Chapter 31
Camille
Istumble into my apartment, my hands still shaking from Alexander's unexpected confession. The door barely closes behind me before I notice Julian and Tristan sitting in my living room, their expressions shifting from casual conversation to concern as they take in my flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.
I hadn't expected them to be here, waiting, but something about their presence—so steady, so reliable—makes the knot in my chest both tighten and loosen at the same time.
"Cami?" Julian rises from the couch, crossing the room in three long strides. "What happened?"
I open my mouth to explain, but the words stick in my throat.
How do I tell these two men—these wonderful men who have stood by me through everything—that Alexander's words on that sidewalk have shaken something loose inside me?
That despite all logic and self-preservation, I felt something crack open when he said he couldn't let me go.
Tristan approaches more slowly, his blue eyes never leaving my face. "Let's sit," he suggests, his voice calm even as his jaw tightens with concern.
Julian sits beside me, taking my cold hands in his warm ones, while Tristan perches on the coffee table directly in front of me, our knees almost touching.
"Did he upset you?" Tristan asks, his voice deceptively neutral. But I catch the steel underneath, the protective edge that makes me both grateful and guilty. They knew that I was meeting Alexander for dinner.
"Not exactly." I take a deep breath, trying to organize the chaotic swirl of emotions into something coherent.
"He followed me after Fiona showed up at the restaurant.
Told me they weren't together, even though she totally made it seem like they were.
Then he said he's never stopped thinking about me.
That pushing me away was the biggest mistake he ever made. "
Julian's fingers tighten slightly around mine. "And do you believe him?"
"I don't know." The truth spills out, ragged and honest. "He seemed.
.. different. Raw. Like he was finally showing me something real.
" I look between them, these men who have been nothing but genuine with me from the start.
"You should have seen his face when he heard the baby's heartbeat at the appointment. He looked... transformed."
"That doesn't erase what he did," Tristan points out gently. "How he treated you when you tried to tell him about the baby."
"I know." Tears burn behind my eyes, not falling yet but threatening. "I know that. But I also know that people make mistakes. That fear makes us do stupid, hurtful things."
Julian releases my hands to wrap an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. "What do you want, Cami? Not what you think you should want, or what would be easiest, or what would hurt the least. What do you actually want?"
His question cuts through all my defenses, straight to the heart of the matter. What do I want? The answer rises before I can stop it, honest in its complexity.
"I want..." My voice breaks, and I have to start again.
"Part of me still wants him. Still wants to give him a chance.
But I don't—" I look between them, suddenly desperate for them to understand.
"I don't want to lose what we have. I don't want either of you to think that this changes anything between us. "
"What about after the baby comes?" Tristan asks, his gaze steady on mine. "Have you thought about what that looks like? The four of us trying to co-parent?"
"I know it's complicated," I admit. "Maybe impossible. And if he can't accept you, or you can't accept him, then it's not happening. I won't sacrifice what we've built for a maybe."
Julian presses a kiss to my temple, his voice low against my ear. "We just want you to be happy, babe. Whatever that looks like."
"Even if it includes Alexander?" I search his face, then Tristan's, looking for any sign of resentment or reluctance.
Tristan reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "We're not thrilled about it," he admits with brutal honesty that makes me love him more. "He hurt you. But he's also the father of your child. And if you still have feelings for him..."
"We can figure it out," Julian finishes. "One step at a time."
The tears I've been holding back finally spill down my cheeks. "I don't deserve you. Either of you."
"Don't start with that," Julian says firmly, thumbing away a tear. "You deserve everything good, Cami. Everything."
Tristan nods, his hand finding mine. "Julian's right. This isn't about deserving. It's about choice. And we choose you—all of you, including the complicated parts."
Their acceptance—so complete, so unconditional—washes over me, leaving me so grateful. "I'm so lucky," I whisper, squeezing Tristan's hand while leaning deeper into Julian's embrace. "To have you both in my life."
"So what happens now?" Julian asks after a moment of comfortable silence. "Do you want to talk to Alex? Figure out what he's actually proposing?"
