21 After hour

As the soirée shifts into the quieter hum of after-supper drinks in the next room, the atmosphere takes on a new vibe—softer, more laid-back. Small groups are scattered around, either deep in conversation or just casually swirling wine in their glasses, enjoying the evening. Meanwhile, I find myself watching Matéo like he’s part of some social experiment I hadn’t signed up for.

“There he is in full host mode, all effortless charm and green flags. Kind? Check. Smart? Absolutely. And hot? Don’t even get me started. Naturally, my brain spirals—if he’s so perfect, what made Alyssa walk away?”

I take another sip, trying to rein in my thoughts and cool the slightly feral part of me that wanted to march across the room, pull him into some dark corner, and… well, let’s just say properly thank him for hosting.

I force myself to look away, desperate for a distraction before my restraint snaps. Just as I start to steady myself, Matéo glances over, right at me, and our eyes meet. I’m dead caught mid-ogling him.

Uh oh.

And then he smirks.

A private little smirk.

Damn it, Rory, get a grip.

I plaster on a casual smile, throw in a little wave, but the heat creeping up my neck definitely gives me away. I need to regroup. Fast.

I drift toward a group of guests, slipping seamlessly into their conversation like I’m not just contemplating morally questionable things in a semi-public setting. I throw in a few witty remarks, get some laughs, nod along, and nail the whole effortlessly charming thing.

Totally fine. Totally under control. Kind off.

If only I didn’t still feel his gaze, pulling me in like gravity while trying to maintain a deep conversation with Madame Gilbert, the rep from the Ministry of Tourism, though she insists I call her Josephine. Josephine is one tough cookie. She’s the one Matéo had to convince to get this project off the ground, which tells me everything I need to know about how big of a deal this whole thing really is.

We’re mid-conversation when she casually drops something that stops me cold. One fact that I did not expect—Benny isn’t just Matéo’s sarcastic, overly supportive big brother or the co-owner of Serendipity; he’s also the lead legal mastermind behind auberge Mont Blanc. The one who fought alongside Matéo to get the permits approved from two ministries, no less.

Benny.

Velvet jacket Benny.

Yeah. That Benny.

And if that wasn’t shocking enough, there’s more. He’s not alone. Éric, yes, my flamboyant boss Éric, isn’t just his life partner, but also his law firm partner. I always have my suspicions that they are more than just club owners. But never thought they are corporate lawyers. A high-powered, ridiculously successful ones.

I blink. Hard. It’s like they were the perfect mix of brains and… well, flair.

Huh… you thought you knew a person.

Just as I thought the evening went swimmingly smooth, the universe has other plans. It always does. Guillaume swoops in, his presence suddenly too close, hand hovering near my waist like we’re far more familiar than we actually are.

“Let me get you another drink, Rory. Your glass is empty,” he purrs, his voice a little too smooth, a little too sure of itself, as though he doesn’t expect a refusal. The way he looks at me, that smarmy grin, it’s clear he’s enjoying himself a little too much.

I smile politely while my hand shot up, intercepting his before he could make any unnecessary contact. “No, thanks,” I say lightly but firm. “I can get my own if I need another.”

Guillaume doesn’t back off right away. His eyes linger, like he’s testing to see if I’m serious. I feel Benny watching from across the room, and even though Matéo is still deep in conversation with some senior architects, I know he’s caught the ripple of tension.

Guillaume leans in just slightly. Still not taking the hint. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble at all.”

I glance at him already swaying, his whiskey-laced breath hanging between us, and sigh inwardly.

Why does the universe keep throwing drunk idiots at me? Serendipity, fancy parties—doesn’t matter the setting, I always end up fending off fools who think ‘no’ is a suggestion.

Guillaume isn’t even trying to be subtle. His fingers hover too close to my waist, his version of smooth making my skin crawl. His smile is just a little too wide, his ego completely oblivious to the polite cues I’ve been throwing his way like neon warning signs.

“I’m good, Guillaume. Thanks, but I can handle myself.”

But in my head? Oh, for fuck’s sake. Here we go again…

His grin stretches wider, completely misreading everything.

“Feisty and hot! Is that Matéo’s new type?” he sneers. “Ma chère, you know I’m richer than him, right?” he whispers as if this is a fact I should care about.

I stare at him, unimpressed, then flick my gaze to his hands. “Let me see your hand.”

Guillaume blinks, thrown off. “What, checking for calluses? I don’t do hard work, darling, I don’t need to. I have men to go on the field for me.”

I shake my head and throw my best cheeky smile, men always fall for that. “People say you can tell a man’s manhood by the size of his hands.”

His smug grin widens. With all the confidence of a man who’s never been humbled a day in his life, he holds out his hand like it’s some prize.

I glance at it. Quick. Clinical.

Then I look back up at him and quip, “Ah. Well, yeah. With that size, I can see why you really need to be rich. Very rich.”

There’s a brief pause before Josephine, and a few others nearby burst into laughter, snorting at the absurdity of the situation. Even Josephine had to hide her smile behind her hand. Guillaume looks a little stunned, clearly not expecting that kind of comeback, and I just give him a polite smile before turning back toward the others.

“What’s going on?” Matéo walks in, catching the tail end of the chaos with his eyebrows furrowed.

I beam at him, all innocence. “Oh, nothing. Just checking Guillaume’s penis.”

Matéo freezes mid-step. “I’m sorry… what?”

Alyssa swoops in like a harried babysitter, looking utterly exasperated with Guillaume, who’s teetering slightly from side to side. “Guillaume, let’s go. You’ve had enough for tonight.”

She hooks her arm around him, casting a quick glance at Matéo and me before half-dragging her drunk boyfriend away. I just wave cheerily, completely unbothered.

Matéo still looks like he’s been hit with a ton of bricks. “Can you explain…?”

I pat his chest lightly. “Don’t worry about it, baby. Just a harmless anatomical assessment.”

Matéo exhales, running a hand down his face. “Harmless anatomical assessment… What does it even mean?”

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of polite conversations and knowing glances. After my impromptu anatomical assessment, Matéo stays closer, his hand finding the small of my back more often. By the time the last guests start filtering out and the evening winds down, my feet are screaming in these heels, and I’m ready to call it a night. They’re pretty, but a minute too long in these, and they become a pair of torture devices. I bet Cinderella didn’t run away and lose her shoe at midnight—she just couldn’t take it anymore. You and me both, girl.

---

The elevator takes its sweet time to pick us up from the ground floor, and I shift my weight from one aching foot to the other, silently begging for my heels to hold out just a little longer. Matéo seems to have sensed my silent distress and swoops me up into his arms without warning.

“Matéo!” I gasp, kicking my feet lightly, though I wasn’t exactly fighting to be put down. “We are not newlyweds. You don’t have to carry me to the bedroom like some rom-com prince.”

His lips curl into a devilish smirk, completely unfazed by my half-hearted protests. “The way you keep wriggling, cherie, it feels less like a romantic gesture and more like I’m hauling a cranky toddler who desperately needs a nap.”

I let out an exaggerated groan, playfully slapping his shoulder. “Toddler? Oh no. You’re not getting away with that one.” Not that I minded being in his arms. It was… nice.

“Put me down! Someone is going to see!”

The man is unfazed. I wriggle again, trying to throw him off balance, but he doesn’t even flinch. There’s no escape.

Right on cue, the door behind us opens, revealing none other than Benny and Eric, their faces lighting up in pure delight as they spot us. I try, in vain, to sink further into Matéo’s chest and disappear entirely.

“Well, well, well,” Benny begins, hands on his hips. “Look at this. Newlyweds, is it?”

Eric lets out a low whistle, giving Matéo an exaggerated once-over as he carries me effortlessly. “Benny darling, you better not get any ideas. There’s no way I’m picking you up like that.”

Benny scoffs, crossing his arms dramatically. “Clearly, you don’t love me enough.”

Eric shoots back, “That’s because you’re not 5 feet tall and 100 pounds, darling.”

Matéo, meanwhile, still hadn’t put me down, his smirk growing by the second. “You two done yet?”

Benny and Eric exchange one last grin before stepping into the elevator next to our private one. “Good night, lovebirds,” Benny sings over his shoulder. “And don’t forget, Rory—yoga at sunrise!”

I groan, burying my face in Matéo’s neck as the elevator doors closes again. “Yoga at sunrise? Don’t they know me?”

Matéo chuckles “I’d carry you there if you want to.”

“Oh, shut up,” I grumble, but there’s a smile tugging at my lips despite my aching feet.

The elevator glides all the way up to the penthouse, smooth as silk. Matéo, holding me securely, manages to swipe the private access card with one hand because the man can multitask like a pro, even while carrying a grown woman like she’s nothing more than a feather.

When we step into the main bedroom, he finally lowers me down onto the plush bed, giving me a quick peck on the forehead as if he’s a dad tucking in his cranky toddler, just like he joked earlier. I narrow my eyes at him, but I’m too tired to actually follow through with the sass.

As he turns to leave, I prop myself up on my elbows, raising an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”

He pauses, hand already on the doorframe, glancing back with that half-smile I’ve come to both love and be suspicious of. “I have a bit of work to do,” he says, the words too casual, like it’s the most normal thing to do after a night like we’ve had.

“Matéo.” I groan, flopping back onto the bed. “Can’t we just call it a night? You’ve done great already.”

He shrugs, “It won’t be that long, you can freshen up meanwhile.”. Then, with one last glance, he disappears into the living area.

---

After soaking my feet in hot water, which was very necessary after wearing those heels for hours, I wander around, expecting to find Matéo hunches over his laptop in the living room. But the room is empty.I follow the sound of his voice to the other bedroom I’d forgotten about it in this massive penthouse. Through the slightly ajar door, I can see he’s freshened up, but work never leaves him alone. He stands with his phone pressed to his ear, his other hand tucked casually in his pocket. Moonlight streams through the windows, highlighting the sculpted lines of his bare shoulders. He turns as he hears my light steps and raises a finger, signaling for me to wait. I blink at the perfect V-line that led from his abs down to his silk pajama bottoms.

Uh oh, the matching top to his set is currently on me.

Crap.

I did consider slipping out of the room before he noticed, I swear, but that damn V-line hypnotizes my weak mind.

The second his eyes locked on me, Matéo’s lips curl, a fair warning that I’m in trouble, and I want to slap it off his face, and maybe kiss it too, that smirk I began to love. “Ah, I was wondering where the shirt that goes with these went,” he says, nodding toward his bare chest with that teasing tone as he tucks his phone away.

“Guess it found a better home,” I quip, tugging at the soft fabric draped over me like it’s mine now. I turn on my heels, ready to escape. “Okay, I’ll let you get back to your phones and emails. Night night!” I call over my shoulder.

“Not so fast, t-shirt thief!” Matéo caught up, cornering me between his desk and the wall. His body is so close I could smell the intoxicating mix of his expensive soap and something uniquely him.

“So, how are the heels?” he asks.

“They’re better,” I reply. “I took an aspirin. Hot water did the rest.”

“Good! And thank you,” he says.

Matéo’s laptop chimes with the sound of a new email, I glance at the screen without thinking. Alyssa. At this hour? Shouldn’t she be dealing with her drunk boyfriend instead of sending emails?

Matéo noticed too. Without missing a beat, he walks back to his desk and sit down on his chair. I thought I’d take this as my chance to sneak out, you know, leave him to his “important business” while I quietly escape the awkwardness.

But nope, he caught my hand in one swift movement and pull me down onto his lap. “You’re not going anywhere just yet, mademoiselle t-shirt thief,”.

Matéo shuts the laptop with a definitive click. “So, as I was saying,” he begins, his voice softening as he turned his attention back to me, “I’d like to thank you.”

I tilt my head. “What for?”

“For coming to the dinner with me tonight,”

“Well, just doing my job,” I reply playfully, giving him a cheeky grin.

Matéo didn’t take the bait. “Rory, stop it. You were amazing and you looked stunning.”

“I told Eric and Benny that I thrifted that gown. I think I gave them a mini heart attack.”

He chuckles. “I can imagine their faces.” Then, his tone shifted slightly. “And I’m sorry for those questions earlier. Alyssa can be… intense.”

“Nah, it was my pleasure. I like answering prying questions.” I smirk.

“You’re very good at it,” he admits.

“All I did was tell the truth, Matéo. You know that.”

He looks at me thoughtfully, his brow furrowed just slightly. “I hope it didn’t bother you. Alyssa and some of the guests, they can be… a little stuck up and serious.”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s why I skipped the part about how I jumped on you at our second meeting. I don’t think they’re ready for that kind of story.”.

Matéo chuckles at my comment, but then his expression shifts as he glance at me with a touch of seriousness creeping in. “Tell me, did Guillaume bother you?”

“It’s nothing I couldn’t handle. I’ve got years of experience dealing with drunk jerks at Serendipity. You know, same old routine.”

