This is why I pushed her away. This is why I reminded her it was a transaction.
Because Damien destroys what I love. And I cannot—will not—let her become another name on that list.
Corinne. Margaret. Anya.
Not Poppy. Never Poppy.
The phone vibrates again. I pull it out, because ignoring Damien only emboldens him.
DAMIEN: She looks lovely in blue. Did you pick that dress, or did she?
My expression hardens and Poppy notices.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. I guess everything wasn’t handled.” I try my best to project something other than what I really feel—fear of losing another person I love.
Damien’s watching. I scan the lobby, but he’s nowhere to be seen. He probably has someone on the staff, or he’s using the security cameras.
I type back: If you touch her—
His response comes before I finish:
DAMIEN: Relax, old friend. I’m just enjoying the show. Take her to dinner. Play the devoted boyfriend. I’ll be watching.
I pocket the phone. Close my eyes. Force myself to breathe—an unnecessary habit, but one that grounds me in human rhythms.
“Ready?” she asks. Her voice is flat. Professional. The warmth she’d shown earlier tonight—before Damien appeared, before I pushed her away—is gone.
I did that. I put that distance there.
“Poppy.” I take a step toward her. “I need to apologize.”
She blinks. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t that.
“For what?” Her tone is careful. Guarded.
“For what I said. About this being a transaction.” I search for words that are true without being complete. “That man at the cocktail party—Damien—he unsettled me. I took it out on you. That was wrong.”
“Who is he?”
“Someone from my past. Someone I’d hoped to never see again.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“I know.” I take another step. We’re close now—close enough that I can see the wariness in her eyes, the hurt she’s trying to hide. “I know it doesn’t. And I know I keep saying ‘after the wedding’ like it’s a magic phrase that excuses everything.”
“It doesn’t.”
“No. It doesn’t.” I run a hand through my hair. “Poppy, I’m not good at this. At being... open. I’ve spent a very long time building walls, and you make me want to tear them down, and that terrifies me.”
Something shifts in her expression. The wariness doesn’t disappear, but it softens slightly.
“That’s the most honest thing you’ve said to me since we landed,” she says quietly.
“I know.”
“You’re really bad at this.”
