hate that you choose Serendipity over me most nights. I hate my empty bed. I hate working late just to avoid the silence you leave behind. Your absence hurts, do you know that?”

I try to defuse the tension with humor—my go-to escape route whenever emotions start to cut too close. “Don’t be jealous of my beer taps and liquor cabinet, Matéo. We’re just colleagues.”

But he doesn’t laugh. Not even the slightest. His gaze stays locked on mine, serious and unflinching, pulling me into the gravity of what he’s trying to say. “I know I can be intimidating. And yes, I am demanding. I can live with the fact that we won’t be together every second of the day, Rory. But I need you at night. I need to know you’re there. Safe. With me.”

He reaches for my hand, his fingers warm against mine but his grip soft, careful, like he’s holding something fragile. Like he’s afraid I might pull away. “I don’t want you to feel suffocated by me,” he continues. “I’m not good at doing things halfway. And this—what we have right now—it’s not enough anymore.”

I blink, my breath catching as his words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered.

“I don’t want to just slap a label on us. I want you to need me. All of me. Because I’m already completely yours.”

I stare at him, my throat tightening, the weight of his words pressing down on me like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. He’s asking for more than I know how to give right now.

“Matéo…”

His jaw clenches, frustration flashing in his eyes as he steps closer. “You love me so completely, expecting nothing back. Do I even deserve that?!” His voice rises slightly as his emotions spill over. “I need you to need me the way I need you.”

He lets out a sharp breath, stepping back slightly, his hand falling away as if to give me space, though the weight of his gaze never leaves me. “Rory, I’m running faster than you’re ready for in this relationship, and it’s tearing me apart.”

I blink at him, my heart racing so fast I think it might burst, and before I can say a word, his voice drops lower, the edge replaced with something raw. Something pained.

“Maybe it’s best if we take some time apart.” His words are careful but firm, like he’s ripping off a bandage, even though it’s clearly tearing him apart too. “Stephane’s Dubai project… I think I should take it.”

My stomach twists into knots so tight it hurts. My voice comes out thin, barely audible. “You’re… leaving?”

He nods, his expression torn, as if the words taste as bitter as they sound. “We both need space to figure out what we really want.” His voice drops. “Because I can’t keep chasing someone who doesn’t want to be caught.”

My chest feels like it’s folding in on itself. He loves me—I know he does—but right now, love isn’t enough to keep him here.

35 Hot mess

Matéo left for Dubai a week ago, leaving behind words that still linger in the quiet moments, pressing on my chest like a weight I can’t quite shake off. It wasn’t just an ultimatum, it was a reality check, one that’s thrown my world completely off balance. The queasiness and fatigue I’ve been attributing to stress don’t help. Even my body seems to be punishing me now.

How long had he been holding back, loving me in a way that felt incomplete because he didn’t want to scare me away? How long had he been waiting for me to catch up while I clung to some illusion of control? And now, he’s gone.

Our texts have become fewer, shorter. At first, I blamed the time difference. He’s halfway across the world, after all. Then I blamed his work—big projects, important clients, endless government contracts. He must be swamped. But deep down, I know the truth. It’s not the time zones or his job. It’s me.

I drove him away.

Benny’s voice echoes in my head—telling me I sabotage my own happiness—and every time it does, it squeezes my heart just a little tighter. I hate that he might be right.

Why can’t my heart and brain just get along? They’re locked in a constant battle, each pulling me in different directions while I stand here, caught in the middle, trying to figure out how to breathe. I’m starting to think their inability to work together has been the root of all my complications.

My heart already knows what it wants—it’s Matéo. All of him. The demanding, protective, sometimes overwhelming man who looks at me like I’m his entire world. But my brain clings to this outdated idea of independence, this ridiculous notion that needing him somehow makes me weak.

And then there’s the part of me that still believes love has an expiry date. It’s all good until it runs its course, until they find a better love, and then that’s it. You’re out.

I’m terrified. Terrified that loving him fully means losing myself. That if I let him in completely, if I let him take care of me in the way he so clearly wants to, there’ll be nothing left of me. What if being with Matéo means surrendering the parts of myself that make me… me?

But then again, what’s left of me now? I’m sitting alone in my studio, holding onto my three jobs like they’re lifeboats keeping me afloat in some storm. I’ve been pretending they define me, pretending that if I let go of them, I’ll vanish. And maybe that’s the biggest lie of all.