“I don’t find it funny, Rory.”

There it is, a subtle undercurrent of jealousy threading through his words, and something about the way he said it made me pause. “You were pretty busy chatting with Alyssa and the others anyway,” I tease, trying to keep things light. But the way his lips tightened, I could tell he didn’t like that either.

Matéo’s body stiffens a little, sensing the shift in my tone. I’m not joking anymore, and we both knew it.

“I’ve got to admit, Matéo, I had a moment tonight where I felt… out of place. I saw you and Alyssa together, and I realized that this is your world. All these people, these high-profile conversations. You two fit in so effortlessly.” My voice wavers a bit, betraying the confidence I usually wear like armor. “And then there’s me, pretending to belong.”

He opens his mouth, but I keep going. “But you know what? Guillaume actually made it all feel a bit more familiar for me.” I forced a small laugh, though it came out more bitter than I intended. “Men giving their unsolicited attention. It’s something I’ve known since I was only a child.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat, glancing away.

“I should’ve never let you out of my sight.”

I shake my head quickly, refusing to let him take the blame. “Come on, I’m not a kid. I don’t need you to babysit me, Matéo.” I try to sound more casual than I felt. “Besides, it was your night, it’s important for you to mingle with your peers. They admire you, your work, even Josephine went on about your projects.”

His grip on me tightened, a protective arm pulling me into his chest. “I’m sorry, cherie,” he whispers against my hair.

“And for the record, I’ll never run away with Guillaume. He’s not my type.”

Matéo raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And what makes you so sure?”

I lean back to meet his eyes. “I saw his hand.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. It was a disappointment,” I say with mock seriousness.

I shift on his lap, my knees sinking into the cushions as I straddled him, letting my body melt against the solid lines of his chest. The feel of Matéo beneath me, that warm and steady presence had a way of making everything else disappear. His hands slide under the hem of my shirt, fingers brushing my skin with that deliberate, teasing touch of his. But then he pauses. His hands stilled, just barely, as if he’s waiting for something. A sign? A word? The intense look in his eyes speaks volumes, but there’s hesitation, too.

I could feel the weight of all the unspoken things hanging in the space where my laughter used to fill. I’m not used to this. This sort of vulnerable pause, where the game stopped being about teasing and become something… more.

22 Unraveled

I lean in, brushing my lips against his, soft, not urgent. The kind of kiss that whispers instead of shouts.

“Are you sure you know what you’re asking for?” His voice is low, a little rough, like he isn’t entirely sure he should be saying the words out loud.

I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “I could ask you the same thing.”

That small, hesitant smile of his cracks into something a little more amused, something deeper than just lust.

“You know,” I start, my voice barely above a whisper, “being with you… it feels different.” My words come out softer, more exposed than I meant them to, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, as if it’s begging me to shut up before I say something too real. But I can’t seem to stop. “You make me feel… safe.”

Matéo’s gaze deepens, his hand moving gently to my lower back. He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at me in that steady, patient way, like he’s listening to more than just my words, like he’s waiting for me to figure out exactly what I’m trying to say.

I force a small, nervous smile, feeling the honesty bubbling up, raw and a little terrifying. “Everything just feels so natural.” My voice catches slightly on the last word, and I swallow, feeling more vulnerable than I have in a long time. “It’s… weird how you make me feel like I don’t have to pretend to be anyone other than… myself.”

His lips curve into that half-smile again, the one that always turns my cheeks the color of ripe tomatoes. “Rory, cherie…” he says quietly, “I’m sorry the world isn’t always ready for the real you. You don’t know how much it means to me knowing you trust me enough to just be yourself around me.”

As usual, my defense mechanism kicks in when things get real. Deflect. Joke. Flirt. Anything but stay vulnerable. But those tricks don’t work tonight, not with him looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.

I take a shaky breath, trying to process his words, but my mind’s already spinning down a familiar, self-protective path. Whatever this is, it’s just him being… him. Making sure his fake girlfriend doesn’t have a breakdown on his watch and ruin his event. Good risk management.

And maybe I’m reading too much into every gentle touch, every soft look. I’m the one letting it get tangled up in meaning.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

I can feel my heart tripping over itself. The word love tries to sneak in and I mentally throw a shoe at it. Falling in love is terrifying, and I’m not about to start down that path. Absolutely not. Nope. Not happening. Not with him. Not with someone who has a life light-years away from my messy little reality.

So I shut the feelings up by kissing him again. This, I can handle. The physical connection, the way my pulse spikes when he touches me, the thrill of his closeness.

I close the gap between us, letting my fingers trail along the edge of his jaw as I press my lips to his. This is safe. This, I can understand.

But as he kisses me back, soft and slow, his hand cradling the side of my face like I’m something precious, I lose myself in the way his fingers trace gentle patterns on my skin, as if he’s memorizing every inch of me.

I close my eyes, surrendering to the moment, and tell myself it’s just a game, a beautiful distraction. Nothing more.

“If you keep talking like that,” I tease, “I might steal more of your clothes.”

Matéo chuckles, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Well,” he leans in closer. “You know what I’d do to a thief?”

“What?”

“I’d punish her until she begs for mercy.”

“Well, in that case, I should probably confess something,” I say, biting my lip, trying to stifle the grin pulling at the corners of my mouth.

Matéo raises an eyebrow, still teasing my waist with his fingertips. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“I, um… may have stolen your suits. The whole closet. It’s mine now.”

There’s a beat of silence before he lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “You’re looking for trouble, chérie.”

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Matéo’s eyes flick down to the tie I yanked off him before dinner, now lying forgotten on the armrest. “I could always tie your hands together with the tie you so thoughtfully borrowed.”

“Spicy macramé? Me like!” I can’t hide my enthusiasm.

He laughs, the kind that makes his whole body shake beneath me, and it’s impossible not to join in. Our laughter fills the space between us, and speaking of hard…

I notice the unmistakable effect our laughter is having on Matéo. “You know,” I purr, “we should probably do something about that.”

Matéo’s gaze darkens slightly. “Yeah?”

“I mean, we wouldn’t want to waste a perfectly good… hardwood situation, now would we?”

“There she goes, Rory the pun queen.”

I tilt my head, biting back a grin. “Well, I mean… if the punishment fits the crime, right?”

I bite softly on his lower lip, just enough to make him lose that last thread of composure. The rush of control, of knowing I have this effect on him, ignites something in me too. His lips crash back onto mine, and they’re not soft or tentative anymore, they’re hungry, fueled by that same desire that has been simmering between us all night.

I pull back just enough to murmur against his lips, “You’re going to lose your mind if I keep doing that, aren’t you?” I swipe my tongue over his lips while my hand slowly trails down to his pants.

He grabs a fistful of my hair before I can slip my hand under the waistband of his pants, pulling it back gently but firmly. His lips hover just above mine, close but not touching.

“Not so fast, cherie,” he whispers, his voice rough with control, but the teasing lilt still there. “I’m the one giving the punishment tonight.”

Matéo’s grip on my hair tightens, his eyes locking with mine as he pulls me just far enough back to remind me who’s in control. My breath catches in my throat, the anticipation building in a way that’s almost unbearable. His lips ghost over my skin, teasing but not giving me what I want—not yet.

He leans in, his mouth brushing against my ear, and whispers, “You’ll get it when I say so.”

His other hand traces slow, torturous circles along my thigh, inching higher, never quite reaching where I need him most. My body tenses with every touch, every slight graze of his fingertips, the heat between us unbearable.

My hips move instinctively, seeking the release he’s keeping just out of reach. Matéo’s grip tightens once more, his fingers sliding through my hair as he pulls my head back, making sure I don’t miss the intensity in his eyes.

“You’ll wait,” he commands. I can barely contain the heat pulsing through me, every inch of me desperate for more.

His fingers skim over my waist, traveling upward until they find my breasts. His touch is gentle at first, teasing, testing, before he gently grazes my nipples. My breath hitches, and a quiet moan escapes my lips, but just as quickly, Matéo pulls away, leaving me hanging in the anticipation.

I groan in frustration, squirming beneath his control, but he just smirks at me, making me want to scream and beg in equal measure.

His mouth lowers, trailing along the sensitive skin of my neck, and his hands return to my breasts, fingers skillfully tugging and rolling my nipple until my moan threatens to break free again. But I bite down on my lip, determined not to give him the satisfaction. Still, my body’s already betraying me, arching into his touch, seeking more.

As Matéo pulls back just as I am teetering on the edge, I let out a soft growl of frustration. He’s doing it on purpose, making sure I am this close and then pulling back just to drive me mad. His eyes glint with mischief, and I know he wants me to beg.

I catch his gaze and bite down on my lower lip, looking at him with a challenge that’s hard to miss. Slowly, I reach out, trailing along his jaw with my fingers, teasing him the same way he is teasing me.

“Oh, you think I’ll beg?” I whisper.

His breath catches for a moment, and I catch a glimpse of surprise behind those confident eyes. But it doesn’t take long for him to meet my challenge head-on. His hand cups my jaw, pulling me closer so our lips are nearly touching.

“You’re going to regret that,” he says, full of promise and heat.

Matéo’s hand slides lower, his fingers finding the wet heat between my thighs, and the groan that rumbles from his chest sends a shock through my entire body. His touch is electric, sending sparks of sensation through me.

I’m dripping. I’m not just wet, I’m ready.

“Stay still for me. Let me feel you.” And then one finger enters gently inside me. Inside the most intimate, sacred part of me and I let him. I want him.

I keep my eyes locked on his, even as my breath hitches and my body tenses beneath him. “Yes, chérie, look at me… or I’ll stop.” Then he starts to move. Not fast. Not aimless. Just slow, full, wet, rhytmic curls againts my most sensitive spot. “You’re not allowed to come until I say.”

I spread myself wider, he quickly understands what it means and give me another finger. My legs twitch.

He circles my most sensitive spot with a maddening rhythm, just enough to push me toward the brink but never enough to send me over. Every movement is calculated, designed to tease, to make me squirm, but I bite down on my lower lip, obeying his command.

The room fills with nothing but the sound of our labored breathing, and the gentle, almost hypnotic rhythm of his fingers against my slick heat that echoes through the quiet night. Despite my best efforts, my body is giving me away, betraying me in the most delicious way.

He leans in, his mouth finding my nipple, his tongue teasing, lips closing around it before giving a soft, playful tug with his teeth. Every flick of his tongue is in perfect time with the soft massage he is giving my clit, the pressure building, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I’m losing this battle fast.

His lips trail over my chest, and his fingers continue their relentless, teasing rhythm, pushing me closer and closer to that edge. His eyes find mine, and there’s that damn grin again, the one that says, I’ve got you right where I want you.

My arms loop around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as I pull him closer, my lips grazing his ear, breath hitching as I whisper his name. “Matéo…” His name feels like a release of everything I’ve held back. My voice betrays how much I want this, want him.

“I’ve got you, chérie… come for me.” I can feel it, the need, the want—mirroring my own. His fingers find their way deeper, the world around us disappearing as my body arches into him, ready to take as much as he’s willing to give.

I give in. I let myself reaching the point I’ve been craving, the one that has been so deliciously out of reach. His touch isn’t just coaxing, it’s demanding in a way that makes me let go of any last bit of control I thought I had.

My back arches hard as the tension I’ve been holding onto snaps. It isn’t just a release; it’s an explosion, shuddering through every inch of me. My grip on his hair tightens, pulling him closer as I gasp his name, the sound raw and desperate. His lips brush against my ear as I tip over the edge. Every nerve in my body is lit up, wave after wave crashing through me, leaving me trembling in his arms.

And Matéo… the way he watches me, his dark eyes drinking in every reaction makes me feel… wanted. Cherished.

As I catch my breath, my body still humming from the intensity of what just happens, I feel Matéo’s arms wrap around me, pulling me close. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and a different kind of warmth blooms inside me, one that goes far deeper than the physical. “There,” he murmurs, his voice low, still laced with that teasing edge, “properly punished.”

I can’t help but smile at that, but there’s something shifting inside me, something deeper than just the satisfaction of the moment. I kiss him, slowly at first, but there’s an insistence behind it, a need that’s building again. My hand moves toward him, brushing against his chest, trailing down, and he stops me, catching my hand gently. “Cherie,” he says softly, “you’ve had your fun.”

But that only makes me want him more.

I shift, sliding Matéo’s hard length into me, fully ready and desperate for the connection. But the second he fills me, I realize I may have seriously underestimated his size… and my own limits. The sharp stretch pulls a tiny whimper from me—a mix of pain and pleasure that leaves me breathless. It’s that kind of beautiful agony that only makes me want him more, the kind that makes your toes curl and your body tremble, knowing you’re right on the edge of something you can’t control.

