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He watches me intently, surprise and anticipation flicker in his eyes.
“I enjoy expressing my affection physically, I’ve realized it’s a huge part of who I am.” I toe the ground but retain eye contact. “We’ve had sex—well, more than sex— and I don’t see a reason to hold back. It’s clear there’s something you’re keeping from me, and that’s your prerogative. I still want us to explore whatever this is. Let’s do my Tryst List. Hang out whenever we can.” I narrow my eyes. “But leave declarations of love out of the equation until we’re both coming from a place of commitment-level trust.”
Peter leans forward. “I want to be with you and to understand all aspects of your life, and I want you to understand mine. I’m at a disadvantage because of my past behavior, my instinct is to lay out every single problem and flaw about myself and let the chips fall. On the other hand, everything between us feels natural and unforced. Honestly? I’m feeling a bit over my skis.”
“That makes sense.” Encouraged by his response, I lay out my vision for us in the short term. “We’re both professionals with our own lives and obligations. Let’s see if we can mesh our real lives. Take it one day at a time. When—and if—we’re able to figure it out, we can put the 'L' word on the table again.”
A smile spreads across Peter’s face. “I understand, though I won’t be able to help myself if it slips out.” He kisses me. “But I agree. Let’s not waste any more time. I want to know you, all of you. The professional, the artist, the woman.”
Even as he speaks, I can sense a hint of hesitation, as if there’s something he wants to tell me but can’t find the words.
“Peter, are you sure there's not something else on your mind? You’re saying all the right words, but you still seem a bit…conflicted,” I probe, trying to be tactful but firm.
Briefly, a shadow crosses his face. “No. I’m not conflicted about you or us in any way, shape, or form. Please believe me.” He grabs my hand. “I realized something about an important project that’s bothering me. When I feel this way, I like to let it breathe. I’m sorry I haven’t been better about hiding it—or maybe I’m not sorry since you want to be with me for some reason.” He smiles. “Can we not worry about it tonight? I’d really like the rest of the evening to be about us.”
His response piques my curiosity, but I decide not to press further.
“So, your place?” I rest my hands on his trim waist and blink up at him playfully.
He kisses my nose. “Fuck yeah. I thought you’d never ask.”
The walk to Peter’s place is filled with light touches and shared glances, a silent acknowledgment of the relationship we’re both eager to explore. Despite the unanswered questions, I can’t deny there’s a sense of rightness in being with him.
An overwhelming feeling we’re each other's destiny.
We arrive at his condo.
On the way up the elevator, I’m both excited and calm.
Could this be a new beginning for us?
Or, will Peter’s secrets tear us apart?
Chapter nineteen
Peter
Six Weeks Later
My nerves are on high alert.
I’m en route to Jordan’s family home in Medina, where her folks live amongst the who’s who of tech bazillionaires, sports stars, and a couple of actors. It’s not like the caliber of the celebrities she's related to intimidates me—I've worked with famous people for years. It's more like, embarrassingly, I’ve never met a girlfriend’s parents before.
Today's my first time. I'm a parent-meeting virgin.
It's no wonder my nerves are practically vibrating. This isn’t a normal family gathering; it’s a high-profile wedding with security protocols rivaling any A-list celebrity event. Jordan’s brother, Jace, is marrying his longtime love Alex on Valentine's Day, and it’s quite the production.
As I approach the address on the invitation, I’m greeted by a security checkpoint complete with a guest list and bodyguards who look like they’ve stepped out of a Hollywood movie. One of them, stern-faced and armed, checks my ID against the list.
“Name, please?” he asks with no hint of welcome in his tone.
I try to sound like I’m used to this on a daily basis. “Peter Vander.”
He scans the list, nods, allows me passage. The tone of his voice doesn’t change, though his words do. “Welcome, Mr. Vander. Enjoy the wedding.”
A valet intercepts me at the next stop. Once I relinquish my car, there’s a metal detector and a cell phone drop-off point before I’m ushered through the gates onto the grounds of the forty-thousand-square-foot mansion, if my calculations are correct. Though it’s been all Jordan’s talked about for the past couple of weeks, it’s only when I'm actually there the sheer scale of the event becomes apparent. I’m blown away her mother was able to pull this off in such a short amount of time.
The mansion itself is breathtaking, a sprawling testament to luxury and elegance, nestled beautifully on the shores of Lake Washington. The garden is transformed into a tented wedding paradise, delicate fairy lights creating a dreamlike ambiance.