The apartment feels different without him. Too quiet. Too still. Even the fridge hum sounds louder, like it’s trying to fill the silence. There’s an extra pillow on my bed that I keep pretending isn’t his, but the stupid dent in the middle betrays me. His jacket is still hanging over my desk chair. I keep telling myself I should wash it, but every time I pick it up, I end up just standing there, breathing him in like some sort of laundry pervert.

God, what am I doing?

I miss him. God, I miss him. The bed feels too big, too cold without him. I miss his voice, his touch, the way he’d pull me close at night like he needed me just as much as I needed him. I miss how he looked at me, like I was the only thing that mattered.

I didn’t want to admit it before, but now, staring at the empty space he used to fill, I can’t lie to myself anymore, I wanted him. I still do. And now that he’s gone, I can’t help but wonder… what if I’ve lost him for good?

I look at my reflection in the mirror, and the woman staring back at me looks worn down, more tired than I was before I met Matéo, before he came into my life and flipped it upside down. Back then, my world was nothing but endless debt, responsibilities, and a future so bleak I couldn’t even see a foot in front of me.

But now… now, there’s a light at the end of this tunnel I’ve been crawling through for years. And not just any light, the kind of light I’ve been craving. Matéo brought light into all that darkness. He made me believe, even if only for a moment, that maybe life could be more than just survival.

So why am I so goddamn scared to reach for it?

As much as I’ve tried to convince myself that I haven’t given him all of my heart, I know I’m lying. He already owns my heart. Maybe it’s not all wrapped up in a pretty bow, but it’s his. He already owns more of me than I care to admit, and that… that scares the absolute fuck out of me.

I mean, how do I even admit it to myself? That I can’t live without him. Worse—that I don’t want to. The thought alone sends a ripple of panic through me. What if I let myself go that far, let myself fall into him completely, and then, for some reason—some stupid, bullshit reason my twisted brain cooks up—he walks away?

Like my mom, who walked out one day without a backward glance. Like my dad, who brought me into his family but never made me feel like I truly belonged. And when he died, and left me to figure out my own mess of a life. Everyone leaves, don’t they? And I’m always the one left standing in the rubble, trying to pick up the pieces, pretending I’m fine when I’m anything but.

I survived all of that. I had no choice. But if Matéo leaves? That’s not something I know how to survive.

It’s ridiculous, crying over something that hasn’t even happened yet. But the truth is, I’m already mourning him. Mourning the possibility of us.

The thought of losing him feels like someone’s tightening a rope around my chest, pulling tighter and tighter until I can barely breathe. And the irony of it all? The fear of losing him, of being abandoned, is the very thing that pushed him away

I’m a fucking idiot.

I lean forward, gripping the edge of the sink, staring hard at my reflection. I can force myself to find some sense in all this chaos. The smell of my toothpaste—once minty fresh—suddenly turns my stomach, and I gag reflexively. But the truth is staring back at me, plain as day. My need to control everything, to cling to this false sense of independence, has cost me the one thing I didn’t want to lose.

Matéo didn’t just offer me a light at the end of the tunnel, he was the light. And I was too scared, too stubborn, too stupid to admit it.

A wave of dizziness hits me so hard I grab the counter for support. Six weeks. It’s been six weeks since my last period, but I’ve been too wrapped up in my emotional turmoil to even notice.

My first thought is that I’m just tired, that I’ve been working too many shifts, drinking too much coffee, sleeping too little. But my second thought—the one that sticks—is the one that sends my pulse skittering.

The world starts to spin around me, my vision blurring. The noise, the light, the very ground beneath my feet—it all starts to fade. My heart races, my chest tightens, I feel completely untethered, like the weight of everything is finally too much to carry.

I grip the sink harder, trying to steady myself, but it’s no use. The floor feels like it’s slipping away beneath me, and my reflection—the tired, scared, heartbroken woman staring back at me—is the last thing I see before everything goes black.

---

To: Eric Gauthier

Subject: Official Resignation – Rory Malo (Yep, It’s Finally Happening)

Bonjour Eric, Benny,

I’ve stared at this screen for about 20 minutes now, trying to figure out how to say this, so I’ll just rip the Band-Aid off: It’s time for me to step down from my position at Serendipity. This place—my second home, my sanctuary—has been more than just a job. It’s been my lifeline when everything else felt like it was falling apart. You, Benny, and everyone here… you’ve all been my family in ways I never expected, and you’ll never know how much that’s meant to me.

