“Define okay.” I face her and slump against the opposite island.
Her lips curve. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
“Honestly? I hadn’t let myself…uh.Shit. I’m trying to process the sheer volume of it all. Forty women, Ronni. Forty.” I wince, picturing my boyfriend in the fucking stairwell with other women—thinner, more beautiful, younger…
“You love him.” She nods, slow and steady.
It’s not a question. “I do. So much it scares the hell out of me.”
“Then I’m going to tell you the same thing my therapist told me the first time a tabloid published a rumor about Connor’s sex life after they found out we were a couple.” She glances at me sideways. “You don’t get to rewrite the past. Only the present and the future.”
I exhale, eyes trained on the edge of the counter. “My head knows it. My heart tells me it’s different when it’s your person. I hate knowing those women felt the type of pleasure he gives me. Physically at least. It messes with your head.”
“Of course it does.” Ronni’s voice softens. “You’re human. You need to remember you have something they didn’t. Seamus didn’t just open his body to you, Marcella. He’s given you the part of himself no one else has. Thebestpart.”
I swallow hard.
Ronni steps toward me and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear in a gesture so motherly and intimate it nearly undoes me. “Don’t let shame write the script. You have every right to feel hurt, or confused, or even angry. If it’s any consolation, I’ve known Seamus a long time. He’s kind. Loyal. Complicated, yeah. He’s got a steady heart. He needs you to hold steady, too.”
I press my lips together, holding back tears.
Ronni smiles, then opens a drawer and rummages around until she finds what she’s looking for. A business card, which she hands to me. “This is the firm I recommend. You should vet them. If there is any doubt, we’ll regroup.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I stare down at the card, the weight of it heavier than the cardstock should allow.
“Connor is going to help his brother financially,” she adds. “For what it’s worth, Seamus needs to handle this. As a man. With you at his side, not in front of him with a shield.”
“I get it,” I whisper. “I just hate feeling like I can’t fix it for him.”
“You can’t,” she says gently. “You can only stand beside him while he cleans his own house. You’re not alone, Marcella. We’re here for you too.” She pulls me in for a brief, fierce hug. “I mean it.”
After a moment I’m able to steel myself and we make our way back into the den.
Seamus is waiting with my car keys in hand. He’s smiling at something Connor said. The moment he sees me, the smile falters. Not entirely—enough.
The ride home is quiet, humming with everything unsaid. I rest my hand on his thigh, and he covers it with his own. Our fingers interlace without thought.
He’s thinking about the women. I know it. About the money. The fallout. The way I looked at him when Ronni said “forty.” I didn’t mean to recoil. I couldn’t help it, the number hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
We don’t talk until we’re inside my condo. He kicks off his shoes and hesitates like he’s waiting for me to say something.
Instead, I grab his hand and lead him to the bedroom.
He pulls me back again. “You’re not…angry?”
“I’m furious,” I correct him. “Not at you. Not really. I’m angry you have to carry this. Even more pissed the truth might not be enough.”
His face falters for a second. The quiet devastation nearly guts me. Before the weight of it can drag him under, I kiss him—soft and deliberate. Then deeper, until we’re breathing each other in like the only air we need lives between us.
His hands come to my waist, tentative at first. Then certain.
He breaks the kiss with a gravelly whisper, “I don’t deserve you.”
“Maybe not,” I tug his sweatshirt over his head, “you have me anyway.”
“I want to rewrite it all.” I unbutton and unzip his pants and he lets me. Doesn’t speak, doesn’t rush. Watches me like I’m something holy. “All those women who only wanted a piece of you in a stairwell—all the ones who took what you gave without seeing the man underneath? I want to erase them. I want to be the one who rewrites those memories—with love, with depth, with forever.”
“You already have.” His voice breaks. “Marcella. You’re all I ever wanted. All I ever dreamed about—even when I didn’t think someone like you was real.”