We start slow, moving together in sync, but there’s this growing urgency between us, a need that builds without words. I try to hover above him, desperate for some kind of control, but he’s not having it. His hands find my face, holding me in place. His lips press against mine, firm, deliberate, reminding me that there’s no escaping this, no pulling back now.

Every time I try to rise, try to hold on a little longer, he pulls me back down, making sure I feel every inch, every slow, deliberate thrust. “Matéo… I—oh, God, I—” I tremble as I cling to him.

“Rory,” he whispers, his breath hot against my neck. “I’m here. Let go.”

“Matéo… I’m—oh—yes, Matéo, yes…” I whimper as my weak attempts at control shatter into a million pieces, my muscles tightening, my breath catching as my release hits me like a tidal wave, leaving me breathless, gasping, completely undone.

After i manage to catch my breath, the words tumble out before I even realize it: “Matéo, fuck me.”

He leans back slightly, one eyebrow raised in that annoyingly calm way of his, and with that teasing smirk, he responds, “Didn’t I just do exactly that, cherie?”

I roll my eyes, trying not to smile but failing miserably. “No, you did it for me.”

“Isn’t that what matters?” His lips brush against my ear.

“Matéo, it’s not fair. For you,” I insist, feeling a little more serious now.

“There’s no fair or unfair about this, cherie. Besides,” his voice drops a notch, that devilish tone creeping in, “I don’t have my condom on.”

“I take pills.”

He looks me over, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I noticed. Saw the box”

“Well then,” I grin, “let’s go get your condom. And actually…” I trail off, pretending to look bored, “I didn’t even get to have my fun yet. Barely felt a thing.”

We both know that’s the lie of the century.

Matéo’s eyebrow shoots and I can feel him twitch inside me, his cock very much still there, very much real. I barely stifle a gasp.

“Uh-huh,” he hums, his voice laced with amusement. “Not a thing, huh? Cherie, your face says otherwise.”

I try to maintain my fake calm, biting my lip to suppress another moan. “Who’s to say I wasn’t just faking it? It’s all in the performance.”

He’s not having it. His hands grip my hips, firm and commanding. He tilts his head and gives me that look—the one that says you’re not fooling anyone. “And all this wetness, hmm?” He pushes his hips up, grinding slowly into me, sending a jolt through my body. “How do you explain that?”

I can’t stop the gasp that escapes, my carefully crafted indifference crumbling under his touch, and I’m a second from getting undone, again. The smirk on his face tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Matéo’s deep chuckle vibrates against me, his grip tightening under my knees as he stands, lifting me off the ground while I’m still very much… attached. My heart skips a beat as I cling to his shoulders, the sheer strength of him making my head spin.

“Oh, fuck, Matéo,” I gasp, as my body shifts with every subtle movement he makes. “I think you just invented a new position.”

Matéo’s smirk is sinful as he glances down at me, eyes filled with mischief. “What, you mean like this?” Without warning, he moves me up and down, effortlessly controlling every thrust as I cling to him, my body responding in ways I didn’t even think possible.

A groan escapes me, the sensation almost too good, “Oh my God, yes, Matéo. It’s actually really good.”

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, his voice teasing but full of affection. “You’re insatiable.”

“Not my fault you’re really good at this.” I say while trying to catch my breath.

He laughs again, that deep, intoxicating sound, as his pants pool around his ankles. He brings me toward the bed, never breaking our connection for a second.

Matéo lays me down gently on the bed, and I can feel the cool sheets against my skin as he detaches himself from me. His lips curve into a smile as he says, “I’ll be right back,” before disappearing from the room.

I prop myself up, resting on my knees with my chest against the bed, my ass in the air, putting it all on display for when he returns. I clutch a pillow under me, making it perfectly clear how I want him to take me this time.

Matéo comes back,with his pants back on and is carrying a glass of water. I hear a chuckle before he slaps my ass, catching me off guard. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I peer over my shoulder, eyeing the pants. “What do you think you’re doing with those pants back on?”

He hands me the glass. “Here, drink.”

I frown, frustrated. “Matéo, I’m horny, not thirsty!”

He chuckles again, unbothered by my impatience. “Rory, you need to sleep. Hydrate first. We don’t want you drying out like a raisin after all that… wetness.”

“Matéo!” I groan, exasperated.

He smirks. “You’ve had enough for today.”

I narrow my eyes at him, slightly annoyed. “What, we’re putting a cap on the orgasm tally now?”

I down the glass of water like a champ, setting it down with an exaggerated thunk on the nightstand, eyeing Matéo all the while. “Okay, fine, but you’re sleeping next to me tonight. No sneaking off for any late-night emails.”

He quirks an eyebrow, his signature smirk playing on his lips. “Of course.”

I narrow my eyes, feeling a grin tug at the corners of my mouth. “Pants off, though.”

He lets out this amused huff, folding his arms. “Not a chance.”

I pretend to gasp in offense. “Come on, you don’t trust me?”

His eyes gleam with mischief. “Nope.”

“Heeeyy!” I grab the nearest pillow and give him a gentle swat, grinning like an idiot as I do it.

23 Bed talk

After freshening up, I snuggle next to Matéo, head tucked against his warm, solid chest like it’s my own personal five-star pillow. The kind with a heartbeat.

We lay there in silence for a moment, the kind that feels comfortable but leaves just enough room for thoughts to swirl. I tried to fight the urge to say something deep and potentially disastrous, but eventually, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Do you think I’m easy?”

I don’t even know why I ask that. I mean, what kind of response do I need to hear, or why does what he thinks of me matter?

I felt him tense, just slightly. His hand paused mid-stroke through my hair. “What? Why do you even ask that?”

“You know, with what happened plus this deal… I mean, do you think I’m easy?” I ask again, my voice quieter this time. It wasn’t an accusation—more like a genuine curiosity, like I’d just asked if he thought the sky was particularly blue today.

“Chérie, you know I don’t see this as some transaction, right? I’m just happy you decided to come with me.” He pauses, seeming to wrestle with something. “But —would you still be here if it wasn’t for the money?”

“You want me to be honest honest… or politically correct honest?”

“Rory honest.”

“No, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the money.” Honesty slips out and he props himself on one elbow, looking at me like he’s hoping I’m joking. Well, I’m not.

“Matéo, I work by the hour. I can’t afford to take multiple days off like this. None of my jobs offer paid vacation time, that’s why I have three of them.” I look straight back at his intense eyes. He’s quiet for a beat too long, and I thought maybe I’d insulted him.

“And being homeless like I am right now after, you know, what happened, so, no. I don’t think I’d be here, I probably would be too busy looking for a fourth job instead.”

“And I’d hate my life—and being poor—even more for missing the opportunity to spend time with you,” I say, caressing his cheek. I can feel him soften.

“I wish it was a different situation for you, Rory.” he says, giving a peck on my forehead.

“No, Matéo. If it was a different situation—an ideal situation, I’d be busy playing with dogs at my doggy daycare dream, and I wouldn’t need to work at Serendipity. And we wouldn’t have met. How is that any better?!” His logic escapes me.

He chuckles.

Did I miss something here?

“So, back to your question—easy?” He says with his hand cupping my chin so I have no choice but to look up at him. “You’re easy to connect with… it was easy for me to connect with you. That’s what’s easy about you. No pretense, no BS. Your honesty, not your touches.”

Honesty, huh? That was a new take. “Not my boobs?” I teased, cupping my breast with a proud grin. “Have they lost their charm?”.

His hand sliding down to cup one of them with a playful possessiveness. “I don’t think they need to be charming anymore, anyway.”

“They still look young enough to retire to me.” I slap his hand lightly, half-joking, half-mocking.

“Still too perky, more like it,” he teases back, tugging gently at my nipple, making me squirm in the best way.

I nestle closer. “I’m serious though. Being physical… that’s my language. Not that I can do it easily with anybody, but.. but with you, I don’t feel used or objectified.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, and that’s okay. I’m not looking for a grand declaration. I just need him to know. And in that silence, it feels like he does.

Finally, he pulls me a little closer, brushing his lips against the top of my head. “I don’t usually… talk like this. With anyone.”

“You just told me something really personal, and you’re not asking me to fix it, ” he continues, seeming almost confused by his own words. “People usually open up to me because they want something—money, connections, help with their problems. But you’re just… telling me. Like you trust me with it, not because you need me to do something about it.”

I let his words settle over me, a warm blanket of understanding between us. Vulnerability isn’t a space I like to inhabit for long, but here, with Matéo, it doesn’t feel so scary.

“No wonder Benny adores you. As a lawyer, he sees people right through.” Matéo studies me, his gaze trailing over my flushed face, my tangled hair. “And,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over my cheek, “you’re terrible at hiding how you feel. It’s written all over your face, especially when I touch you.”

I feel a blush creep up my neck, but he just smiles, that teasing, knowing look making my heart skip. “That look right there? It’s like a caption that says please, don’t stop,” he says, chuckling softly. “And when you’re about to lose it, your eyes flutter, like you’re fighting it, trying to hold on. It drives me insane.”

I bite my lip instinctively, trying to keep my reaction in check, and he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “And that,” he continues, his fingers tracing my lower lip, “is the cutest and hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You think you’re hiding it, but it just… intensifies everything. Makes me want to push you further, see just how much you can take.”

My pulse quickens, and I can’t stop myself from looking up at him, letting every bit of the hunger, the appreciation, and the sheer need I feel for him show in my expression. He watches me with this intensity, his hand slipping to the back of my neck, pulling me close.

“Rory,” he whispers, his tone softer, almost vulnerable. “When you look at me like that… the way you say my name when you’re desperate… you make me feel… wanted, needed. Really wanted. You have no idea have it makes me feel.” His words settle over me, and it’s like he’s peeled back a layer, revealing a part of himself that he rarely shows.

He hesitates, his voice softening to a whisper. “You’re not easy, you’re just… real. You’re… you.”

I smiled softly, nestling into his chest again. “Well, it’s good to know I’m not just good for the touchy-feely stuff then.”

“You’re good for a lot more than that, cherie.” His thumb traces small circles on my shoulder, and he gets this look—like he’s cataloging this moment, storing it away. When he catches me watching, he just smiles.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. Just… this.”

I shift slightly, getting comfortable, when a thought hits me. “Hey, you know what? I should ask for a job here. You could put in a good word with the boss for me.”

His hand stills on my shoulder. “No.”

I prop myself up to look at him. “No? Just like that? Is it because I don’t have any hospitality certification? Because I’m a fast learner, and I’ve got customer service experience—”

“It’s not that.”

I fake pout, jutting out my lower lip dramatically. “Come on, normally people sleep with the boss and get the job they want easily. Why doesn’t it work that way for me?” I bat my eyelashes exaggeratedly.

I strike what I think is a sexy pose, arching my back slightly and giving him my best sultry look. “Not even with my irresistible charm and devastating good looks?”

His eyes darken, but not in the way I expected. “Especially not with you looking like that.”

I blink, completely missing the possessive undertone. “Rude! I look great right now.”

His expression shifts, something darker flickering across his features. “If you work here, you’d be hours away from Quebec.”

“So…? You’re saying the commute would suck? I could move here. Problem solved!”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he mutters, pulling me back down against his chest. “I wouldn’t see you. So that’s absolutely not happening.” The words come out more possessive than he probably intended.

“Well, yeah, after this week we wouldn’t see each other anyway…” I trail off, confused by the look on his face.

“Okay, fine.” I shift the conversation. “I won’t ask for a job from you. But can I at least ask for some touchy-feely stuff now? Non-sexual, though.”

His lips twist gently into a soft smile. “Your wish is my command.”

“Play with my boobs,” I declare, without a hint of shame. “I’ve always wanted to drift off to sleep while someone plays with my breasts gently. It’s relaxing. But no tugging, no pinching the nipples, or you’re dead.”

Matéo lets out a low chuckle. “Best wish ever,” he says, and just like that, his hands find their way under the covers, gently cupping me as I nuzzle deeper into his chest.

We drift off like that, wrapped in a warmth that goes beyond just the physical.

24 A text from Robie

I wake up in a bed that’s entirely too soft. The kind of bed you could sink into and disappear for days. I stretch, every muscle sore in the best possible way, and groan softly to myself. My body feels deliciously spent, like I’ve just survived a marathon, and in a way, I have.

As I shift, reaching over to the other side of the bed, my hand lands on nothing but rumpled sheets. Empty.

Matéo’s already gone. I glance at the clock. 6:47 a.m.

I vaguely remember him murmuring something about an early conference call before dawn, but I was too blissed out to process it properly. The man schedules conference calls with the sunrise. Still, before 7 a.m.? Really, Matéo?

Before 7 a.m.? Really, Matéo? I’m pretty sure I’m still legally obligated to be unconscious after… his thorough punishment.

Waking up sore from that kind of workout is not a bad deal at all. I could get used to this. I stretch again, cracking my back and letting my legs tangle in the sheets, enjoying the brief moment of calm.

