Cleo taps her chin thoughtfully before breaking into a grin. “Like the fact that you were the world’s most adorable mess of a first kiss.”
“CLEO!” I squeal, throwing a napkin at her. “I had braces! I was fifteen!”
“Just teasing, sweetie pie,” she says with a wink. “You’ve clearly mastered the art since then.”
“You are absolutely impossible,” I say, but I’m already dissolving into giggles.
“Made you forget about your boy problems for a minute though, didn’t I?” She reaches over to squeeze my hand, and I’m reminded why she’s been my best friend since forever.
“Sugar,” Mama says, “you both did your own wrongs, didn’t you? With Felix gone and all that PR you wanted swirling around?”
The weight of truth settles in my bones. Yes, I used Dante. We used each other, really.
“You’re right, but that’s not exactly the start of a great love story.”
“Could be yours.” Mama’s voice is gentle as she reaches for a chip, the bowl balanced precariously between her knees.
Could be. If I called him right now, he’d drive through the night to be here. And if he called, I’d catch the first flight back to California.
The truth is, after I left the Hastings gala and flew my jet to New Orleans, I saw why Dante did what he did—yes, he messed up. But it wasn’t some calculated deception or strategic manipulation, it was a fundamentally human error. Just a man who made the kind of mistake people make when they’re trying to protect something they care about.
I’ve spent years portraying artificial love stories—where romance follows a pristine trajectory, where leading men arrive fully formed and flawless, their histories conveniently blank. I played the girl who gets swept off her feet by Mr. Right, who never does a thing wrong, from the words he says to the job he works.
But they were always just that—roles.
Reality is messier. Nobody wants their heart rattled, their trust tested, their communication messed up, but perhaps that’s unrealistic. True intimacy requires this constant negotiation between two imperfect people.
With Dante, everything had felt so natural that I’d forgotten a fundamental truth: even the easiest love needs trials and tending.
“Can you really commit to being with someone when you’re still trying to figure out who you are?”
Cleo’s laugh is knowing. “Reese’s Pieces, none of us know who we are. We’re all making it up as we go along.”
Mama’s eyes hold mine with that steady love that’s always felt like home. “I know exactly who you are. Not the Hollywood version—I mean the one who cried at her first movie premiere because she wanted to share it with the whole neighborhood. The one who’s never learned how to slow down since she was eleven.” Her hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “And I know thewoman you’ve become—kind, determined, fierce in all the right ways.”
Something tightens in my throat.
“Life doesn’t wait for perfect timing,” Mama continues. “Your daddy was fixing cars when I met him. Now he’s got people trusting him with their smiles. That’s the beauty of finding your person—you get to witness who they become.”
I let myself imagine it: cheering for Dante at his next competition, watching him coach young fencers with the patience he gave me. Celebrating another gold medal. Being there for his big moments like he has been there for mine.
And I want him beside me at the premiere, want to tell him about the production company Mari and I have been casually texting about starting all week, want to share Heather’s excitement about investing in it. Fighter Films. I want to keep growing together like we have for the past four whirlwind months.
“Has he seen all of you?” Mama asks. “The temper, the scowl, all those pieces you try to hide?”
“Yes.”
“Even the stubborn streak?” Cleo arches an eyebrow again.
“He’s seen it all,” I admit.
What happens if we do decide to be together? Will every shared glance, every casual touch, become fodder for speculation?
Destiny was practically exiled for a year after her scandal. The thought of dragging Dante down with me, of compromising his career, feels like too heavy a burden.
Realization dawns on me. This protective instinct coursing through my veins, this desire to shield him—isn’t it exactly what Dante felt when he held back about Susan?
“Then it’s for him to decide if you’re who he wants to be with, sweet girl. For both of you to figure out together.”
