Page 59

And for once, I don’t pretend I’m okay. I let the tears come.

Because tonight wasn’t just awkward.

It was war disguised as family dinner.

And I survived it.

Barely.

The silence on the ride to the hotel is thick enough to chew on—like the aftermath of a thunderstorm, heavy and sour and too damn loud. I lean my forehead against the window, watching Newton’s lights blur by, the ache in my chest making it hard to breathe. Kingston doesn’t push. Doesn’t prod. Just drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gearshift like he’s trying not to crush it under his grip.

By the time we pull up to the Four Seasons, my jaw is locked so tight it might snap.

The penthouse suite is a literal dream—double-height ceilings, windows that frame the city like a love letter, and more plush than anything I should have access to right now. But I barely look at it. I’m barely in my body at all. My nerves are shot. My voice boxed up and shoved somewhere behind my ribs, right next to the bruised piece of my pride.

Kingston keys us in, then drops our overnight bag by the sofa. “Mya.” Just my name. Quiet. A question and an answer and a prayer.

“I’m fine.” The lie tastes like vinegar. He doesn’t call me out on it.

Instead, he crosses to the oversized marble bathroom, turns on the taps, and disappears behind the pocket door. I hear the water rush to life, echoing off tile. Then the door creaks open. “Come here.”

I should argue. Should say I’m too tired, too raw, too strung out. But I don’t. My limbs move before my brain can catch up.

The tub is an ivory clawfoot monstrosity—wide enough for two, deep enough to drown in. Steam curls in the air like ghosted apologies. My pulse stutters when I see Kingston standing there, shirtless, tugging off his sweatpants like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Will you join me?” I ask, voice small.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

I shed my clothes like armor. Peel away the day. The barbs. The restraint. Kingston climbs in first, easing back with a hiss, and then I slide in between his legs. The heat is a shock—then a balm. His arms come around me, steady and sure, like the rest of the world doesn’t get to touch me as long as he’s here.

We sit like that for a long while. My back pressed to his chest, the soft swirl of water lapping against skin. His hands move gently over my shoulders, his thumbs working out knots I didn’t even know I had.

“You okay?” he murmurs eventually, breath brushing my ear.

I nod. Then shake my head. “I expected it. I just… didn’t expect it to hurt this much.” My voice cracks down the middle. “Especially not now.”

Kingston presses a kiss to the curve of my shoulder. “The twins don’t make you weaker, Mya. They make you braver.”

A watery laugh escapes me. “Tell that to my hormones.”

His hands still, then resume their slow path up and down my arms. “You said Isabel’s been trying?”

“For over a year,” I whisper. “They don’t talk about it openly, but it’s written all over her. The resentment. The heartbreak. And I get it, I do. But tonight… it felt like she was aiming to gut me with it.”

“She was,” he says flatly. “And so was Sofia.”

I suck in a shaky breath. “They’ve always had a problem with me. I was the youngest, the most rebellious, the one who disappointed Mom the most.” My fingers trail through the water. “I thought maybe being pregnant—being older—might change something. But it’s like I’m still the same screw-up in their eyes.”

Kingston pulls me tighter. “They don’t get to define you.”

“Funny,” I murmur. “Kyle tried that too.”

Kingston stills.

I don’t usually talk about Kyle. My ex-fiancé is like a shadow I refuse to chase. But the words come anyway. “He cheated. A month before our wedding. With someone he worked with. When I confronted him, he said I made him feel like an accessory. That I wasn’t enough—too intense, too independent, too much. So I packed my bags and left. Never looked back.”

Silence stretches between us.