9. Serena
Serena
T he dining room is all dark wood and crystal, but I barely register the opulence. I'm too aware of Caleb beside me, his confession still humming between us like a live wire.
Leonard holds court, telling stories about pharmaceutical disasters while we eat lobster that melts on my tongue. Caleb's thigh presses against mine under the table—deliberate, unmistakable, claiming. Every shift sends heat shooting through me.
"Serena works in marketing," April tells Leonard during a lull. "Cosmetics."
"Tough industry," Leonard says, attacking his lobster. "All that competition."
"It has its challenges," I say carefully.
"She's being modest," Caleb interjects, his voice carrying that professional smoothness again, but underneath I hear something else. Pride. "She's brilliant at what she does. I've seen her campaigns—they're art."
"You think they’re art?" I turn to him, surprised.
He doesn't hesitate. "The kind that hooks people and doesn’t let them go. The ambition, the detail, the way you build a story out of nothing and pull everyone inside it. That’s exactly what an artist does.
The only difference is you make millions of people believe in something at once, instead of just a handful. "
I can't find words. Leonard makes an approving noise.
"Well then," he raises his glass, "to brilliant women who tolerate lawyers."
"To friends who finally show up with dates," April counters, winking. "I was beginning to think Caleb was allergic to company."
"Selective," Caleb corrects. "Not allergic."
"Semantics," Leonard laughs. "Point is, you picked well. Don't screw it up, Counselor."
The weight of assumption—that we're together, that this is real—makes my chest tight. Caleb doesn't correct him. Neither do I.
After dinner, Leonard pulls Caleb aside for one final discussion. April and I move to the front deck with brandy that smells as rich as everything else we’ve consumed tonight.
"You two were having quite the moment earlier," she says without preamble.
"You were watching?"
"I've been married to Leonard for fifteen years. I've developed a sixth sense for moments that matter." She swirls her brandy. "He's different with you."
"Everyone says that."
"Because it's true. I've watched Caleb at dozens of these dinners. Usually he's all sharp edges and calculated charm. Tonight he's actually present."
"Maybe he's just?—"
"In deep," April finishes. "The question is, are you?"
I think about what he said earlier, about wanting to be the guy who doesn’t give up. Then I think about my instinct to run, and his refusal to chase. I’m not your warden.
"I don't know how to be," I admit. “I tend to move too fast to feel anything. Which is probably why I keep messing up.”
April smirks, like I’ve passed a secret test. "Men like Caleb—brilliant, driven, terrible at emotions—they don't let people in easily. But when they do?" She meets my eyes. "They don't do it halfway."
"That's terrifying."
"The things worth having usually are."
The men return, Leonard laughing at something Caleb said.
"All sorted?" April asks.
"Perfectly." Leonard kisses her cheek. "Though this one drives a harder bargain than a Tibetan rug merchant."
"That's why you pay me," Caleb says.
"Speaking of which," Leonard checks his watch, "we should get you two back to reality."
My stomach drops. "Back?"
"Helicopter," Caleb says, catching my expression.
"There's a helicopter on this boat?"
"Completely standard," Leonard says, as if personal aircraft are boring.
April slips her arm through mine as we head to the helipad. "You'll love it," she assures me. "Only way to travel."
A crew member leads us up to where a helicopter waits, rotors already spinning. April squeezes me tight. "Don't be a stranger. And call if you want the inside scoop on being a billionaire's wife."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," I say, but I hug her back, meaning it when I add, "I hope to see you again too."
Caleb helps me into the helicopter, then climbs in beside me. His fingers are steady as he helps with my harness, adjusting straps across my chest. Every touch feels deliberate.
"These are noise-canceling," he says, fitting the headphones over my ears. Suddenly his voice is in my head, intimate and clear. "You'll hear me through the mic."
"This is insane," I say, my voice strange in my ears.
"You trust me?"
"With my legal defense."
"But not with this?"
I meet his eyes. "I'm working on it."
The pilot runs through safety information I immediately forget. Then everything vibrates and my stomach drops.
"Oh God." I grab Caleb's hand without thinking.
"Look at me," he says through the headphones. "Not down. Just at me."
I do. His eyes are steady, anchoring. His thumb strokes over my knuckles as we lift off, and suddenly we're flying. The yacht shrinks below us.
"OK?" he asks.
"This is..." I look out at the lights scattered like diamonds. "Holy shit, this is incredible."
"Sure is," he says, and I hear his smile.
Chicago grows larger as we fly south. I'm still holding his hand, our fingers interlaced now, and neither of us mentions it. The city spreads below—my whole world in miniature.
"Thank you," I say suddenly.
"For what?"
"For making me come tonight. I actually forgot my life is imploding for a while there."
He squeezes my hand. "That was the idea."
"Was it? Or did you just want to show off?"
"Maybe both." His voice is warm through the headphones. "You impressed them. Leonard's already planning to invite you to their summer party."
"Please tell me that's not on a yacht."
"Estate in the Hamptons."
"Of course." I pause. "Will you be there?"
"Do you want me to be?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with possibility.
"Ask me when this is over," I say finally. "When I'm not your client anymore."
"I'll hold you to that."
We land on a building I don't recognize. Caleb helps me out, his hand on my back as we navigate to an elevator. My legs are shaky—from the flight or his touch, I'm not sure.
His driver waits in the parking garage.
"We're taking Ms. Morgan home," Caleb informs him.
The ride is quiet. Caleb stays on his side of the car.
I stay on mine. We glide along the lakeshore in silence for almost a minute.
Caleb looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t.
I stare out the window, watching the street lamps smear into gold and white in the rain-polished glass.
Inside my head, the evening replays at reckless speed—the yacht, the laughter, the way he looked at me when we were along.
And the other thing, the unspoken thing. The little voice inside going on and on about how much I want him. I want him in ways I can’t even allow myself to say out loud, because if I do I’ll never fit myself back into the small, practical container I’m expected to occupy.
By the time we reach my building, I’m toes curling and stomach tight, running out of reasons not to throw myself at him.
The driver opens the car door, and the chill of night bumps all over my skin. I smooth my skirt, step out, and glance up to see Caleb standing on the sidewalk, holding my coat in both hands. The sight unsteadies me more than the helicopter did.
“Thank you,” I say, because it’s easier than saying anything else. He drapes the coat over my shoulders, tugging it closed at the lapels, careful but firm. There’s a warmth in the gesture, so at odds with his usual high-gloss lawyer persona that I almost can’t process it.
For a second, it gets weirdly, beautifully quiet. The city noises fade, replaced by the rapid stutter of my heartbeat in my ears.
Caleb looks at me like he’s assessing a contract for fine print and he has to keep re-reading the same line. “If you panic tomorrow,” he murmurs, “picture my face when I saw you in that dress tonight.”
I bark a laugh. “You’re a menace.”
His eyes crinkle a little at the corners. “I’m a lawyer. It’s nearly the same thing.”
A swirl of wind lifts my hair, making me shiver. “Eight sharp tomorrow,” I say, clutching my bag like a shield. “I’ll be ready.”
He stands there long enough that I almost think he’ll move, say something, break the tension in the air with a cutting joke or a gentle touch or a wild, spontaneous kiss. But he just looks at me, like he’s memorizing exactly how I look in this moment—windblown, fragile, stubborn to the end.
“I never doubted it,” he says, voice so soft I barely hear him over the city.
Then he turns and disappears into the night, and I’m left alone in the cold, aware that something is shifting for good this time.