But this was Rachel.
“I kissed her,” she said, lowering her voice. “June. I kissed her.”
Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “When?”
“Tuesday. And since then—there have been more kisses. At night, after Lila’s asleep.” Melissa pressed her fingers to her temples. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Rachel. I’ve never felt like this about a woman before.”
“You sure about that?” Rachel asked, tilting her head.
Melissa stopped. “What?”
“I’m just saying you’ve talked about other women in ways that made me think. More than once.” At Melissa’s look, she shook her head. “Mel, calm down. I’m saying you’ve had crushes before.”
Catherine Aldridge surfaced immediately—all those late nights reviewing policy briefs, the way her approval had felt like sunlight.Admiration,Melissa had called it. She’d been very good at calling it other things.
“I don’t know,” Melissa said. “She’s so young, and she works for me, and if anyone found out—”
“Is that what Michael was implying? That he knows?”
“I don’t think so. But the fact that he even mentioned her—” Melissa’s throat tightened. “I can’t go through that again. Having my private life turned into ammunition.”
“Do you have feelings for her? Real feelings, not just attraction?”
Melissa thought about June’s laugh. About the way she looked at Melissa like she was worth seeing—really seeing, not just the public image but the messy, uncertain person underneath.
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
“Then you need to figure out what you’re going to do about it. Because hiding isn’t sustainable.” Rachel reached out and took her hand. “You deserve to be happy. When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”
Melissa didn’t answer. She couldn’t remember.
“Go home,” Rachel said. “I’ll make your excuses here.”
Melissa wanted to argue. She had obligations, people expecting her, the whole careful machinery of her public life demanding she stay.
She went home.
The house was quiet when she let herself in, the foyer dark except for the soft glow of the living room lamp. She slipped off her heels and padded toward the light.
June was asleep on the couch.
Curled against the cushions, a book open on her chest, her hair spilling across the throw pillow in honey-gold waves. She’d been waiting up—a cup of tea on the coffee table, long cold, a blanket half-pulled over her legs. Melissa stood in the doorway and let herself look, just for a moment. The quiet warmth of someone beinghere. Waiting.
This is what coming home can feel like.
She crossed to the couch and brushed a strand of hair from June’s face. June stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
“Melissa? What time is it?”
“Late. Almost midnight.”
“I was waiting up.” June pushed herself to sitting, rubbing her eyes. Then she looked at Melissa properly, and something in her expression shifted. “What happened?”
“Michael was there.”
June went very still. “Your ex-husband.”
“He made comments. About you—nothing specific, just insinuations.” Melissa sat down beside her, close enough that their knees touched. “He mentioned the live-in nanny.”