You guys didn’t just hire a bartender; you hired someone who was drowning in her own chaos and desperately needed a place to stand. And you gave me that. And then some. I survived because of Serendipity. Because of you, because of Benny, because of the energy and madness this place holds.

Eric and Benny—you two are my rocks. You both have been more than just bosses. You’ve been my cheerleaders, my therapists, and, occasionally, my bad decision partners when the tequila was flowing a little too freely after hours. Honestly, you both made me believe in the concept of found family, and I’ll never forget that.

But… and here’s the tough part… as much as I love this place and all of you, I need to step back. It’s not because I don’t love you guys (obviously, I do), but because sometimes life just takes you in a different direction—one where you’re not slinging drinks until 2 a.m. with a permanent groove in your shoulder from lifting kegs. And trust me, this decision wasn’t easy.

But it’s final.

I’ll drop by when I can, but probably not any time soon. I’m gonna miss everyone—especially Delilah (give her a hug for me). But for now, I need to figure out what’s next for me.

Thank you. For everything. I’m sending all my love, and I promise I’ll keep in touch.

With all my heart,

Your favorite bartender, Rory.

Yeah. It’s time. I’ve been sitting on this decision for a few days now, ever since… well, since everything became crystal clear. I finally know what I have to do.

I should’ve just meet them in person instead of sending an e-mail,but I know they wouldn’t let me go so easily, not before a thorough interrogation that I’m not prepared to answer.

I hit send before I can talk myself out of it, watching the message fly off into the abyss. Done. No turning back. No more late nights, no more loud, pounding music, no more pretending. Because I can’t. Not anymore.

Benny and Eric have been blowing up my phone relentlessly—texts, calls, voicemails—the works. And every time, I hit them back with the same response: “I’m fine.” That’s all they need to know.

For now.

The grocery store job, my new second full-time gig, isn’t glamorous, but it’s… steady. And right now, steady is exactly what I need. I’m not exactly ready to broadcast why stability has suddenly become my top priority, but let’s just say… standing on my feet for eight hours slinging vodka and mixers after dusk doesn’t seem like the smartest idea when your near future involves someone much smaller.

It’s funny, though. As much as I never pictured myself here, stacking shelves and scanning groceries for people who can’t be bothered to bag their own bananas, it feels… weirdly comforting. There’s a routine to it, a rhythm. I know when my breaks are, when I clock in and out, and, most importantly, when I get paid. It’s predictable, and that’s something I haven’t had in a long time.

Matéo would hate this. The thought makes me smile a little. He’d walk in, take one look at this place, and wrinkle his nose like the fluorescent lights personally offended him. He’d hate the idea of me working here—hates the idea of me working at all. If he had his way, I’d be at home, feet up, catered to, and comfortable.

But that’s just not me.

I can almost hear his voice now, echoing in my head, scowling at the cramped employee breakroom I’m sitting in. “This? This is what you want, chérie?”

Maybe I do. But right now, I need this, the normal work hours, the paycheck, the stability. I need to feel like I’m still holding onto some version of myself, even if life is about to shift in ways I’m still trying to wrap my head around.

I’ve always been the one holding everything together—my own life, my stepmom’s,.. and now? Now, there’s someone else I’ll be holding together soon enough.

Later, after my shift, I stop by a local baby shop. I tell myself it’s just out of curiosity, just to look. Just browsing. But the place is wall-to-wall with impossibly tiny, pastel-colored things—onesies, bottles, stuffed animals with stitched-on smiles.

I stop in front of a rack of socks so small they look like they’d barely cover Matéo’s thumb like two singular-finger mittens. And the worst part? I melt. Completely.

I don’t buy anything. Not yet. I’m not ready to take that step. But the fact that I’m even here, lingering in this aisle, thinking about it… That says something, doesn’t it?

Back in my tiny studio, I’m exhausted but can’t stop thinking. It’s funny, Matéo probably thinks I’m out here, stubbornly living my life, clinging to my independence. He probably has no idea how many nights I spend staring at the ceiling, thinking about what’s next. Thinking about when and how I’m going to tell him.

