Page 16 of The Silver Fox Brother

"Win, I love you. You know I love you. But you're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you make excuses for him."

Our mimosas arrive. I take a long drink, grateful for the interruption. The champagne is crisp and cold and gives me something to focus on besides the uncomfortable truth Kate's laying out.

"I'm not making excuses. I'm being fair. He's under a lot of pressure with this Brooklyn project. His father is finally giving him real responsibility, real recognition. That's huge for him."

"And what about what's huge for you?" Amy asks.

"The Chen project is huge. Winter Hayes Design is huge. You're huge. But when does Rowan celebrate that?"

I don't have an answer for that.

"Look," Kate says, her voice softening.

"We're not trying to pile on. We're just... we worry. You're the most tenacious, ambitious, badass woman we know. You built a successful firm from nothing. You're brilliant at what you do. But when it comes to romance—especially with Rowan—you have too many blind spots."

There it is. The thing I've been avoiding looking at directly for months now.

"I'm not blind," I say quietly. "I see what's happening."

"Then why do you stay?" Amy asks.

"Because I love him. Or I—" I stop, the words tangling.

"I don't know. Because it's been two years and walking away feels like admitting failure. Because my parents ask about him every time I call home. Because starting over sounds exhausting."

"Those aren't reasons to stay," Kate says.

"Those are reasons you're afraid to leave."

She's right. I know she's right. But knowing and doing are two completely different things.

Our food arrives, buying me another reprieve. We eat in silence for a moment, the comfortable kind that comes from years of friendship. These two have known me since college, since before I became the polished version of myself that navigates Sterling family events. They know the girl who showed up in New York with more ambition than money, who slept on Amy's couch for three months while apartment hunting, who cried after losing her first major client and celebrated by getting drunk on cheap wine when she landed her second.

They know me. The real me..

"So," Amy says eventually, her tone shifting to something lighter.

"Let's talk about the elephant in the room."

"Which elephant? There are several."

"Knox Sterling actually showed up."

I nearly choke on my mimosa. "How do you know that?"

"Instagram, obviously. There are like fifteen photos from last night already. Your boyfriend's mom is very active on social media for someone her age." Amy pulls out her phone, scrolls.

"Look. There. That's Knox in the background, talking to some guy in a gray suit."

She shows me the photo. It's taken from across the tent, slightly blurry, but there's Knox—tall, dark suit, that profile that somehow photographs even better than it looks in person.

"He's stupidly attractive," Amy continues.

"I've said this before and I'll say it again. That man is aging like expensive wine."