My mind wanders back to what just happened, and a slow grin tugs at my lips. It was… well, quite the lesson for life kind of punishment.

I grab my phone from the nightstand, fully prepared to text Chen and give her the rundown—because what are best friends for if not to gloat about mind-blowing sex experience?

The second the screen lights up, my smugness evaporates. There’s a message waiting for me.

Robie. My half-brother and full-time asshole.

I blink at the screen, the message staring back at me in bold, aggressive letters:

Don’t you fucking dare mess around with me.

What. The. Fuck.

I sit up, frowning at the phone like it’s suddenly malfunctioned. Mess around with him? What is he even talking about? Mess around with him how? I’ve barely had the brainpower to deal with my own shit, let alone stir up trouble for him.

I stare at the message, reading it again, hoping it might magically rearrange itself into something that makes sense. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

Fair enough, nothing ever makes sense when it comes to Robie, I tell you that.

“What the hell is your problem now?” I mutter at the phone, still frowning.

For a second, I think about texting him back, demanding to know what the hell he’s talking about. But then again, that would require voluntarily engaging with Robie, and I’m not quite desperate enough for that kind of headache this early in the day.

I toss the phone back onto the bed with a sigh, shaking my head. Right now, I’ve got better things to focus on, like a gorgeous mountain retreat, a very fit man who may or may not be jogging through the rugged outdoors shirtless as we speak, and the promise of more… enlightening experiences in my near future.

Yeah, no. I’m not letting Robie drag me into whatever black hole of drama he’s orbiting. Not today. I’ve earned this moment of peace, damn it.

I get myself ready for sunrise yoga with Benny and Eric. I towel off, the cool air of the mountain retreat seeping in as I try to hold on to the peace of the morning. I glance at myself in the mirror, still glowing from last night, my body humming with that perfect mix of soreness and satisfaction.

That calm vanishes the second I see my phone. The screen lights up with a notification from Robie, again.

I sigh, rolling my eyes. Great. What now? I unlock my phone, bracing myself for whatever fresh hell he’s decided to send.

I sent you 2000$ but that’s all you’re getting, you fuckin’ cunt!

I blink. Okay, what?

I scroll down. It gets worse.

Why don’t you ask your sugar daddy who drove you last time for some money? If you want to be a whore, might as well be one that makes enough money! Didn’t your mother teach you that?

My stomach twists, but I force myself to keep reading, my brain going numb as I take in the final blow:

You know what they call a whore without business sense? A slut. Aurora-Claire Fuckin’ Slut Malo!

There it is. My full name. Aurora-Claire Malo. The sound of it always pulls me back into the past, into that house where I didn’t belong—where I was the outsider no one wanted, except maybe my dad. At least, when he was still alive.

Robie’s words hit like a punch, harsh and venomous, digging deep into the scars I thought I’d left behind. But here they are again, reopened with every insult. “Whore.” “Slut.” All the usual favorites, recycled and tossed in my face, but this time with a financial twist.

I shake my head, sinking down onto the bed as my mind whirls.

Two grand? What the hell is he talking about? First of all, no way in hell did Robie actually send me anything. I check my bank app just to be sure, but—surprise, surprise—nothing. Typical. Lies on top of insults, all spat at me with the same bitter resentment he’s always had since I stepped foot in our house.

No—their house. It was never mine.

That sharp sting of guilt bubbles up in my chest, the old, familiar ache I’ve tried so hard to bury. Robie’s words bring it all rushing back, being blamed for the family wreck, for things I had no control over. I was just a kid. Six years old, trying to survive in a house where I wasn’t wanted, where I was treated like a burden, like something broken, my father’s side-piece’s daughter.

Robie’s mom hated me. She made that clear from day one. But Robie? His hatred ran deeper, twisted in ways that still make my skin crawl. I never told anyone what he did to me when I was eleven.

And now, here he is, years later, still trying to tear me down. Still spewing his poison as if I’m somehow the reason for his life falling apart.

But I wasn’t the one who wrecked this family. He was. And his mom, with her pills and her addiction. I was just the one left behind to clean up their mess.

I took care of her. Paid off her debts when she couldn’t manage it. Put her in assisted living when things got bad. I was the one who buried her. Not Robie. He didn’t even show up until there was something to claim. Something for him.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to push the memories back down, but they keep flooding in. Robie’s words hang in the air like a toxic fog, mixing with the years of resentment and guilt I’ve carried. But something keeps gnawing at me. Something about the timing, the desperation in his words. Why now? What’s he really after?

My jaw clenches as I try to shake it off. But the sting remains. Not because of what he said—I’ve heard worse—but because he still thinks he can talk to me like this. Like I’m still that scared little girl, trapped in his house, afraid to stand up for myself.

My fingers hover over the screen, and before I can second-guess myself, I type the only thing he deserves to hear.

Go fuck yourself, Robie.

And then I press send.

I toss my phone onto the bed, still buzzing with adrenaline, and make my way to the patio where Benny and Éric are setting up yoga mats for their sunrise session. Yoga is supposed to be calming, they say. A good way to center myself, they say. But right now? I’m carrying enough frustration to power through a week of “om” chanting without finding a single ounce of inner peace.

“Ready to find your zen?” Benny grins, handing me a mat.

I force a smile and roll it out beside him. “Let’s hope this works, because my inner peace is currently on vacation.”

Eric smirks, settling into a cross-legged position. “Well, honey, the universe works in mysterious ways. Maybe this sunrise yoga will be exactly what you need.”

I close my eyes, inhaling deeply as I stretch my arms overhead. Here’s hoping.

25 Sunrise yoga

An hour of downward dog and whatnot should have left me blissed out with a clear mind. Instead, Robie’s name keeps flashing like a neon sign behind my eyelids.

Apparently, no amount of yoga can unknot the kind of frustration that comes from dealing with family drama and unresolved crap. So much for finding my zen.

As we walk to breakfast, I can’t stop grumbling under my breath, a mix of exhaustion and post-yoga stiffness makes me sound like a creaky old door. Benny and Eric, of course, are chipper and bouncing with energy, like we didn’t just contort ourselves into positions that should be illegal.

“You were a natural,” Benny chimes, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Especially during that downward dog.”

“Please. I did enough late-night ‘downward dog’ poses, that should count as exercise.”

Eric laughs, elbowing Benny. “So the sunrise downward dog should give you a little balance, no? You know, some zen.”

“Pretty sure I’ve reached enlightenment, but I prefer doing it my way, you know, with more pillows and fewer leg cramps.”

Josephine, who’s been trailing behind us, stifles a giggle, clearly entertained by our little trio’s banter. I catch her gaze, and she offers a knowing smile, like she gets it. Maybe she’s been through her own yoga torture sessions at some point.

As we enter the dining area, I spot Matéo sharing his table with none other than Miss Perfection, Alyssa. Huh. So much for those urgent conference calls. Guess Tokyo can wait when Alyssa needs real time face time.

Benny shoots me a wink over his shoulder, like the mischievous instigator he is. “Well, well, well, that’s early for coffee with an ex. Go reclaim your throne, girl,” he whispers before shoving me into Matéo’s gravitational pull.

I stumble forward, casting a quick glare over my shoulder at Benny and Eric, who are looking way too pleased with themselves.

I take a deep breath and walk closer to Matéo, feeling Alyssa’s gaze sharpen as I approach. Her smile stiffens, her eyes flicking toward Matéo before returning to me, and suddenly the air feels a little heavier. Great. Just what I needed, Miss Perfection silently judging me before I’ve even had coffee. Clearly, she’d rather be anywhere else but here. You and me both, sis.

Still, I put on my best polite smile, not letting the tension show.

“Morning, baby,… hi Alyssa,” I say, as casually as I can manage.

Alyssa glances up from her coffee, her smile tight but cordial, like she’s doing her best to hide that subtle edge of superiority. “Morning, Rory,” she replies, with that carefully practiced elegance that always makes me feel like I’ve just walked into a pageant I wasn’t invited to.

“Alyssa joined me for breakfast to discuss her new business vision.” Says Matéo, as if he needs to explain why he’s sharing the table with her.

I force my smile to stay in place, but inside, my sarcasm is already on overdrive. Of course she was. Late-night emails, early breakfast meetings—what’s next? Brunch? Lunch? Maybe a nice candlelit dinner to really hash out those “business plans”?

“Have a seat. I knew you’d come here after yoga with Benny and Éric. I ordered a latte in the biggest cup they have.” He continues, pushing a perfectly sized latte toward me—as big as a flower pot. That’s a fair peace offering.

“Aww… thank you, baby. Just what I needed.” I beam at the intricate latte art sprinkled with cocoa powder in front of me.

“And where’s Guillaume? I hope he doesn’t have a bad hangover this morning.” I ask Alyssa, licking my coffee moustache.

Speak of the devil. Guillaume walks up just as I say his name—geez, even Beetlejuice needs to be called three times before appearing. A lazy grin is already playing on his lips as he joins the table. “Bonjour à tous.”

His eyes sweep across the group and land on me, lingering just a bit too long on my yoga outfit, his gaze skimming over my sports bra before drifting back up.

Great. The one guy I don’t need attention from right now. I shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

Guillaume gives a casual, almost smug grin, shrugging off the tension. “Yoga in the morning, huh? Impressive.” His eyes flick to Matéo. “Must be why she’s glowing.”

I feel Matéo tense beside me, his body language stiffening just enough for me to notice. I’m not sure if it’s Guillaume’s subtle flirting or the lingering history between them that’s making him react this way. Whatever it is, it’s uncomfortable.

I give Matéo’s hand a gentle squeeze, trying to lighten the mood and ease the tension settling between him and Guillaume.

Okay, this is getting weird. Really weird.

Alyssa sips her coffee, pretending to be oblivious but clearly enjoying the drama unfolding. Guillaume tries to brush it off, but he’s not so slick about hiding his awkwardness under Matéo’s gaze.

Alyssa breaks the silence first, her tone businesslike but laced with subtle familiarity. “So, Matéo, as I mentioned, I sent over everything about my new vision in the email last night.”

Matéo gives a curt nod, his voice steady, though his hand tightens slightly on my shoulder. “I’ll check it soon.”

Guillaume leans back in his chair, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he jumps in, his voice teasing. “Matéo Morin, delaying a business email? Now that’s a first.”

Matéo remains composed, his face unreadable as he responds evenly. “I’ve had other priorities.”

Guillaume’s grin widens, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “That busy, huh?”

“Yes.” Without missing a beat, Matéo cups the back of my head gently, his fingers thread through my hair. He pulls me closer and pressing a soft kiss to my temple. I’m mid-sip, enjoying my coffee, but I catch the subtle shift in his body language—his way of asserting control, in the most tender way possible.

I swallow hard.

It’s just a forehead kiss. Not a big deal. Yet my stomach twists. My chest floods with heat that has nothing to do with the coffee in my hands.

Setting my cup down with a soft clink, I force a casual smile toward Guillaume. “Yep,” I say, my voice light but slightly off-key, warmth still buzzing beneath my skin. I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively, desperate to regain control.

I think I just found my kryptonite. Forehead kisses. Shit.

Alyssa takes a delicate sip of her coffee, her voice sliding back into business mode as she pushes her agenda further. “I’m sure you’ll be interested in my idea, Matéo. It could be the next big thing.”

Guillaume leans forward, nodding in agreement, a glint of opportunism in his eyes. “Yes, it could be… interesting to join forces. Dive into something bigger. We’ve pitched it to Ourson & Co., but I think you’ll be interested too.”

I can’t help the subtle roll of my eyes, barely containing my exasperation with these rich people and their next big things. It’s all business strategies, power moves, and deals over dinner—or breakfast, or brunch. Same game, different setting.

Matéo remains unmoved by their excitement, though I feel the tension humming beneath his calm demeanor. After a brief pause, he adds, “I’ll get to it today.”

But Alyssa isn’t done. She leans in just slightly, her voice taking on a persuasive note, as though she’s already confident the answer is yes.

“Great. We could discuss it over dinner tonight, after you’ve had a chance to read it.”

For fuck sake.

Dinner? Really? The audacity of it doesn’t surprise me, but that doesn’t make it any less infuriating. I feel my stomach clench, a flicker of jealousy sparking to life, hotter than I expected.

WTF, me?! Why am I reacting like this?

Should I even care this much? Do I even have the right to feel this… annoyed? What’s my claim here? I mean, I’m just… arm candy, right? The plus-one. The contracted plus-one, no less. That’s literally the one reason I’m here.

What he does with does not concern me. Right?

Right.

The walk back to the penthouse is quiet. Matéo slips his hand into mine about halfway, his fingers intertwining with mine in that way he does when he’s trying to say something without saying it. Or maybe he’s just trying to check if I’m still here.

He glances at me, his voice soft and careful, like I’m some fragile thing.

“Everything okay?”

