Chapter 24
Wyatt
I’m adjusting the same photograph on my wall for the third time, nervous energy buzzing under my skin.
Three days ago, I called Snow and asked her to do something crazy.
“You want me to what?” Snow’s voice rises slightly over the phone.
I pace my loft, phone pressed to my ear, second-guessing this idea for the hundredth time. “I want you to meet my friends. Derek and his wife Annette. They’ve been asking about you.”
There’s a pause. “That sounds nice. When were you thinking?”
I take a breath. “And… Jade and her wife, Clara.”
The silence on the other end is deafening. I can practically hear her heart racing through the phone.
“Jade,” she repeats, her voice carefully neutral. “The model from St. Lucia. Jade.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” I say quickly.
“I know those photos still hurt. But Snow, I keep thinking about what you said on the beach — about needing to see what’s real versus what’s performance.
Jade and Clara are my friends. I thought…
maybe if you met them, saw them together, it might help replace those fake images with something real. ”
Another long pause. I’m about to tell her to forget it, that it’s too much too soon, when she speaks.
“Let’s do it.” Her voice is shaky but determined. “I can’t keep letting those photos have power over me. I know Jade isn’t a threat. I know the dinner was staged. But knowing something and feeling it are different. So I need to face this.”
Tonight, Snow is meeting Jade and Clara. I’m either about to help her heal from the St. Lucia trauma, or I’m about to watch everything we’ve rebuilt crumble.
My mom’s Texas chili simmers on the stove — one of only three things I can cook without disaster.
The buzzer rings, and my heart gives a hard jolt.
Snow is standing in my doorway, looking beautiful in a simple dress that makes her eyes shine. But I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s gripping a bottle of red wine like a lifeline.
“Hi,” she says, her voice a little too bright.
I take the wine from her. “You okay?”
“I’m here,” she says, which isn’t really an answer. She steps inside, and her hands are trembling as she reaches for the wine opener.
Derek and his wife Annette arrive a few minutes later, bringing with them a chaotic, joyful energy that immediately helps diffuse some of the tension. Annette is sharp and witty, with a laugh that’s loud and infectious. She immediately pulls Snow into a warm hug.
“I have been dying to meet you,” Annette says. “Derek and Wyatt have been friends since college, and I’ve never seen this one—” she jerks her thumb at me “—so completely gone over someone. It’s adorable.”
Snow laughs, a real laugh, and some of the tension in her shoulders eases. “He talks about you guys all the time, too.”
“All lies,” Derek says, grinning. “We’re actually terrible people.”
The easy banter helps. I see Snow starting to relax, her smile becoming more genuine. We’re all chatting in the kitchen when the buzzer rings again.
The change in Snow is immediate. Her entire body goes rigid. Her hand, which had been resting casually on the counter, clenches into a fist. I see her take a deliberate breath, the kind you take when you’re trying not to panic.
I move closer to her, my hand finding the small of her back. “You sure?” I ask quietly, giving her one last out.
She nods, not trusting her voice.
I open the door. Jade and Clara are standing there, and for a split second, as Snow and Jade see each other for the first time since the media storm, the air in the room is charged with the memory of it.
I see Snow’s face pale. I see her swallow hard. I see her fingers dig into the edge of the counter. And I see the exact moment the photos flash through her mind — Wyatt and Jade, candlelight, champagne, his hand covering hers. The image that shattered her trust.
Then Clara, who is a bubbly, unstoppable force of nature, seems to read the room instantly. She breezes past Jade and throws her arms around Snow.
“Oh my god, Snow, it is so good to finally meet you!” she exclaims, her voice full of genuine warmth. She pulls back but keeps her hands on Snow’s shoulders, looking her directly in the eyes. “And I am so, so sorry for the absolute nightmare my wife and your boyfriend put you through.”
The directness seems to shock Snow out of her panic. “I — thank you.”
“That publicist,” Clara continues, shaking her head. “What an absolute trash fire of a human being. I told Jade, if I ever meet that man, I’m going to have words. And by words, I mean I’m going to make him cry.”
Despite herself, Snow lets out a startled laugh.
Jade steps forward more cautiously. She’s watching Snow with careful, kind eyes.
“Hi, Snow. I’m Jade.” She doesn’t try to hug her, doesn’t invade her space.
“I wanted to say — and I know this doesn’t fix anything — but I’m really sorry.
I should have realized what that publicist was doing. I should have shut it down.”
Snow is quiet for a moment, and I can see her processing, fighting through the emotional reaction to see the reality in front of her. Jade, holding Clara’s hand. The way they lean into each other. The rings on their fingers.
“It’s not your fault,” Snow says finally, her voice a little shaky but sincere. “You were both used.”
“We were,” Jade agrees. “And for the record, Wyatt is a terrible fake boyfriend.”