I nod, the path forward becoming clearer as we talk. "I think I need to. But I need time first. To think. To be sure I'm not just getting swept away by pretty words."
"Take all the time you need," Tristan says. "We're not going anywhere."
The simplicity of his promise—we're not going anywhere—settles something inside me. Whatever happens with Alexander, whatever complications arise as we figure out this unconventional family we're creating, I have these two men as my foundation. My constants.
"Thank you," I say, the words inadequate for the depth of what I'm feeling. "For listening. For understanding. For not making me choose."
Julian's arm tightens around me. "That's what this is all about, right? Not forcing someone into a box, but giving them room to be fully themselves."
And as they both move to hold me—Julian still beside me, Tristan abandoning the coffee table to join us on the couch—I realize that this, right here, is worth fighting for. Worth figuring out the impossible logistics. Worth taking a risk on Alexander and the complicated future that awaits us all.
I wake up the next morning to a text from Tristan: Just us today. Pick you up at 11 for lunch?
The text makes me smile. After last night's emotional conversation, the thought of a day with just Tristan feels like exactly what I need—uncomplicated, fun.
After working from home for a few hours, I throw on my yellow sundress, its soft fabric skimming over the curve of my belly, and slip into sandals just as my phone buzzes with his arrival.
Tristan waits by his car, leaning against the sleek black exterior with casual elegance that makes my heart skip a beat. He's dressed down today—jeans and a light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing the strong forearms I love to trace with my fingertips.
"You look beautiful," he says as I approach, his eyes taking me in with that focused attention that I love. He opens the passenger door with a small smile. "Ready?"
"Where are we going?" I ask as he slides into the driver's seat beside me.
"Nowhere in particular." He starts the car, his profile strong against the morning light. "I thought we'd just... be together. No agenda."
The city unfolds around us as we drive, eventually parking near the park.
We walk together, his hand finding mine so naturally it makes my chest ache.
This man, so reserved with others, touches me with such intimacy—a hand at the small of my back, fingers laced through mine, knuckles brushing my cheek. Small claims staked in quiet moments.
We find a small Italian café for lunch, sitting outside under a striped awning as people pass by on the sidewalk. Tristan orders for both of us in perfect Italian that draws an appreciative smile from our waiter.
"Show-off," I tease, nudging his foot under the table.
"If you think that's impressive, wait until you hear my French." His eyes crinkle at the corners, the rare full smile that transforms his usually serious face.
"Mmm, I’d like to hear that in the bedroom," I say, feeling bold and playful in the sunshine.
His expression shifts almost imperceptibly, humor giving way to something deeper, more intent. He reaches across the table, taking my hand and turning it palm up. His thumb traces the lines there with deliberate slowness.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice coming out softer than intended.
"Memorizing you," he answers simply.
Tristan has always been sparing with his words, careful with his emotions. It's part of what draws me to him—the sense that when he does share something, it's because he means it completely.
"Tristan..."
He looks up then, his blue eyes holding mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "I love you, Camille."
The world narrows to this moment—his hand holding mine, the quiet certainty in his voice, the weight of those three words from a man who doesn't say them lightly.
"I know the timing is complicated," he continues, his voice low. "With Alex, with everything. But I needed you to know."
"I love you too," I whisper, the words rising from somewhere deep and true. "So much."
His hand tightens around mine, his exhale soft but audible. He raises my fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles that somehow feels more intimate than if he'd kissed my mouth.
We finish lunch in a golden haze of quiet conversation and lingering touches. As we walk back toward the car, Tristan guides me in a different direction.
"I thought we might stop somewhere first," he says, nodding toward a store across the street. The window display features tiny clothes and plush animals—a baby boutique, elegant and understated.
"If you're comfortable with it," he says, his eyes searching mine. "I thought it might be nice to start thinking about practical things. But we don't have to."
"Oh my gosh! I’d love that," I say, a flutter of excitement rushes through my body. "I haven't bought anything yet. It felt... I don't know, like tempting fate."