Oh, you know, just casually questioning my entire existence, but sure, everything’s peachy. I force a smile—one of those tight, “I’m fine” smiles that feels a little too brittle.

“Yeah. Totally fine.”

Those hazel eyes of his searching my face like he’s waiting for me to crack and squeezes my hand a little tighter, like that’s supposed to help. The silence returns, and I’m left stewing in my thoughts. Awesome.

The heavy wooden door clicks shut behind us, echoing off the sleek, modern walls like this place is reminding me how ridiculously out of place I feel. I kick off my shoes, trying to shake off the tension, but it sticks to me like cling wrap.

Matéo heads straight to the other room where his laptop is like it’s another day at the office. Business as usual. Cool. No big deal. He has more important things to deal with. Like, I don’t know, Alyssa’s email, maybe.

I glance toward the door, partially ajar, his laptop screen glowing in the dim light. I can almost picture him, brows furrowed in concentration, scrolling through Alyssa’s “next big thing” while I’m out here, pretending like I don’t care.

I rub my forehead, letting out a long breath. Why am I like this? I know it’s just business. But why does it feel like something more? I hear the faint *click* of his keyboard, and it just makes me feel more… empty. Like he’s a million miles away even though we’re just a room apart.

Stop it, me! Get it together.!

I need to cool off. Mentally. Physically. Whatever. I need to stop this ridiculous spiral before it turns into something bigger. I head to the bathroom and shut the door behind me, sealing myself off from my own ridiculousness.

The water rushes out of the rainfall showerhead, the sound instantly calming, drowning out the noise in my brain. I step under the stream, letting the cool water cascade over me, washing away the weight sitting on my chest. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, the water streaming through my hair, over my shoulders, over my face.

For a second, I can breathe again. The knot in my chest loosens, the tension starts to slip away. It’s like I’m rinsing off all the doubt, the jealousy, the feeling of not fitting into his world. I can feel myself recalibrating, pulling myself back together piece by piece.

I lean into it, letting the water pour over me, hoping it’ll wash away the last bits of insecurity clinging to me like soap scum. It’s kind of working. I’m starting to feel more like myself again. The mess in my head is untangling, slowly but surely.

Until I hear Matéo’s voice. “Mind if I join?”

26 Uber ride

I spin around, my eyes snapping open, and immediately choke on the water. Matéo is standing there, fully naked, like it’s no big deal, his smirk already in place.

“Matéo—?!” I sputter, gasping as I try not to drown in my own damn shower.

He chuckles, stepping closer, clearly amused by my panic. “Relax, cherie. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I press my hand to the tile, trying to get a grip, both literally and figuratively. “I’m fine,” I say between sputtering breaths. “It’s just that I can’t breathe underwater.. or swim, that’s all.”

He laughs, a low, easy sound, stepping fully into the shower now. The water splashes around him, dripping down his stupidly perfect body, and just like that, the whole atmosphere shifts.

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, still trying to catch my breath and regain some semblance of composure.

“A while,” he admits, his voice teasing. “Long enough to notice that you seemed lost in thought. Something on your mind?”

I blink, the water still streaming down my face, my heart doing that annoying little flutter thing it does when he’s close. I try to play it cool, shrugging off the fact that he’s standing naked in front of me, all six-foot-something ridiculously gorgeous.

“Nothing, I’m fine. Totally fine.”

He doesn’t buy it. I can tell by the way his brow furrows, like he’s reading the parts of me I haven’t said out loud yet. He inches closer, the heat from his skin making the cool water feel like ice. “You sure?” he asks tenderly.

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be? So… have you replied to Alyssa’s email yet?” I instantly regret the question.

Matéo pauses just for a second, but it’s long enough for me to know he’s figured it out.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me, the shift in his expression is so subtle I almost miss it. Then without warning his hands come up to cup my face, his thumbs brushing lightly over my wet skin, his gaze locking onto mine. And before I can react, he kisses me.

It’s not the soft, teasing kind of kiss he usually gives. No, this kiss is… something else. It’s firm, intense, the kind of kiss that makes the world tilt on its axis.

My instinct taking over, my body responding in the only way I know how to express the mess of feelings swirling around in my chest. The frustration, the insecurity, the vulnerability, it all melts into this kiss, the water pouring over us like a curtain between the rest of the world and this moment.

His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me closer, and suddenly everything that felt like a storm inside me starts to settle. It’s just us now. No doubts. No questions. Just this, just us tangled up under the water, like none of the rest of it matters.

I pull back first, just enough to catch my breath, the water dripping between us. His eyes search mine, and I swear, it’s like he sees right through me, straight into all the insecurities I was trying to hide.

“I haven’t even read it,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing my jaw. “I have zero interest to build anything with any of them further than keeping a civilized relationship.”

A surge of relief suddenly washes over me. I throw my arms around his neck, kissing him again. Raw and unapologetic. My kiss is hungry, insistent, pouring all the tension, all the doubt, and all the fire I’ve been holding back right into him.

Matéo responds instantly, his arms scooping me up like I weigh nothing. I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, locking myself against him as the water continues to pour over us.

“Rory,” he breathes between kisses, his lips barely leaving mine as he starts to move, stepping out of the shower with me still wrapped around him. “Were we fighting?”

I pull back just enough to look at him, my lips still tingling from the intensity of the kiss. “Why do you ask?”

His smirk grows, that familiar spark of humor lighting his eyes.

“Because it feels like we’re about to have some seriously intense makeup sex.”

A laugh escapes me, but I still tighten my grip around him, my legs hooked securely around his waist as he carries me effortlessly out of the shower. The water drips from both of us, leaving a trail across the floor, but neither of us care.

“Are we, though?” I tease, my lips brushing against his ear.

He slows his steps, giving me a mock serious look, his voice dropping into a perfect deadpan.

“Oh, we’re not? Okay, madame, here’s your stop,” he says, lowering me, his arms loosening around my waist like he’s about to set me down, but the cheeky grin spreading across his face tells me exactly where this is headed.

“I hope you enjoyed your ride and don’t forget to rate me five stars,” he says in his best Uber driver impression, still holding me like I weigh nothing.

“Five stars? I don’t know, the ride was a little bumpy.” I laugh, tightening my arms around his neck so he can’t put me down.

Matéo chuckles, his lips brushing the side of my neck as he walks us toward the bedroom.

“Bumpy, huh?”

I grin, biting my lip as he lays me down gently on the bed, his body hovering over mine, dripping wet. Matéo’s lips trail down my neck, and I feel his hand slide lower, exploring, teasing. His fingers slip down between my legs, and the moment he touches me, he pauses, clearly amused. He lifts his head, mischief dancing in his eyes, and his lips pulling into that irresistibly smug, sexy grin.

“Of all the role play possibilities,” he murmurs, his voice laced with teasing as his fingers toy with my wetness, “I never would’ve pegged an Uber driver as your kink.”

“Well, what can I say? I have a thing for a blue-collar worker,” I shoot back, breathless, as I tug him closer, my fingers running through his wet hair.

His fingers keep moving in gentle rhytmic, teasing me just enough to make my breath catch. The slick warmth of the water combined with the feel of him against me is driving me mad, but Matéo knows exactly how to draw things out. His grin tells me he’s enjoying every second of it.

“Matéo,” I breathe, my voice catching as he presses just a little deeper. I’m clinging to him now, my fingers curls into his shoulders, trying to keep my balance as the world tilts beneath me.

“Hmm?” His voice is all smug satisfaction, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “Is that a five-star rating I hear?”

I laugh, or at least I try to, but it comes out as more of a breathless moan. “Not… yet.”

His grin widens, clearly delighted by the challenge. “Ah. I see. You’re a tough customer.”

He dips his head and kisses me again, deeper, more demanding. His fingers keep moving, stroking, teasing, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the way he’s making me feel.

I pull him closer, my legs tightening around his waist as I gasp against his mouth. “If you keep this up,” I murmur, my voice half-teasing, “I might have give you five stars.”

I bite my lip, trying to suppress a grin as I arch against him, my body already responding in ways that make my brain go fuzzy. “But… you might have to work a little harder to earn that last star.”

His fingers slide lower, his lips hovering just above mine as his breath fans over my skin. “Challenge accepted.”

Matéo grins down at me, his body hovering over mine. I moan, half-laughing, half-panting, the teasing game turning into something else entirely as the pleasure builds higher, faster, my body responding to every touch, every word, like a live wire. My fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him closer as I let the sensations overwhelm me.

My breath catches, and I can feel the tension coiling tight inside me, my body responding faster than I expected. I should have known better than to challenge him like this, but here I am, losing the battle in the best possible way.

I bite my lip, breathing hard as Matéo’s hands explore my body with confident strokes like he knew exactly how and where I want to be touch. He positions himself over me, his weight settling, but there’s still that ever-present care in his movements.

He moves slowly at first, his hands gripping my hips as he slides inside me, the stretch making me gasp, my body adjusting to his size with every inch he gives me.

“Are you okay, cherie?” he murmurs, his voice softer now, even though the tension is coiled tight between us.

I nod, biting my lip, but I can’t hold back the honesty. “It… it hurts a little.” It’s not that I’m not ready—God knows I am—but he’s just… a lot. The stretch is intense, overwhelming in the best way. I haven’t gotten used to him, and probably never will, but the sensation is intense and addictive, that perfect edge between pleasure and overwhelm that makes my toes curl.

Matéo stills immediately, his eyes locking onto mine, and I can see the concern deepening within them. He starts to pull back, but I stop him, my hands flying to grip his firm ass, and pressing him deeper.

“But I like it,” I admit. “I like the way it hurts, baby.”

He starts moving again, slow and gentle, sliding deeper inside me, and the stretch is intense, the mix of pleasure and pain overwhelming in the best possible way. Every inch of him fills me, and I can feel every movement, every thrust, as he pushes me further toward the edge.

The pressure builds. That delicious pleasure heightens with every stroke, every inch. My breath comes out in shallow gasps as I arch against him, gripping the sheets beneath me, my body reacting to every inch of him, my legs trembling as the tension coils tighter and tighter inside me. I know watching me losing myself to his touch drives him crazy.

Matéo’s breathing matches mine, his movements becoming more intense, making sure I feel everything. And I do. I feel every inch of him, every push, every pull, and the combination is intoxicating.

“I… oh… Matéo… umphh…” I gasp, my body shaking as the pleasure intensifies, and even though there’s a sharp edge to the sensation, I can’t help but crave more.

He leans down, kissing me again, his lips soft against mine in contrast to the way our bodies are moving together. “You’re incredible, Rory,” he whispers, his voice strained with his own desire, his movements picking up just slightly, his fingers pressing deeper into my skin. “So sexy.”

I let out a shaky laugh, the pleasure overwhelming as I tightened my grip on him, my body teetering on the edge. “I… oh, God…”

Matéo chuckles against my neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there as he shifts, pulling me even closer.

“Fuck me, Matéo,” I whimper escapes, my head falling back as I surrender completely to the way he’s moving inside me.

That’s all it takes. I know it, and so does he. I feel it—the way his body tenses, the last bit of control he was holding onto snapping the second those words hit him. His jaw tightens, his eyes flash with something primal, something darker, and suddenly the playful restraint he had dissolves into pure, uncontrollable need.

I bite my lip, my body trembling beneath him, so close, so fucking close, and he knows it.

He props himself up on his elbows, his body pressed against mine. His lips hover just above mine, taunting me with how close he is, his breath hot against my lips. “You wanted me?”

I nod. His hands slide under my back, his strong arms wrapping around my shoulders. And then he pins me down completely, thoroughly, holding me in place as if to say, you’re not going anywhere.

There’s nowhere I’d rather be than under him.

His gaze locks onto mine, the challenge in his eyes. He’s not just going to give it to me. I’ll have to fight for it. I’ll have to hold on as he pushes me to the brink, again and again, until I can’t take it anymore.

“Matéo…” My voice is desperate now my breath coming in shallow gasps as I writhe beneath him, my body craving release. But he’s holding me down, controlling my every movement, pushing harder, deeper.

“Breathe, cherie, I’ve got you.” His hands tightening on my shoulders as he pins me even harder, pushing into me with a force that makes my body tremble.

“Yes… baby…” My voice is breathless, the pleasure so overwhelming I can barely speak, but I manage one more word, one more demand, my gaze still locked on his.

“Have me.”

The look in his eyes changes, and I know I’ve won the game, but at the same time, so has he. And then he gives it to me, all of it. Every inch of him, every ounce of control, every bit of the pleasure and pain I’ve been craving. His hips slam against mine, his body pressing me deeper into the bed as he moves with a force that shakes me to my core.

My hands grip the headboard, using it as leverage to drive myself harder against him, desperate to feel every inch, every thrust, because this is exactly what I’ve been craving. His hand slides beneath my lower back, angling me so he can reach even deeper, the intensity making me feel like I’m losing my mind.