The joke hangs in the air, and I hold my breath. Is it too soon? Too flip?
But then Jade continues, her eyes twinkling with gentle humor. “He spent our entire ‘romantic’ dinner talking about you and showing me photos of your dates. I told Clara afterward that I’d never seen someone so lovesick. It was actually kind of adorable, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“She is definitely not into that sort of thing,” Clara adds. “I, however, am. Which is why we work.”
Something in Snow’s posture shifts. Not completely relaxed — there’s still tension thrumming through her — but the panic has faded.
“I heard about the zipper incident,” Snow says quietly, and I’m amazed at her courage. She’s naming it, confronting it directly.
“Oh my god, that stupid zipper,” Clara groans. “Jade FaceTimed me specifically so I could watch Wyatt struggle with it. It took him like five minutes to get it unstuck. He has absolutely no fine motor skills.”
“Hey,” I protest weakly.
“It’s true and you know it,” Clara says. “You build beautiful furniture with power tools, but ask you to thread a needle or unstick a zipper? Hopeless.”
The tension breaks. Not completely — I can still see Snow’s careful awareness, the way she’s monitoring her own reactions — but there’s laughter now. Real laughter.
We move to the table, and dinner begins. The conversation flows, helped along by Derek’s terrible jokes and Annette’s embarrassing stories about our college days. Every so often, I catch Snow’s eye across the table. Each time, I ask silently: You okay? And each time, she gives me a small nod.
At one point, Derek pulls out his phone to show Annette a photo, and somehow we end up looking at my old modeling portfolio. Derek scrolls through, finding the most ridiculous shots — mostly of me dressed as a pirate.
“These are hilarious,” Annette cackles. “Snow, have you seen these?”
I expect Snow to tense up again — photos of me with other models, performing, exactly what triggered her trauma. But instead, she leans in to look, and I see her actively choosing not to let it hurt her.
“I don’t know,” Snow says, a playful glint in her eye as she looks at the Highlander shot. “I’m partial to the kilt. There’s something about a man who’s not afraid of a little plaid.”
Clara hoots with laughter. “See? I told you! The kilt is a classic!”
I watch Snow, amazed. She’s joking about my modeling work. She’s looking at photos of me in costume with other models, and she’s choosing to see them as silly, separate from who I really am.
“The kilt was extremely uncomfortable,” I inform them. “And very drafty.”
“TMI, Ford,” Derek says, and everyone laughs.
After dinner, as we’re clearing plates, the conversation turns to more serious things. Snow, visibly more relaxed now, starts talking about her consulting company. Her passion is infectious.
The others listen, impressed. I see Derek and Jade exchange a small, knowing smile.
“You two are going to do amazing things,” Clara says, taking a sip of her wine.
Eventually, people start to leave. Clara gives Snow another fierce hug. “You’re good people,” she tells her. “And if you ever want to hear more embarrassing stories about Wyatt from his early modeling days, I have an entire collection.”
“I might take you up on that,” Snow says, and it sounds like she means it.
Jade hangs back for a moment as Clara heads to the door. She looks at Snow, her expression sincere. “Thank you for giving me a chance. I know it wasn’t easy.”
“It wasn’t,” Snow admits. “But I’m glad I did. Clara is a hoot, and you’re an amazing woman too.”
After everyone is gone and the door closes behind them, Snow leans against it, letting out a long, shaky breath. Her hands are trembling.
“You okay?” I ask, watching her carefully.
“That was…” She pauses, searching for words. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “That was really hard.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” She pushes off the door and comes to me.
“I’m glad we did it. I needed to see that Jade is just a person.
That Clara adores her. That the whole thing really was just a stupid setup.
” She takes my hands, and I can feel them shaking.
“I needed to replace those poisoned images with something real.”
“You were so brave tonight,” I tell her.
“I was terrified,” she admits with a shaky laugh. “When she first walked in, all I could see were those photos. Everything came rushing back, and I almost ran. I had my hand on the counter and I was thinking about how quickly I could get to the door.”
“What stopped you?”
“Clara.” Snow smiles. “She hugged me like we were old friends. And then Jade apologized. Everything seemed so normal.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her forehead resting against my chest, her breathing starting to slow. Then she whispers, “I’m starting to believe this is real. It’s scary, but… I’m starting to believe it.”
I hold her tighter, my own relief washing over me. “It is real. This — us — it’s the most real thing in my life.”
She tilts her head up to look at me, and her eyes are still shining, but there’s something else there now. Not just fear. Not just caution. Hope.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “For understanding that I needed to do this. For not trying to protect me from it.” She reaches up and kisses me, soft and tender and full of promise. When she pulls back, she’s smiling — a real smile, the kind that lights up her whole face.