Page 37 of The Encore’s Crown

“Kiri passed me coming out of the bathroom,” she says breezily, sliding into her seat. “Took awhile to maneuver around him. Kurwa, everything in Japan is tiny and he’s built like he’s two sizes too big for the entire country. Someone should tell him to stop working out before he visits.”

The table erupts with relieved laughter. Ronan snorts so hard he nearly chokes. Even Rafe’s mouth gives way to a smile, the suspicion in the room breaking apart beneath her perfect delivery and my shoulders loosen by a fraction.

Her cover is flawless. Protective without looking protective. Casual enough to save both of us without giving anyone a reason to wonder why we need saving.

She still hasn’t looked at me.

Liv flicks her napkin in my direction. “Maybe stop doing pull-ups on the hotel doorframes, then.”

“You’re lucky one hasn’t snapped and sent you flying,” Ronan adds. “You’d break your fucking back.”

Signe arches a brow, eyes passing briefly between Natalia and me. “A tragic way to go. Very undignified.”

“Hazards of being jacked,” I mutter, flexing my shoulders because apparently my mouth continues operating even when my brain has fully abandoned me.

A few people laugh.

Natalia finally looks over.

Her eyes dip to my mouth. The glance lasts less than a second, but heat bolts through me so hard I nearly drop my glass again. She's thinking about it too. Then her gaze lifts back to mine, cool and composed, and I can’t tell whether the softness underneath it is real or something I’ve invented because I need it to be there. Rafe tips his glass, apparently satisfied enough to redirect his attention toward Ronan.

“So when are you two getting engaged?”

Freja flushes pink and Ronan smirks, tapping a rhythm against the table.

“As soon as we get a solid break between tours.”

Signe snorts. “So, never, then?”

The table coos obnoxiously anyway. Freja leans into Ronan, his hand settling on her thigh, both of them glowing like a couple who haven’t realized they’re already married in every way that matters.

Dinner moves forward, stories pile up. Plates come and go. Sake flows like someone left a faucet running.

Natalia matches every pour of the table with another of her own. Her laugh grows louder. Her smile broadens until it stops reaching her eyes. Pink spreads high across her cheeks and on the tip of her nose, but there's something brittle beneath it, some tension I can see in the way she holds her shoulders.

The kiss begins to recede behind something heavier. It doesn't disappear, nothing could make that disappear. But I remember why she came here at all. To Asia, for this specific week and why today matters. What she was already carrying before I made the entire night about wanting her.

She orders another bottle. Signe notices too. Her eyes track Natalia’s hand as it moves toward her glass. There’s a tremor in it.

Kasia reaches across the table. “Nat,” she says gently. “Slow down.”

Natalia checks her watch.

“Ten o’clock.” Her voice comes out smaller than it has all night. “Still Piotr’s day.” She seems to say it to herself. Then she lifts her glass.

“Za Piotra. Zawsze. (For Piotr. Always.)” The Polish words land heavily despite how steadily she tries to make them.

Kasia raises her glass immediately.

Ronan follows. “Hear, hear.”

Signe lifts hers last. “To Piotr,” she says quietly, without turning it into a performance.

Everyone drinks as Natalia throws hers back. Her throat works as she swallows, and I can almost see the memories scraping down the inside of her. My chair suddenly feels so far from hers.

Signe slides an arm around her shoulders, body angling closer. Natalia doesn’t pull away. She leans into her, just enough to accept the support without admitting she needs it. A pathetic flicker of jealousy cuts through me and I hate myself for it immediately. This isn’t about Signe or what happened in that hallway. Natalia is hurting, and Signe is beside her while I’m across the table doing absolutely nothing.

“He’d have been thirty-seven this year,” Natalia murmurs, staring down at the polished wood. “I could’ve joked about being almost forty. He’d have hated that, would have said something about not being too old to fill the oil in my car because I never seemed to remember. But he did. He always took care of us.”