Her smile is small, patient. “Alright then. Let’s start from the beginning.”
So I do. Vegas. The secret marriages. The mess of emotions that followed. Every tangled piece of it, pouring out in fits and stutters untilthe words are gone and I’m left slumped against the cushions, raw but lighter somehow.
“I understand how challenging it is to carry around so many secrets, especially when you’re in such close proximity to the very people you’re trying to shield from the truth. For whatever reason. But I also think you might be selling your community short.”
My brows knit. “What do you mean?”
Dr. Mikari clears her throat, her tone measured. “From the way you’ve described these people—Marlow in particular—I don’t think she would react as viscerally as you’re assuming.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Not according to her father. And she’s part Italian. The girl’s got spunk, and I’m not entirely sure I can take her.”
That earns a smile from Dr. Mikari, even a small laugh before she schools her face again. “Be that as it may, her father sees things through the lens of a parent. Friends—true friends—get through to us differently. And it sounds like you know that.”
I nod slowly. “Sure. But…I’ve never hadthisbefore. Any of it.”
She tilts her head. “I’m not sure I understand.”
I grip the glass of water tighter, the words heavy in my throat. “I’ve never had a friend like her. And I’ve also never had feelings for a man like him. Foranyman. So even though a part of me wants to run straight to Grant and just…give him all of me, consequences be damned—I can’t risk losing what I’ve built with Marlow.”
“Because it feels like a family,” she finishes softly.
My throat tightens. “As crazy as it sounds, yes.”
“It doesn’t sound crazy at all.” Dr. Mikari leans forward, her eyes steady on mine. “But one thing about family—they fight, they break, they bend. And they make up. Love doesn’t let them stay away too long.”
I nod a silent agreement.
By the time we wrap up, I’m gripping that empty glass like it’s glued to my hand. “I’ve never needed myowntherapist before,” I admit softly, “but now…with all of this, with these feelings I can’t seem to fight…I hope I can count on you.”
Dr. Mikari’s eyes soften, and she gives me the kind of nod that feels like permission. “Of course. And lucky for you, I have a slot open for new patients.”
Before I leave her office, I pause with my hand on the doorframe and turn back to her.
“I’m seeing Grant at a ball for work tonight,” I admit, my voice softer, almost guilty. “And I know myself well enough to know what will happen if I’m around him. Every time we’re close, my ability to resist him just vanishes more and more each time.”
Dr. Mikari tilts her head. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”
I exhale, shoulders slumping. “How do I resist him, Dr. Mikari?”
She folds her hands in her lap, her tone measured but edged with something knowing. “I think the better question is…how long do you really believe you’ll be able to? How long can you both keep walking this line before it consumes you?”
***
The mirror’s gold trim is gaudy, but it does the job. I swipe another line of liner under my eye, blot my lipstick, and give my reflection a once-over. Perfectly polished. Mask in place. No one in this ballroom would guess that just last night, I was crying on my couch over a bald spot and the man who gave it to me.
Thankfully, the bald spot was more like a speck and the hairstylist did her best work, adding a few hair pieces to mask spots. And I look good. I just can’t wait to put my braids back in, it’s become part of my brand, my identity and I have grown to hate being without them.
The bathroom door swings open and laughter spills in—high, tinkling, reeking of champagne and entitlement. I keep my head down, fixing the strap of my gown, until someone’s words cut sharper than any blade.
“Honestly, I don’t care who else bids. The silver fox is mine.”
Silver fox. My stomach plummets.
Grant.
I turn my head just enough to catch the reflection in the mirror. Malina Matthews, draped in crimson silk, her mask sharp as her smile. She’s leaning toward two other women, voice low but not low enough.
“I’ve been trying to bag him for months,” she continues, twirling a diamond earring like she’s plotting world domination.