Because I have to tell him. Sooner or later. The clock’s ticking, and I can’t hide this forever.

For now, I’ll keep doing what I do best—holding it together. Moving forward. Preparing. Pretending everything’s fine. But the truth is… I’m terrified. Not just of telling him, but of what comes after. Of how my world is about to change in ways I can’t fully predict.

And yet, as scared as I am, there’s this tiny spark inside me—hope. Hope that maybe when I do tell him, it won’t end in the disaster I keep imagining.

36 Mamie’s birthday

I’ve received an invitation to Mamie’s birthday at Claire’s this Saturday. Well, more like a summons than an invitation—the kind where “no” isn’t an acceptable answer, and any attempt at an excuse is casually waved off like it was never said in the first place. Claire might as well have sent a carrier pigeon with a tiny scroll reading: Be there. Wear something nice. Don’t be difficult. PS: we miss you, honey.

So here I am, back in the Morin orbit after… God, how long?

Almost two months since Matéo dropped his terms and conditions like a bomb on my perfectly controlled chaos of a life. Two months, and I still don’t know if his family knows about any of it. Judging by the tone of this invitation? I’m guessing they don’t. Either they’re keeping their cards close, or Claire truly has no idea that her golden boy and I are standing on… well, shaky ground. And by shaky, I mean he’s still in Dubai, and we barely talk anymore.

The Uber ride feels longer than it should. The driver is humming along to a soft jazz station, and that pine car freshener almost makes me want to strangle him from the back seat if my stomach isn’t doing Cirque du Soleil flips. On the second thought, I probably will just give him a four-star review, I convince myself while adjusting my pants that now feel tighter. My mind keeps rehearsing cover stories—maybe Matéo and I are “taking some time for ourselves,” or “focusing on work,” or, if pushed into a corner, “temporarily living in separate time zones for relationship enrichment purposes.” Yeah, even I don’t buy them.

My pulse races as the Uber pulls up to Claire’s house. It’s ridiculous how warm and welcoming the place feels before I’ve even opened the car door. The house, the party—it’s like stepping into a world where I belong. A family. The thought should comfort me, but instead, it makes the guilt churn faster in my gut.

Claire greets me the moment I step inside. Her arms are wide open, and the second she hugs me, I’m hit with that overwhelming sense of belonging—the kind of hug that feels like it’s been waiting for you all day. Her perfume is faint but familiar—something floral with a hint of spice—and for a split second, I forget why I’ve been avoiding this orbit. There’s no hesitation, no awkwardness. Just… home.

“Rory, honey!” Claire beams, pulling back to hold me by the shoulders. “Aww… You’re absolutely glowing.”

Glowing? Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Or the nausea. But sure, let’s call it glowing.

“Thanks, Claire,” I manage, swallowing down the anxiety bubbling in my throat.

As much as I’d like to sink into this warmth and pretend everything’s fine, the truth looms over me like a storm cloud. I shouldn’t be here, soaking in this comfort, when Matéo and I… well, whatever we are right now.

Claire loops her arm through mine and guides me further inside. The moment we step into the living room, Benny and Eric pounce.

“Alright, spill!” Benny demands, narrowing his eyes. “What’s with the whole radio silence and the resignation? You know, that thing where you quit without telling us why? It’s been a month, Rory.”

“A month,” Eric echoes, nodding dramatically. “And we’re still talking about it.”

I smile at their dramatics and my brain races to come up with a clever response. Thank God Claire swoops in like some kind of social fairy godmother, throwing her hands up at Benny and Eric as if she’s shooing away flies.

“Leave the poor girl alone!” Claire says, exasperated but playful. She takes a step closer to them, her tone turning teasing. “Can’t you two see how gorgeous and glowing she is? Let her breathe, boys.”

She winks at me, and for half a second, I freeze. Does she… know? Is that just a casual wink, or one of those I’m onto you winks? Because as much as Claire’s warmth feels genuine, the weight of what I haven’t told her sits like a brick in my gut.

I force a smile and nod.

“Fine,” Benny huffs dramatically, crossing his arms. “But we’re not done, Rory. Don’t think you can escape that easily. And my baby brother better not be involved in that sudden resignation.. humm??”.