I can’t hold back anymore. My body unravels completely, and with one last powerful thrust, I come undone. The release is so intense I can’t breathe, my body trembling beneath him as waves of pleasure crash through me, leaving me gasping, shaking, overwhelmed by the sensation. I feel Matéo’s grip tighten as he finally loses his own control. He groans deep in his chest, his own release crashing into him as he thrusts one final time, his body shuddering against mine.

I am definitely giving this Uber ride five stars.

27 Lemon water passive agressive

After our thrilling Uber ride that left my legs questioning their basic motor skills, Matéo disappeared to guide his VIPs up a cliffside via ferrata adventure because apparently, death is what rich people consider a hobby now.

The auberge is suspiciously quiet. According to the activity board that reads like torture list, everyone’s out embracing nature; hiking, rock climbing, canoeing, mountain biking. Oh—and horseback riding.

Hard pass. I’m not riding anything today. Not even metaphorically.

So I head to the terrace, hoping to have that me-time people rave about. Just me, some sunshine, and hopefully zero human interaction.

I was maybe four seconds from bliss when the universe decided to twist my already bendy and bumpy plot: Alyssa, in her glowy, breezy, Pinterest-board glory, just waved at me.

“Rory!”

Oh, come on.

I take a breath. Smile. Lie through my teeth. “Alyssa, hey!” My voice pitches unnaturally high, like even my vocal cords are unsure about this interaction.

This is fine. Totally fine. I can survive this. I once survived dollar-store waxing strips. I can survive this.

“Enjoying the retreat so far?” she asks, her tone as smooth as silk, but I can hear the subtle hint of something else lurking underneath. It’s the kind of politeness that makes my teeth itch.

“Oh, you know,” I shrug. “Just figuring out which activity involves the least amount of movement.” And human interaction, I add in my head. “What about you?”

Alyssa laughs like that was so charmingly quaint, then flicks a manicured hand toward the terrace. “Well, I’m about to settle on the terrace lounge with a book,” she says, nodding toward the sprawling wooden terrace. “It’s so peaceful here, don’t you think? I’ve got my lemon water and a good read. Couldn’t ask for anything more.” She lets out a soft, content sigh, like she’s just found nirvana in citrus hydration and mild literature. “Why don’t you join me instead?”

Join her? Really? I fight the urge to laugh. The last thing I need right now is to sit with Alyssa pretending we’re bonding. But I’m trapped, and there’s no polite way out of this.

Dang it.

“Oh,” I say, trying to sound casual, “I was actually going to—”

“Oh come on!” she chirps. “Everyone’s out anyway. They’ll be back later.” She pauses, taking a moment to adjust her oversized sunglasses, the kind that make her look like a glamorous housefly. “By the way, where’s Matéo? Haven’t seen him all morning.”

There you go, the real reason she reels me in.

“Cliff climbing,” I say with a shrug. “You know. Just risking his life before lunch.”

“Of course he is,” she says, letting a out a light laugh. I swear there’s a flicker of something in her eyes. A memory, maybe.

She takes me by the elbow and gently steers me toward the lounge. Guess I don’t have a choice.

We barely reach the edge of the terrace before a blonde ponytail explodes into view. “Oh my God, finally! I’ve been so bored!”This must be Becca Piccault.

She reaches us with a dramatic sigh of relief, flopping into a chair before gesturing for Alyssa and me to join her. “Thank God for girl time. I was starting to go crazy in this quiet resort! Come, join me!”

“Oh my God, you’re Rory! I’m Becca—Stéphane’s wife. His third wife, actually.” She giggles, like announcing her place in the lineup is some kind of quirky fun fact. “Everyone calls me the trophy wife, but hey—better to be the trophy than the consolation prize, right?”

Huh, she is absolutely unfazed by the title. She says it so cheerfully I almost forget to judge her. I blink at her, then glance at Alyssa who is already seated next to Becca, sunglasses perched like judgment goggles.

“Becca’s so sweet,” Alyssa murmurs to me with her syrupy voice. “Six months is a record for Stéphane. Usually, he’s bored by month four. He likes to keep things… fresh.”

I stifle a laugh, trying to figure out my role in this episode of Real Housewives of Quebec.

“So what’s Matéo like as a boyfriend? I bet he’s still doing that whole intense, brooding thing.” Becca fans herself dramatically. “God, does he still do that thing where he just stares at you until you forget what you were saying?”

Alyssa’s smile turns sharp. “Oh, you know about the stare.”

I chuckle awkwardly, trying to summon a response that sounds nonchalant and not like, he does that to me in bed and I combust every time.

“So, Rory,” Becca says, leaning toward me with that eager, overly friendly energy, “ I bet he’s super intense, huh? All rugged and outdoorsy? Stéphane’s more into golf and… you know, business meetings.”

“Well…” I say with a small shrug, “He’s great.” Understatement of the year.

Becca giggles, leaning in closer, like we’re sharing secrets at a sleepover. “I knew it.”

Becca, bless her clueless soul, completely unaware of the subtle tension between Alyssa and me. “Stéphane’s the same way,” she says with a giggle, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger. “He just loves taking care of everything, he’s all about making sure I’m happy.” She sighs dramatically, as if being pampered by a wealthy older man is some kind of hardship.

Alyssa smiles politely, but there’s a glint in her eye that tells me she’s slightly judging Becca. “Yes, well, Stéphane’s always been that way,” she says, her tone perfectly polite but tinged with condescension. “He likes to keep his partners… comfortable.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Becca leans forward like she just remembering an urgent detail. “You two were, like, serious serious, right, Alyssa? You and Matéo, I heard from Caroline who heard from Sylvie that you guys were about to get married. Is that true? Because if it is, this is like… so awkward and I am living for it.”

I blink. Becca, honey. You cannot be real.

“Well, since Becca asked…” Alyssa sighs dramatically. “I suppose it’s not a secret. I’d already designed my ring – three carats, princess cut, very classic. Matéo has excellent taste when he’s… motivated.” She glances at my bare left hand. “I assume he’s told you all about it?”

Knowing full well he hasn’t.

“Actually, Matéo doesn’t really talk about the past much,” I say sweetly. “He’s more of a ‘live in the moment’ kind of guy now. Very… present-focused.” Take that, memory lane.

Alyssa’s smile doesn’t falter, I bet her eyes narrow just enough to say cute comeback, peasant behind those sunglasses.

Becca leans in closer, lowering her voice in a way that suggests she’s about to share something scandalous. “So, like, what happened?”

Bless you, Becca, for your nosy little heart. Only Becca could bulldoze through polite silence and blurt out the exact question that’s been chewing a hole in my frontal lobe since I found out about Alyssa.

“Well,”the blonde praying mantis—sorry, Alyssa—continues, like she’s talking about the weather, not the future Matéo never mentioned, “I’d already picked out the ring, scouted venues, even had daycare waitlists lined up for our future kids.” She says it casually, like discussing grocery lists. “You know how impossible good daycare spots are in Quebec. The thing was, Matéo wasn’t really… aligned with that.”

My throat tightens. Matéo never mentioned any of this. Never said their relationship had gotten that serious, that mapped out, that… real.

“Guillaume understands me. He doesn’t get scared when I talk about the future.” She looks directly at me. “Some men just aren’t built for… permanence. It’s not their fault, really. It’s just who they are.”

Then, like she’s just remembered something sweet: “Oh, but I’m sure you two are just enjoying the honeymoon phase! That’s the best part, isn’t it? Before reality sets in.”

For a second, I almost felt sorry for her. I can’t blame a woman for wanting commitment. But then she had to lace it with a dig at me, didn’t she? Witch.

Becca, still oblivious to the tension between Alyssa and me, leans back with a happy sigh. “Well, girls, that’s men for you, right?” She flips her ponytail over her shoulder, “We have to make it clear up front what we are looking for. Not ‘let’s go with the flow‘ BS.” She air-quotes. “Otherwise, they suddenly remember they have commitment issues they forgot to mention.”

Alyssa nods sagely. “Exactly. Guillaume is different. We’re on the same page right from the start.” She continues.

Yeah. The same page that started writing itself while she was still with Matéo. I mentally roll my eyes.

The same page, huh? What page are Matéo and I even on? Oh right, the deal page. The contractual, fake-dating for a week, don’t-catch-feelings one. Why did I even think we were reading anything else?

28 SUP

The late afternoon sun glimmers across the lake, and I’ve finally escaped girl time to join Benny and Eric, who are shrieking like overgrown children as they race down to the dock.

“Come on, Rory!” Benny calls, grinning like a maniac, already kicking off his shoes. “Let’s race!”

I hesitate, taking in the scene, the shimmering lake, the bright blue skies, and the Stand-Up Paddleboards (SUPs) lined up along the dock. Sure, it looks fun, but I’m not exactly confident in my ability to stay upright on one of those floating yoga mats.

Eric tosses me a SUP paddle, and I barely catch it before it smacks me in the face. “You’re getting on the water whether you like it or not!” he declares. “That island in the middle of the lake isn’t going to explore itself!”

I’m supposed to just admit that I’ve never SUP’d before and that I can’t even swim. But how hard can it be?

Should I drag the paddle to the water and hop on, or should I hop on it on the shore close to the water and push myself into the water?

“You’ve never SUP’d before, have you?”

I turn to see Jérôme. His eyes sparkle with mischief as he watches me eye the paddleboard like it’s a puzzle.

“You caught me,” I admit, shrugging. “I’m not exactly an expert.”

Jérôme grins and grabs the biggest board. “Hop on. Let’s go find some trouble.”

Famous last words.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been dying to try this!” I grin, already moving toward the board. “Plus, after the morning I’ve had, I could use some actual fun.”

Jérôme’s grin widens. “That’s the spirit.” He picks up one of the larger SUPs and hold it steady for me.

We paddle out, Jérôme guiding us along the shoreline, giving me the unofficial scenic tour while Benny and Eric head straight toward the island, leaving us in the dust. Or in this case, splashes.

The lake is pristine and the water’s so clear I can see every rock below. It feels so good being out here after Alyssa’s psychological warfare session. The witch makes me need vacation on my vacation.

“See that little cove up ahead?” Jérôme points to a small, shaded area tucked between two rocks. “There’s a waterfall back there that no one really knows about.”

A secret waterfall? Yes, please!

“Shut up, really?” I lean forward, nearly tipping us both.

“There,” Jérôme points ahead as we glide around the bend, I squint through the sunlight until—

“Oh my God!” The waterfall appears like magic – tucked away in the shadows, water cascading over smooth rocks into this perfect little pool. “This is like something out of a movie! How did you even find this place?”

Jérôme grins. “Yeah, this place has a lot of secret gems like this. Matéo really knows how to choose his spots.”

Hearing his name, my mind takes off on the scenic route- skinny dipping with him under a full moon, water droplets on his skin…

I shake my head and pat my cheeks with both hands, trying to get him out of my head.

“Are you okay?” Jérôme asks, looking concerned.

“Yeah, I just… can’t believe this is real,” I say, gesturing at the waterfall. This view, this life, any of it.

“Told you it’s pretty out here,” he says, his grin widening as he lets me have my moment.

The air feels cooler as we drift closer to the waterfall. All I can hear is water cascading over rocks and birds chirping somewhere in the trees. You know those relaxing nature videos they play in dentist waiting rooms? This is where they film that stuff. Except this is real, and I’m actually here.

But like at the dentist when they call your name, the peaceful moment never lasts.

“Roryyy!” Benny’s voice echoes across the water like a foghorn, and I flinch so hard I fall off the board. Jérôme dives in immediately, catching me before I can sink like a stone. Turns out that whole “you can see the bottom” thing? Total optical illusion – it’s way deeper than it looks.

“Are you okay, Rory?” Eric calls out.

“I got her,” Jérôme says while I cling to him like a wet cat.

“I’m fine,” I manage, coughing up water.

“Hold on to me, I’ll carry you to shore,” Jérôme says, pushing the SUP ahead of us.

This is my second time today getting carried out of water in a man’s arms with my legs wrapped around his hips. What are the odds?

Later, we check out the waterfall. Eric and Benny take a million photos like it’s a NatGeo shoot, asking me to pose, mostly for “scale reference.”

“Everything is as big as Rory!” Eric cackles. “Or taller than Rory! Or just up to Rory’s knee!”

Benny nods sagely. “It helps people visualize.” Like i’m some kind of portable measuring stick.

Eventually, we paddle back. The ride back is slower, calmer, with the sun beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting everything in this soft golden light. It’s all very Notebook-esque.

“I wonder if my baby brother would be thrilled knowing you took off with…” Benny glances at Jérôme and raises his eyebrows at me. “You know.”

“It’s just paddleboarding. And you guys were literally there.”

