Chapter 50
Jess
When Marco’s hand reaches up to pull off the cap, my whole body tenses like I’m about to watch a horror movie reveal.
Brace yourself.
Remember, it doesn’t matter what he looks like.
You’re a good person who doesn’t judge people by their scars.
Except when the N95 mask comes off and I actually see his face, my brain completely short-circuits.
Because holy shit.
He doesn’t look bad at all.
Sure, there are fresh bruises that bloom across his cheekbone. And scabs dot his jaw where Ethan’s knuckles clearly made contact. And yeah, the bear scars are there. The thick ridge running from his cheekbone down to his jaw. The claw tracks across his forehead.
But somehow it all just makes him look more dangerous. More real. Like a warrior who fought a literal bear and lived to tell about it.
The scars don’t diminish him at all.
They just prove his courage.
And he’s still stupidly, unfairly hot.
Maybe even hotter than before, if I’m being completely honest with myself.
Great. So much for not being shallow.
I realize I’ve been standing frozen like an idiot, with my hand at my mouth, so I sit back down. Hard. The chair scrapes against the floor way too loud.
Marco slides into the booth across from us. His movements are careful. Like he’s waiting for me to bolt again.
Ethan sits there with his arms crossed and his jaw tight, not giving anything away.
“I have no defense,” Marco says quietly. His voice is tired. “I hired a PI. After we met in Vegas I just needed to know where you were. Who you were. It was wrong, I know that now. And yeah, I befriended Ethan to get close to you.”
My brother’s hands curl into fists on the table until his knuckles turn white.
“But.” Marco looks at Ethan now. “The friendship became real. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought I’d just show up to jiu-jitsu, get the intel, move on. But you actually became my best friend. That part wasn’t fake.”
Ethan says nothing. His silence is somehow louder than any yelling would be. His knuckles aren’t as white, though, so there’s that.
“I’m sorry,” Marco continues. “For starting it as a lie. For manipulating you. For all the shit I said during the fight.” He pauses. Swallows hard. “I was trying to make you angry. Wanted you to hurt me. Punish me for what I’d do. I know that doesn’t excuse it but it’s the truth.”
Still nothing from Ethan.
Then Marco turns to me and the intensity in his eyes makes my stomach do its old butterfly thing.
“I’ve realized I’ve loved you since Vegas,” he says. Just puts it out there like he’s ordering coffee. “Even though I was engaged. Even though I got married two days later. Even though I had a wife I should have been devoted to.”
Oh.
Oh no.
We’re doing this.
Right here in a hipster café in front of my brother.
“I felt guilty every single day,” he continues. His voice cracks slightly. “Disloyal. To Isotta. To her memory. Even after she passed, I couldn’t let myself want you because it felt like betrayal. I couldn’t—”
But I’m already moving. Sliding out of my side of the booth and into his, wrapping my arms around him before my brain can tell my body to stop.
He freezes for half a second. Then his good arm comes around me and holds on like I’m the only thing keeping him anchored to earth.
I can feel him shaking.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
You’re trying to be strong and independent and definitely not in love with your former boss who hired a private investigator to stalk your life.
Too late. The tears are already coming.
Ethan makes a sound. When I glance over, his expression has softened from granite to something almost human. He reaches across the table and grips Marco’s shoulder. The injured one, but gently.
“I’m going to attend the trauma circle weekly,” Marco says into my hair. “And take actual therapy. Dr. Hale already has me scheduled. Full transparency with Ethan from now on. No more secrets.”
He pulls back enough to look at me. “And I want to fund Brave Kitchen. Scholarships for staff families. But at arm’s length. Supportive, not managerial. Your IP. Your vision.”
Oh God, he remembered. He actually listened when I rambled on about it.
“Nico Rossi told me something at the mirror circle,” Marco continues. A small, wry smile tugs at his scarred mouth. “He said I’d love myself again, mostly because I’d get bored of hating myself.”
Despite everything, I laugh. It comes out kind of watery and broken but it’s real.
“That’s actually pretty accurate,” Ethan mutters. His first words since we sat down.
And then we’re all laughing. And crying. And hugging like a bunch of emotionally damaged people who finally figured out how to have one honest conversation.
When we finally pull apart, Marco’s eyes are red-rimmed but clearer than I’ve seen them in weeks.
“Will you come by tomorrow?” he asks. “So we can work on a new nanny contract. Proper boundaries. Fair terms. Elena will review everything. If you’ll have me.”
Ethan looks at me. “You want to go?”
I nod. Because I do. Because Ben needs me. Because Marco needs me. Because maybe I need them, too.
“I’m coming with you,” Ethan says immediately.
“That’s not necessary,” I tell him.
His jaw sets. “Jess.”
“I’ll be fine.” I squeeze his hand. “I promise.”
The look he gives me says he’s not convinced but he’ll allow it. Barely.
Before we leave, Ethan turns back to Marco. His expression is serious again.
“You and me,” he says slowly. “It’s going to take a while before things get back to the way they were between us. If they ever do.”
“I understand,” Marco replies. He doesn’t make excuses or try to rush forgiveness. Just accepts it.
Ethan looks at me one last time. “You’re sure about going alone tomorrow?”
“I’m sure.” I stand up, brush off my jeans. “Just to sign the contract.”
Just to sign the contract.
Right.
Because that’s definitely all that’s going to happen when you show up at the house where you used to live.
Where Ben is probably having nightmares without you.
After Marco finally showed his face and admitted he’s been in love with you for years.
Everything is fine.
I give Marco another hug before we go. He holds on maybe a second longer than necessary. Long enough for me to catch his scent. Bitter orange and espresso and cedar and him.
It shouldn’t smell as good as it does.
When I pull away, his fingers trail down my arm before letting go completely.
“Tomorrow,” he says. It’s half a question.
“Tomorrow,” I confirm.
Outside the café, Ethan walks me to his vehicle. Not far from it, I can see Jag waiting with Marco’s Range Rover. I wave, and his head of security waves back.
I load into Ethan’s car. My brother doesn’t say anything but his protective energy is loud enough.
“I know what I’m doing,” I tell him.
He snorts. “Do you?”
Absolutely not.
But I’m going through with it anyway.
“I’ll text you when I get there tomorrow,” I promise. “And when I leave. Full transparency, just like Marco said.”
Ethan studies me for a long moment. Then he sighs and pulls me into a hug.
“He really loves you,” he mutters into my hair. “I can tell. I’m still pissed about the PI thing but I believe him.”
“I know,” I whisper back.
Because I do know. I saw it written all over Marco’s scarred face when he looked at me.
Raw and desperate and real.
The question is whether I’m brave enough to love him back.
Ethan pulls into traffic.
My phone buzzes. A text from Marco: Thank you for giving me another chance.
I stare at the message for way too long before typing back: Thank you for finally showing up. P.S. Your face is not as scary as you thought.
Three dots appear immediately. Then: See you tomorrow. Ben can’t wait.
Ben.
I rub my eyes.
God, I miss that kid so much it makes my chest hurt.
I pocket my phone and lean my head against the window, watching Brooklyn blur past.
Tomorrow I’m going back to the townhouse.
Back to the place that felt more like home than anywhere I’ve lived in years.
Back to the little girl who needs me.
This is either the start of something real or the most spectacular crash and burn in influencer-turned-nanny history.