Eric nods, though his expression softens. “We’re just… worried, you know?”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically. The words feel robotic at this point, rehearsed. Too rehearsed. It’s been my mantra for weeks now, but every time I say it, it feels less and less true.

Benny opens his mouth to fire off another remark, but Claire shuts him down with a single pointed look. God, I wish I had that kind of power.

“Come on,” she says, looping her arm through mine again. “Let’s get you something to drink.”

Just as Claire leads me further into the party, a familiar voice cuts through the chatter. The kind of voice that commands attention without needing to raise its volume.

“Matéo’s been in Dubai for too long!” Mamie declares from her spot near the fireplace, tapping her cane gently on the floor for emphasis.

The room falls quiet, like all the air’s been sucked out. Benny, Eric, Claire—everyone’s eyes dart around, pretending they weren’t just thinking the exact same thing but were too polite to say it aloud.

I freeze, my heart pounding. Matéo’s absence has been the unspoken elephant in every room I’ve walked into for the past two months. Every time someone mentioned him, it felt like a weight settling deeper in my chest. And now, Mamie just… says it. Out loud. The thing no one wants to touch.

Claire’s smile falters for a split second. Benny’s playful expression shifts to something more serious while his grandma either doesn’t notice the sudden tension or doesn’t care. Her sharp eyes are on me now, and it feels like she’s reading every single one of my secrets without me saying a word.

Suddenly, everyone’s eyes are on me. It’s like they’re waiting for me to explain—waiting for the answer. Why Matéo left so suddenly. Why he hasn’t been back. Why he’s in Dubai instead of here, in my arms.

What am I supposed to say? That I’m the reason he left? That he went to Dubai because I’m too afraid to let him love me the way he wants to? That this beautiful family is welcoming me with open arms while I’m hiding the biggest secret of my life?

“Ah, Mamie,” Benny finally steps in, trying to lighten the mood, though his usual confidence is missing. “You know how Matéo is—always chasing some big project or another.”

Mamie narrows her eyes at him. “Chasing a project? Pfft! It’s not like he needs the money!”

The silence grows.

Claire clears her throat delicately, stepping forward as if to shield me from Mamie’s all-seeing gaze. “Well, he’s got some very important work going on. Very important, I’m sure,” she says, though even she doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

“More important than this?” Mamie gestures around the room, waving a hand at the gathered family and then directly at me. “More important than what’s right in front of him?”

Her eyes land on me again, and I know, without a doubt, that she knows. Maybe not everything, but enough.

“I’m sure Matéo’s just… busy,” I say, my voice a little too high-pitched, a little too forced. “He’s working hard, but he’ll be back soon.” My throat tightens, my pulse quickening.

Even as I say it, I know it’s a weak attempt to brush everything under the rug. The guilt I carry knowing that his absence isn’t really about work—it’s about us. The guilt of pushing him away when he all he did was offering me everything.

Mamie watches me for a long moment, and I swear she can see right through me. But she doesn’t press further. Instead, she gives a small, knowing nod, like she’s letting me off the hook for now. But the message is clear— I can’t avoid this forever.

Benny clears his throat, breaking the tension. “Well, it’s Mamie’s birthday, and we’re not about to spend it talking about Matéo’s poor life decisions. Let’s focus on the cake, shall we?”

Mamie, ever the queen of dramatics, sulks like a child who didn’t get her way. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest, lips pulling into a pout as if the very idea of celebrating her birthday is some kind of personal affront. “At my age, I’ve had enough cakes,” she mutters.

“Alright, alright, let’s not dwell on the cake situation,” Claire says with a practiced smile, lifting a tray of champagne flutes and passing them around. “Let’s have a toast!”.

I reach for my glass of iced tea instead, offering a polite smile as I raise it, hoping Claire doesn’t notice—or read too much into—the fact that I’m dodging alcohol. Don’t notice, don’t notice, don’t—

Just as I think I’ve dodged a bullet, a voice that never fails to flip my heart comes from behind me.

“Now, now… You weren’t about to start without me, were you?”

My breath catches, and I spin around to see Matéo standing there, looking impossibly handsome and… here. He’s here. Not in Dubai. Not halfway across the world. Right here.

I blink, frozen for half a second, my brain struggling to catch up with the fact that he’s actually in front of me. I wasn’t expecting him today, not at all. But of course, it’s his Mamie’s birthday, and of course, he’d come back for this.

