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“I need to get you out of this room and lost in the crowd, just in case Nathan does actually get on a plane.”
I don’t say anything like ‘he wouldn’t do that’ because…thisisNathan Armstrong.
I smile widely and let Michael escort me to the elevator. Being loved by these three men is amazing.
I amtheirprincess.
“Dr. Samson, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Danielle Larkin.”
Michael’s hand is on my lower back as he introduces me to another colleague and friend. Or at least colleague. I assume he’s friends with most of these people. Michael makes friends so easily and everyone he’s introduced me to has seemed very happy to see him.
“Hi, Dr. Samson.”
The man looks about Nathan’s age. He’s in a very nice suit and has perfectly manicured hands. He takes my hand. “It’s a pleasure, Danielle.” He turns to the woman next to him. “This is my wife, Tara.”
Tara is beautiful. Also in her early to mid-forties. She gives me a small smile. Then she very obviously looks me up and down. “Goodness, Michael, where did you two meet? Did you do a presentation at a local high school?”
My eyebrows rise and I feel Michael tense beside me. Okay, that was catty as hell, but it’s obvious to me that Tara is covering up some roots and has had some Botox between her eyebrows, so I decide to take it as a compliment.
I laugh as if completely unbothered…or like I missed her dig at my age. “A hockey game, actually.” I pause and add, “A professional game, not a high school game.”
Tara glances at me, clearly not amused by my answer, but she’s mostly focused on Michael. “We’ve never seen you here with a date before.”
“I never had a serious girlfriend during one of these conferences before,” Michael says. He draws me closer to his side, resting his hand possessively on my hip. “But now, you won’t see me without a date again. Danielle will be a regular as well.”
My heart does a little flip in my chest. I love any time one of the guys makes a reference to our future. I smile up at him and he returns it. Then I smile at Dr. and Mrs. Samson. “I look forward to it.”
Again, Tara doesn’t address me. “I thought you’d just started seeing each other. We, of course, follow the Racketeers. We know about…your situation. And that it’s relatively new.”
Well, I suppose that was inevitable. It’s not as if people in Chicago are the only ones who follow the hockey team. And if Michael is renowned enough to be presenting at their annual conference about sports medicine topics, it makes sense that at least a few of the people in the field would follow him and his career.
It also makes her comment about us meeting at a high school even bitchier.
Her husband coughs. “Tara.”
She glances at him. “What? They are quite open about their relationship in Chicago. He can’t expect that people here won’t know.”
“Of course I don’t expect that,” Michael says. “I have several friends in the room who are privy to what’s going on in my personal life.”
Ialmost cough at that. The implication that Dr. Samson and Tara are not included on that friend list is clear.
“We’ve been together for about five months,” I offer, because I feel like I need to saysomething.
I know there are people who don’t believe a woman can actually, truly love three men. I know because I see those comments online and have received messages telling me as much. But after the first few that I can admit shocked me, I’ve realized that it doesn’t matter what other people think.
The people thatreallymatter are me, Michael, Nathan, and Crew. Those are the only people that need to believe this is real and that I can, and do, love all three of them.
It’s nice that most of our family members and friends also believe it, but I realized at Christmas, when we went home to meet each other’s families and got a mix of reactions, that yes, it makes things easier if they’re all on board, but it doesn’t make what the four of us have any less real if they’re not.
And I certainly don’t need to care about a doctor and his wife that I’ll see maybe once a year at some big convention.
The only thing that keeps me from telling Tara Samson just that is not knowing for sure what role, if any, Dr. Samson has in Michael’s professional life.
“Five months,” Tara says, now looking directly at me. “That’s not even two months per man.”
“Excuse us,” Michael says, his hand pressing into my lower back. “I need to say hello to Dr. Caswell.”
He steers me away from the Samsons and through the crowd in the hotel ballroom. But we don’t go talk to anyone new. He pulls me around a corner.