Benny grins, never missing a beat. “Sure, sure.. Um humm.. ”

I roll my eyes, but a tiny voice in my head whispers what if he actually gets jealous? Great. Now I’m overthinking paddleboarding. Please tell me Matéo won’t actually care about this.

Halfway to the shore, Benny paddles closer, that familiar mischief twinkling in his eyes as he tilts his head toward the shoreline.

I follow his gaze, and there he is—Matéo.

He’s standing there, bare-chested, arms crossed, muscles tense, his swim shorts hanging just a little too low, teasing that ridiculous V-line. And he looks pissed.

“Uh oh,” Benny whispers with a smirk, his paddle slowing as we both keep our eyes on Matéo.

The fading light hits him just right, turning him into a mix of “hot brooding hero” and “impending doom.”

As soon as I reach the dock, he steps forward and lifts me effortlessly by the waist onto the wooden planks. His grip is firm, and when he sets me down, it feels… final.

“Baby!” I greet him with a smile, but something feels off. The smile on his lips is tight, too tight.

“Baby?” I ask, cocking my head to the side, waiting for him to respond.

Matéo looks at me, his eyes not quite matching the calm in his voice. “You were out on the lake.”

“Yeah, it was fun,” I say. “Jérôme helped me with the paddleboarding. Benny and Eric—”

“And you didn’t think to mention that?” he cuts in, his eyes are sharper than usual.

“Mention what? It was just paddleboarding.”

Matéo’s hands slide into his pockets, but it doesn’t hide the tension creeping into his posture. “No life jacket? You can’t swim, Rory. And you’re soak from head to toe.”

“Well, about that,” I admit, glancing down at my damp clothes. “Turns out my legs are shorter than the water is deep.” I lift one of my stubby, short legs as if to demonstrate. “Good thing Jérôme was there the whole time.”

“Yep, yep, good thing he was there,” Benny chimes in with his evil grin. “Made sure Rory was safe the whole time. Very… hands-on approach.” I shoot him a look. Not helping, Benny.

Jérôme, having just finished stowing the paddleboards, saunters over, completely oblivious to the tension. “Hey, boss! Just showing Rory the lake and keeping her safe.” He winks, totally innocent, like he hasn’t picked up on the storm brewing.

Matéo waves at him casually, though his jaw tenses. “Thanks for that, Jérôme.”

Jérôme flashes a smile and heads off, leaving me alone with Matéo.

“Why didn’t you ask me?”, Matéo says quietly, his eyes locking onto mine. There’s something raw in his voice, something he’s trying to keep under control.

I frown, trying to make sense of his reaction. “I don’t know,” I say, shrugging. “You were busy. And it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Right,” he says, “Not a big deal.”

And then, because Benny is Benny, he pulls out his phone.

“Oh my God, baby brother, why didn’t you tell me there’s a slice of heaven behind that island? Don’t tell me you didn’t know!” Benny swipes through the photos, his face full of excitement. “Look at this!”

He shows Matéo the pics he took, and of course, there’s shots of me and Jérôme, one shows Jérôme offering me his hand as I climbed a slippery rock. We’re just in the corner of the pictures, but it’s enough to make the moment look… well, more intimate than it was.

Matéo’s expression hardens as Benny swipes through the pictures.

I reach out for his hand, expecting the usual warmth, but… nothing. His hands stay buried deep in his pockets, his jaw a little too tight, his shoulders a little too rigid.

Uh-oh.

We walk in awkward silence, our steps falling in sync but our moods out of rhythm. The late afternoon sun casts everything in a soft, golden light as we make our way to the deck, where nearly everyone is gathered, waiting for the sunset.

Benny and Eric are already center stage, loudly bragging about their paddleboarding skills to Becca and Josephine, their animated gestures making it clear they’ve embellished the story by about tenfold.

Matéo and I slip into the scene, the awkward tension still hanging between Matéo and me, when a familiar voice cuts through the air like nails on a chalkboard.

“Hi, Rory!”

Guillaume, flashing that smarmy grin of his, and Alyssa by his side, looking elegant and bored as usual.

From the way his eyebrows lift, I know he’s about to stir the pot.

“Alyssa told me you took off paddleboarding. How was it?” Guillaume asks, his tone dripping with false concern.

“It was great! The lake is beautiful,” I say, keeping my voice bright.

“Great, huh?” Guillaume’s eyebrow arches as he turns to Matéo with a shit-stirring grin. “You know, Matéo, you might want to keep a closer eye on your girlfriend. Leave her alone for five minutes and she’s getting very… hands-on with the landscaping crew.”

Oh, you want to play? Let’s play.

“How sweet of you to worry about me, Guillaume,” I purr, tilting my head like he’s just said something adorable. “But everyone knows Jérôme is practically family to Matéo. Which is probably why he wasn’t concerned.” I pause, smile turning razor-sharp. “Unlike some people, I know the difference between loyalty and… whatever it is you call what you do.”

Guillaume’s smirk flickers. “Come on, it’s just a joke—”

“A joke?” I laugh, the sound bell-clear and venomous. “That’s rich coming from someone whose idea of friendship involves sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend. But please, do tell us more about appropriate behavior. I’m fascinated by your moral compass.”

Guillaume’s face goes a shade paler. “Look, that’s not—”

“What? Not relevant? Not fair?” I cock my head, voice syrup-sweet. “Funny how men always cry ‘just joking’ when they get called out on their shit.”

Benny swoops in just in time before things escalate. “Oof, that’s gotta sting, huh, Guillaume?” He claps his hands together, as though to signify the end of the round.

Matéo steps closer to me, his hand sliding protectively to the small of my back. When he looks at Guillaume, his voice is deadly calm. “I think Rory’s made her point.”

I take Matéo’s hand and start walking, leaving Guillaume standing there with his smug grin finally slipping off his face.

Once we’re out of earshot, Matéo squeezes my hand, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“Nah, I was more worried you’d punch him. We’d have a whole other situation on our hands.”

“Watching you eviscerate him was much more satisfying than anything I could have done with my fists.”

“That was the G-rated version,” I reply, smirking.

“Christ,” he mutters. “You’re incredible.”

29 Pink banjo

After changing into something warmer, we step back out to catch the sunset. Matéo seems in a better mood—less Hulk-y, more broody French-Canadian with a sunset filter. But myself is a whole different story. I feel like a tide pool full of jellyfish emotions. Guilt, curiosity, a dash of jealousy—take your pick. It’s all sloshing around, and it won’t shut up.

“Matéo, wait.” I call out just as he’s about to open the door. My voice comes out softer than I planned, like I’m trying not to spook a deer. Or, you know, a six-foot architect with a tender past.

“Yes, chérie?”

God. That accent. Don’t let it distract you.

“I didn’t know…” I say, tugging at the hem of my shirt. “How serious you were with Alyssa.” Gees, it sounds clumsy, like I’m reading from a breakup script for my Year 5 school production.

“Alyssa and I had a little heart-to-heart earlier. You know, girl talk.” I pause. “She told me about how serious you two were. Wedding plans. The future. Capital F.”

He goes very still, like he’s bracing for impact.

Great, Rory. Way to open the ex-fiancée can of worms. “Look, I’d get it if you two had stuff to work out. Unresolved business or whatever.” I laugh nervously, suddenly feeling ridiculous for bringing this up. “I mean, that’s a lot of history, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.” His voice is calm but there’s steel underneath. “Explain.” He’s definitely not going to let this slide easy.

“I just mean… I probably got too comfortable. Maybe I enjoyed this a little too much—being here, being… me. I forgot the façade we agreed on.”

He stays quiet, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s piecing something together.

“I… I probably should’ve understood you might need to.. Umm.. answer her e-mail because it’s business or whatever.”.

“Rory—” Matéo starts, but I’m already spiraling.

“No, let me finish, please.” The words keep tumbling, unstoppable. “I probably should’ve waited for you to go paddleboarding,” I mutter. “Honestly, I would’ve rather gone with you.”

“Baby, I’m sorry,” I say, my voice softening even further. “I wasn’t thinking about how it would look to others. I just said yes to the board because I needed a distraction. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Or embarrassed. I didn’t mean to pull an Alyssa and make people think your girlfriend is just… off with another man again.”

That lands. I can feel it thud between us like a stone.

“Embarrass me?” His voice cracks through the air. Not loud. Just sharp enough to slice. He steps closer, his eyes narrowing as they lock onto mine. “Rory, you think this is about me being embarrassed because you shared a moment with Jérôme? Why would you think that? Because of what Guillaume said?”

Isn’t it?

“I mean… yeah? That’s why you were upset, right?”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “No, Rory. That’s not it. Not even close.” There’s a rawness in his voice now, something unguarded.

“Then what is it?”

He’s looking at me like he’s waiting for me to understand something I’m clearly missing. But I don’t. I don’t know what to say to fix this, to bridge the gap between us.

He exhales sharply, frustration rippling through his posture. Instead of lashing out, he steps back, his hands slipping into his pockets like he’s retreating into himself, folding inward, distancing. “It’s not that simple,” he mutters.

Of course it’s not. I wait for him to elaborate, but he just stands there staring at the floor like it holds all the answers.

“You’re not Alyssa, Rory.” The words slip out quiet, almost like he didn’t mean to say them.

Ouch. The words hit like a slap. “I know that,” I whisper. “Trust me, I’m very aware I’m not her.” The words come out brittle, and I hate how small they make me feel.

“Rory… that’s not what I meant.” His voice gets urgent, like he’s trying to catch something falling.

I force a smile that feels like plastic. “Then what did you mean?”

For a second, I think he might actually tell me. “It’s complicated,” he says, and I watch his walls slam back up.

And we’re back to cryptic Matéo.

I clear my throat, suddenly desperate to change the subject, to get out of this suffocating space we’ve created. “We should go,” I say quickly, seizing on the only escape I can find. “We’re going to miss the sunset.”

He looks at me for a long moment, like there’s a whole conversation happening behind his eyes that I’m not invited to.

“Let’s go,” he says finally, and the weight of everything we’re not saying follows us out the door.

---

Matéo’s been MIA since dinner. Probably off somewhere with Stéphane discussing the auberge, or the meaning of life. Hard to tell with those two.

Meanwhile, the game room is lit. Benny and Eric are hosting tonight’s trivia like it’s the damn Hunger Games, minus the murder but not the drama. Benny is giving full theater-kid energy, while Eric snipes from the sidelines with sarcasm. I love them.

I’ve been paired with Josephine’s assistant, Pierre, a.k.a. the unexpected MVP of trivia night. And together? We’re a menace. Each right answer escalates our celebration: first it was high-fives, then came elbow bumps, then some impromptu TikTok choreography. We’ve now graduated to full Olympic victory hugs with spins, jazz hands, and an attempt of moonwalk that should be illegal.

The crowd? Living. Us? Thriving.

“Come on, Pierre! One more right answer and we’re legends!”

That’s when Benny leans in close, voice low and mischief dialed to eleven. “Calm down with the excitement, Rory.” His tone’s got that I-know-something-you-don’t gossip glint to it. “Don’t look now,” he whispers, “but check your five o’clock.”

I do a totally casual, not-at-all-suspicious side-eye.

And there he is.

Matéo. Leaning against the doorway like a moody statue carved by someone very horny. Arms crossed, eyes locked on me and Pierre like we just made out on the buzzer. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even move, just radiates that unreadable look I’m starting to recognize as trouble.

Benny snickers, nudging me with his elbow. “Oof. Baby brother looks like he’s about to hulk out. One more victory hug and he’s going full green.”

“Come on, Benny. He’s fine.”

“Sure, sure,” Benny drawls, like he’s watching a soap opera he already knows the ending to. “No territorial vibes at all.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he grins, pure evil in a lavender button-down.

Desperate to redirect, I clap my hands. “Alright! Enough sideline gossip. Let’s bring it home, Pierre!”

Pierre fist-pumps. “Let’s finish strong!”

Benny holds up a hand, like Moses parting the Sea of Sass. “Okay. One final question,” he announces. He’s been milking this trivia game for all it’s worth, but I can tell he’s about to drop the final bomb. “But—” he grins— “the team that gets it wrong? Has to sing. On stage. Solo.”

Classic Benny.

The room erupts as the stakes skyrocket. I’m not even fazed. If anything, this just kicks my competitive streak into overdrive.

“Bring it on,” I say, rolling my shoulders like I’m prepping for a championship match. There’s no way we’re losing this, not when I’ve got momentum on my side.

“We got this, Rory!” Pierre high-fives me like we’re storming Normandy with jazz hands.

Since the universe loves a good plot twist, it decides to humble us. Hard. We miss the question. Like, not even close.

“Oh, come on!” I cry.

Benny’s grinning so hard it’s a miracle his face hasn’t cracked. “Welp. Rory, Pierre—it’s your time to shine!”

Pierre glances at me, panicking. “Rory, I can’t sing. I mean, I really can’t sing.”