37 I’m ready

After the toast, I’m still holding onto Matéo’s arm with my iced tea clutched in my other hand. My heart races, but I try to keep my cool, nodding along as everyone dives back into conversation.

Claire approaches us with her warm smile and sharp eyes, like she’s trying to read me with X-ray vision. I’ve always loved her for her warmth and attention, but right now, I kind of wish she had less of it. Maybe then she wouldn’t notice something’s off.

“Rory, Matéo,” she says gently, her voice laced with a hint of knowing. Tilting her head, she gestures toward the sunroom just across. “Could I steal you both for a moment?”

Matéo frowns, clearly confused but I know. Oh, I know. My stomach twists as Claire leads us toward the sunroom gallery. I steal a glance over my shoulder and spot Benny, Eric, and Mamie watching us with thinly veiled curiosity.

“Now, don’t you two have something to say to each other?” Claire squeezes my arm before slipping back inside, closing the glass door behind her.

Except, of course, she doesn’t go far. None of them do. They’re crowded by the glass wall like curious meerkats, peeking through the glass.

I roll my eyes. What’s the point of closing the door if everything else made of glass? Privacy? In this family? Not a chance.

Matéo turns to me, his brows furrowed in concern. “Okay, something’s up. What’s going on, Rory?” he asks quietly, trying to read me now too, just like his mother did.

I swallow hard, my palms damp with sweat. Suddenly, being alone with Matéo feels like standing at the edge of a very high cliff. Do it, Rory. Just say it.

“Rory?” His voice softens as he steps closer, his finger brushes gentle on my cheek. “You’re scaring me, chérie.”

I can’t avoid it any longer. The words are perched on the tip of my tongue, desperate to escape, but fear claws at my chest, threatening to pull me under.

“I’m…” The words stick in my throat. After all this time worrying about how to break the news, I haven’t even prepared my words. Brilliant, Rory.

I take a shaky breath. “Matéo, I’m pregnant.”

The words hang between us like something fragile. Time feels frozen as I wait for his reaction, my heart pounding so hard I swear he can hear it.

“We’re having a baby,” I whisper.

Matéo blinks, his hands dropping from my shoulders. He takes a small step back, processing. “Chérie, is this true?”

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek, and the words start spilling out uncontrollably, my fears tumbling over each other. “Yes. And I know it’s a lot… ummm… You know, I know we haven’t been together that long and… You’re probably thinking it might not even be yours because of how things have been the last couple of months. Or that you aren’t expecting this. Or worse—that you’ll want to take care of the baby on your own because you can. And I—”

He stops me with a look—not confusion, but something like wonder. Then his face breaks into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen, and he laughs.

I blink at him, completely thrown off. “Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny!”

“Rory,” he says, his laughter quieting to a soft chuckle as he shakes his head, stepping closer again. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a familiar warmth. “Rory, with how much time we spent together, I was starting to wonder if something was wrong with me that this didn’t happen sooner.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing, my heart tripping over itself. Did he just… joke about this?

“Of course the baby’s mine! And I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” He says calmly.

A shaky breath escapes me as his words sink in, easing the knot in my chest. He’s not angry. He’s not panicking. And he’s definitely not walking away.

He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, and I melt into his arms, feeling the weight of my fears crumbling. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asks gently, his lips brushing my hair.

I can barely get the words out, my voice cracking. “I found out after you left, and I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared. You know—our last conversation, and you left for Dubai right after—and I thought…” My throat tightens, but I force the words out, my biggest fear tumbling loose. “I thought you didn’t even want kids. Alyssa told me she’d already planned everything, down to the best daycares for your future children, and you just… walked away. And I figured, if that perfect little blueprint wasn’t enough for you, then what chance would someone like me have? Me—with my chaos, my baggage, my sticky-floor movie dates.”

Matéo pulls back slightly, his hands cupping my face, his eyes serious yet kind. “Did she also mention the surrogacy list she made? Without asking me? She planned every single detail as if I was supposed to show up and just… be a guest at my own life.”

I blink, confused. “Wait, what?”

He sighs, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “I don’t have anything against surrogacy. But she didn’t include me in any of it. The whole relationship we had, it didn’t feel organic—it didn’t feel like I mattered in the process.” He pauses, his expression softening. “But with you? You know I want to be part of every beat of your life. And now? You’re stuck with me now. I’m not going anywhere, Rory.”

The knot in my chest unravels completely, tears welling in my eyes before I can stop them. “Shut up! I’m not crying! My face just leaks when people are nice to me.”

I bury my face in his chest, sobbing quietly as he holds me, overwhelmed by relief, by everything. By the fact that Matéo isn’t the man I was so afraid he’d be.

He strokes my hair, holding me tightly as I sob into him. “Rory,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against my frayed nerves. “I love you. And I love our baby already. We’ll be okay, ma chérie.”

I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, my eyes still wet with tears. “I… I love you too, Matéo.” I whisper. My heart feels raw, but in the best way. For the first time in a long time, it feels right. Everything feels right.

Matéo’s hands gently cup my face, his thumbs brushing away the lingering tears on my cheeks. There’s something in his eyes—something soft and steady, like he’s been waiting to tell me this. “Being away from you made me realize that I can’t stand being apart from you, and I don’t want to. And I know how important it is for you to stay your tough, independent self,” he adds, his voice quieter like he’s been holding onto this thought for a while. “so while I was in Dubai, I asked Jérôme to convert the basement and backyard into a dog daycare wibath station, play area, everything.”

I blink, my brain struggling to keep up. “Wait… what? What do you mean?”

His smile widens, a rare softness in his eyes. “I wanted to ask you to live with me again. But this time, I wanted to make sure that our home hav everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

He pauses, watching my face carefully.

“Your vision board, Rory. I remembered every detail.”

I feel my heart skip a beat. My dream. He noticed?

“You… you remembered my vision board?” I whisper, still trying to wrap my head around it.

He chuckles softly, tracing the outline of my jaw with his finger. “Rory, I notice everything about you.”

I can’t breathe. The vision board—the one I put together years ago, the one with pictures of smiling dogs and a little note about opening my own dog daycare. The one I thought was gone forever after Karine tore it apart in front of everyone.

Matéo’s smile softens as he pulls me closer, his forehead resting against mine. “I’ve just been waiting for you to let me help make it happen.”

Tears well up again, and I can’t hold them back. He tilts my chin up, brushing them away as they fall. “Rory, cherie...”

The tears start again, but this time they’re different—lighter. I let out a breathy laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Matéo, I don’t even know what to say.”

“How about you just say yes to me, mon amour? To the daycare, to the baby, to all of it. To everything that comes with me.” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear.

I pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “Yes,” I whisper, my voice steady now. “To all of it. To you.”

He kisses me, slow and deliberate, like he’s sealing a promise. When he pulls away, he presses his forehead to mine again, his hands still cradling my face.

“I love you, Rory. I love you more than I thought I could love anyone.” he murmurs, his voice brimming with warmth.

We’re still wrapped up in each other, when our eyes drift toward the glass door —and land on the spectacle beyond it.

The whole gang. Benny, Eric, Claire, Mamie—all of them— huddled together, watching us like kids at a zoo exhibit. Even Phillipe and Papie, who pretend sharing an interesting article on Journal de Quebec, only, the newspaper is upside down.The second they realize we’ve caught them, they all very casually look the other way, pretending they weren’t just spying on us.

Matéo exhales in exasperation while I laugh. “Of course. Why am I even surprised?”

I mutter, shaking my head. “They’re subtle,”

Matéo deadpans, his grip on me tightening. “About as subtle as a neon sign. Imagine if they know.”

“Your family is going to throw a parade, aren’t they?”

I glance around, my heart swelling. They’re so happy for us.

They don’t even know the full story yet.

“Benny and Eric will definitely flip. And I bet mom will lose her mind.”

“And Mamie?” I mutter.

Matéo smirks. “She’ll say she knew before we did.”

Of course she did. I groan.

In the middle of it all, Matéo pulls me closer, his arm wrapped firmly around my waist as we take in the scene.

He leans in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, “I came here hoping to win you back. I never imagined I’d be getting more than I dared to dream—us, our baby, and a whole life together. I’m never letting you go again.”

I look up at him, my heart pounding in that familiar, unstoppable way only Matéo can cause. I search his eyes, and just like that, all the fears, all the worries I’d been carrying, melt away.

And for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of needing someone.

I’m ready for all of him.

🎉💝 THE END 💝🎉