“Don’t worry, Pierre. I’ve got this. Just sit back, let me take this for the team.”

“Thank you Rory, my saviour.’” he mutters, trailing behind me like he’s walking me to the firing squad.

I wave Pierre off like I do this every Thursday, already heading for the stage. My confidence? Astronomical. My plan? Vibes only. My emotional stability? Wobbly.

The room goes quiet as I step up, all eyes on me. They’re probably expecting Céline Dion, our national treasure, or at least something vaguely impressive.

Yeah… no.

I’m going full kindergarten teacher on this stage. Time for the song I pull out when someone’s biting another kid or having a meltdown in a blanket fort. My secret weapon.

I scan the instruments. Guitar? Meh. Keyboard? Too dramatic. And then, there it is. Nestled by the wall like a glittery omen: a pink banjo.

Oh, hell yes.

Just like the one in my classroom, without the unicorn stickers and dried glitter glue.

“Well, color me impressed, Rory,” he says, fanning himself like he’s about to faint from secondhand embarrassment. “Who knew you had a secret weapon in the form of… that?”

I strum a few strings. Not fancy, but it’ll do.

I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and launch into my tried-and-true classic. The room settles. Like actually quiet. Somewhere out there, a toddler just stopped crying, sensing their tantrum anthem echo across space and time.

You’re the warmth I never knew I missed,

The gentle calm, the quiet bliss…

The words come out soft, but steady. Honest. The banjo’s silly, but the moment’s not. Somewhere in the second verse, my usual mental armor slips, and I stop picturing cranky toddlers and start picturing…

Him.

His stupid perfect V-line underneath that linen shirt. His ridiculous trivia-room silent rage. The way he looks at me like I’ve set something on fire in his chest.

With you, the world feels soft and kind,

It’s like I’ve known you all this time…”

And just like that, I realize—I’m serenading a Viking size brooding architect in front of his entire extended professional circle.

What. Am. I. Doing.

Shit.

The final note hangs in the air like a confession I didn’t mean to make. The room doesn’t erupt. It sighs. The applause is warm but… soft. Thoughtful. I think I just changed the entire group chat dynamic.

I give an exaggerated curtsy, making sure to flip the hem of my invisible gown as if I’ve just performed at Carnegie Hall.

“Thank you, thank you,” I say, giving a few extra bows for dramatic effect, basking in the moment before I left the stage with the pink banjo still slung across my body.

As I step down, Eric fans himself like he’s about to faint. “Rory. A pink banjo. Really?”

“Eric!” Benny complains, his voice loud and overly dramatic as he turns to his partner. “Why have you never serenaded me like that? With a banjo! A pink banjo!”

Eric rolls his eyes, slinging an arm around Benny’s shoulders, shaking his head. “Rory’s just raising the bar too high, darling. I’m never going to be able to compete.”

“Relax, that’s just my go-to song for when one of the kids throws a tantrum,” I say, winking at them. “Works like a charm every time. Total tantrum killer.”

“You might’ve just tame this entire room.” Benny gestures toward the crowd, which is now a little more subdued than before, as if my little serenade actually did calm everyone down.

I smile and glance across the room, my eyes landing on Matéo. He’s still standing there, leaning against the wall. He looks… calmer, less intense. Definitely not the same guy who was silently brooding during trivia.

“Well, would you look at that,” Benny whispers, leaning in close, his voice dripping with amusement. “You’ve got baby brother all kinds of flustered.”

Matéo? Flustered? That doesn’t seem right.

But as I glance back at him, the man built like an erotic Greek tragedy is blushing. Stephane’s grinning. He nudges Matéo, says something I can’t hear but I can see Matéo is doing everything in his power to avoid eye contact with me, looking anywhere but in my direction.

“What’s Stephane saying?” I ask Benny with a grin, suddenly curious about the situation.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Benny hums. “But if I had to guess? Something along the lines of: ‘So when are you proposing to the banjo girl?’”

Eric chimes in, deadpan. “That wasn’t just a performance. That was a romantic monologue set to a four-string instrument.”

Wait, what?

Oh no. No, no, no.

Did everyone just pick up on that? Did they all translate the song as being for him? Because it was… but, like, I didn’t mean for everyone to realize it!

I roll my eyes, trying to mask my feelings, though I can feel my cheeks heating up at Eric’s words. “It wasn’t a love song! It’s my tantrum-buster!” I insist, though the grin on my face completely gives me away.

They both turn to me in perfect dramatic harmony. “Ummm hmmm…”

I steal another glance at Matéo. Stephane’s still by his side, giving him a playful pat on the back and saying something that makes Matéo actually smile. Like, a real smile. Full face. With teeth. I’ve seen that smile when he managed to finish the escape room game in record time.

And yeah. He’s totally blushing.

Benny leans in even closer, his grin so wide it’s almost splitting his face.

“By the way,” his voice lowered with excitement, this won’t be good. “We got the whole thing on video.”

I blink. “The song?”

“Oh no, chérie,” Benny says with a wicked glint in his eye, glancing toward Matéo, who’s still pretending not to watch me. “We got everything. The song, the pink banjo, and Matéo turning beet red while you sang your feelings out loud.”

I snap my head toward him. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, we did, darling,” he says, holding up his phone like it’s the Holy Grail of sibling blackmail. “Just wait until Mom sees. She’s gonna put this thing on loop at every holiday dinner. Christmas? Banjo. Easter? Banjo. Her funeral? Oh, there’ll be a banjo.”

“Benny!”

Eric pats my shoulder. “You just accidentally broadcast your entire heart. With a lullaby.”

I bury my face in my hands.

I’m going to die.

Death by blush. Death by banjo. Death by feelings.

30 Last day

Matéo must’ve really liked that song and he made sure I knew exactly how much, three times. If you catch my drift.

For the rest of the stay, it’s like he made it his personal mission to never let me out of his sight. If I was ever alone, it was only because it was completely unavoidable. Otherwise, we were all but inseparable, and the nights? Well, let’s just say there’s no force stronger than Matéo Morin’s… uh, commitment to keeping me very, very happy.

We spent every night tangled in each other’s arms. No, tangled doesn’t even do it justice. More like knotted. Tied up in ways that were both metaphorical and literal. I swear, if I ever tried to roll away from him in my sleep, he’d reel me back in like I was some wayward fish trying to escape the line.

And the sex? Intense doesn’t even begin to cover it. It was like all the dry years of my past hit their expiration date and Matéo came in to fix that with a vengeance. Every night, without fail, we were at it like we were trying to make up for lost time. It was fast, slow, rough, gentle, whatever mood struck—and wow, did moods strike.

Waking up to Matéo’s hardwood pressed against my back every morning wasn’t just the best way to start the day, it was my new favorite alarm clock. No more groaning and hitting the snooze button. Nope. Now, I just wake up, get pleasured half-conscious, and then blink around trying to figure out what time or even what day it is. Frankly, I’ve never been so blissfully disoriented in my life.

---

Packing up my suitcase feels surreal. Like I’ve been living in a fantasy bubble for the past week. I’ve lost track of the days, but I’m pretty sure I’ve woken up on cloud nine with Matéo more times than I ever have in my entire life. But as I fold the last of my clothes, the bubble starts to pop. The deal’s ending.

Back to reality. Back to working three jobs just to keep my head above water. Back to… whatever this new version of normal is.

Except that’s not what’s bothering me the most.

It’s the thought of missing him.

I’m doing this to myself. I know I am. Letting him in, letting him wrap around every part of my week. Even my air smells like him. I didn’t hold back. Not for a second.

And now I’m supposed to leave like I didn’t just hand over every soft, unguarded piece of myself.

Matéo, of course, is oblivious. He’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth, completely unaware that I’m mentally preparing to re-enter struggle-ville. In his mind, everything probably continues as-is—the mornings tangled together, the late-night looks across a pillow.

I glance around the luxurious room. It’s been nice, I’m not gonna lie. No rent to stress over, no bills piling up, no wondering who’ll be around to unzip my dress at the end of the day. But I don’t want to rely on someone, least of all Matéo.

“What are you doing?” Matéo’s voice breaks into my thoughts, and I look up to see him leaning against the doorframe, toothbrush in hand, watching me pack.

“Just… getting my stuff together. We’re leaving tomorrow, remember?”

He frowns, like he hasn’t even considered that this might be the end. “Yeah, but you don’t have to pack that neat. You’re coming home to my place, anyway.”

Wait. What?

“Come home… to your place?” I repeat, like the words don’t quite make sense. I mean, sure, we’ve been glued to each other for weeks, but we never talked about… moving in together.

Matéo shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. You are coming home with me, Rory.”

“Matéo,” I say slowly, trying to wrap my head around this. “I have to go back to… you know, life.”

He tilts his head, confused. “My place isn’t that far from the kindergarten or Serendipity. In fact, keep whichever job you enjoy most, you don’t need the others anymore”, chérie. Just use the card I gave you.”

I laugh, but it’s the kind of laugh that sounds hollow, like it chips off something tender I’ve been trying to protect. “You make it sound so easy,” I say, carefully. “But that’s not how I want this to go.”

His frown deepens. “What do you mean, cherie?”

“I don’t want you to ‘make my life easier’, Matéo. I want to make it on my own. I want to stand on my own two feet before… before anything else happens between us.”

“Anything else? Rory, what are you talking about? I thought…”

“I can’t just… become part of your life. And let you take care of me.”

“Why couldn’t you?” His voice is softer now, like he’s finally starting to realize this isn’t as simple as he thought.

“I… I need to know… we need to know if what we have is real. I don’t want you to fix my problems or throw money at my situation so I can stay with you. I want this to be about us, not… convenience.”

I pause, the words hanging in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. Then I add quietly, almost to myself, “I don’t even know if we share the same definition of us.’”

I’ve opened a door neither of us knew we’d have to walk through.

Everything with him has happened so organically, the late nights, the stolen moments, the intense connection. Yes, sometimes he’s so stubborn I could strangle him, but then the next second, I’m begging for him to strangle me gently, my legs wrapped around his neck. He’s the only person who’s made me feel safe to be so vulnerable, so willing to give every inch of myself. And yet, here we are, standing on this edge where I’m not even sure we know what we are.

I can see the frustration in his eyes, like he’s trying to make sense of all this. But there’s something else there too—hurt. Real hurt. He doesn’t get why this isn’t enough for me. In his world, fixing things for the people he cares about is just how it works.

But how can he understand when we’ve never actually talked about what we are or what we want? It’s been assumptions and feelings, both of us wrapped up in this thing without labels, without clarity.

Matéo’s jaw tightens, his hands sliding into his pockets, a move I know all too well—his way of holding himself together when he feels like things are slipping.

“Rory,” he begins. “I thought we were beyond this?”

We are. That’s exactly what terrifies me.

That’s the problem,” I say softly. “It’s perfect. Too perfect. Too fast. And if we don’t step back now, I won’t know if I stayed because I chose you… or because the comforts that come with you.”

The words hang between us, but my brain won’t stop spiralling.

How do I know the difference between loving you and loving security? What if I think I love you, but I’m actually just in love with not being broke?

Shit, how did Vivian Ward do this? How did she figure out her feelings in such short period of time, and not having a single drop of doubt of her own motivation. Am I the overthinking one or she just have a very stable mental health?

Great, now I use a fictional prostitute as a role model.

But then there’s the other fear, the one that keeps me up at night. What if I let myself depend on you completely, and then you leave? Everyone leaves, eventually. And if I have nothing of my own to fall back on, what happens to me then? I’ll be worse off than when we started. At least now I know I can survive on my own, even if it’s barely.

Fuck.

His face falls even further, and suddenly the room feels too small, the walls closing in on everything we’ve left unsaid. He looks at me with this mixture of confusion and pain, like I’ve just pulled the rug out from under him.

There’s a sharp knock on the door, cutting through the tension. Matéo’s still looking at me with a mix of frustration and confusion.

“Monsieur Morin?” Pierre, Josephine’s assistant. “Sorry to interrupt, but you have your final meeting with Madame Josephine in five minutes. She’s waiting for you in the conference room.”

I watch as Matéo’s expression hardens, and he gives a subtle sigh, his eyes flicking to the door, then back to me. The shift is almost instantaneous. He’s slipping back into business mode, the side of him that handles everything with cool control, the version of Matéo I’ve seen a hundred times. But right now, after everything we just said—or didn’t say—it feels like a wall going up between us.

“Right,” he calls back, his voice suddenly a little too even, like he’s keeping everything tightly packed away. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Rory,” he begins in that quiet tone that leaves me unsettled. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual, even though nothing about this feels easy or casual anymore. “Go do your thing. Josephine’s not the type you keep waiting.”

He watches me for a second longer, like he’s weighing whether he should stay or go. But then he nods and walks toward the door. He leaves without another word.

And I stay here. Alone. In a room that still smells like him, full of a life I’m not ready to move into.