Chapter 7 Trinity #3
"Yeah. Ah." I laugh, but it comes out shaky. "Turns out keeping a small-town bakery afloat requires more than passion and good intentions. Eleanor had been borrowing against the property to cover operating costs, betting on me being able to turn things around."
"And you tried."
"I tried everything. Extended hours, catering services, online ordering, social media marketing.
I learned bookkeeping, applied for small business grants, negotiated with suppliers.
" My voice tightens. "But small-town economics are brutal.
People want fresh bread, but they shop for groceries at the big chain store twenty minutes away because it's cheaper. "
"So you came here."
"So I came here." I meet his eyes. "Hoping reality TV fame might translate into enough business to honor Eleanor's faith in me."
"You carry her memory through your work."
"I try. Some days I feel like I'm failing her all over again."
"Today?"
"Today... maybe not." I bump his shoulder with mine. "Hard to feel like a failure when someone calls your work honorable."
"Your work is honorable."
"Even if I'm terrible at the business side?"
"Especially then. Creating something beautiful while struggling to survive shows character."
We fall into another comfortable silence. The fake forest around us feels surprisingly peaceful, like we're the only two people in the world.
"Can I tell you something embarrassing?" I ask eventually.
"Always."
"Before today, before the scandal broke, I was starting to think maybe this show could work. Not just for publicity, but... actually work. Like maybe I could find someone who gets it, who understands what it means to fight for something you believe in."
"And now?"
"Now I think maybe I was right." I turn to study his profile. "Is that crazy? To think we might be finding something real in the middle of all this artificial nonsense?"
"If it is crazy, then we are both crazy."
"Good crazy or bad crazy?"
"The kind of crazy that makes you want to protect someone's dreams along with their safety."
My heart flip-flops. "Korgan..."
"Yes?"
"What happens after the show? I mean, assuming either of us wins, or doesn't win, or whatever. What happens to... this?"
He considers the question seriously, like he considers everything. "I do not know. But I would like to find out."
"Even if it's complicated? Even if your clan disapproves of dating humans?"
"Even then."
The certainty in his voice makes me brave enough to voice the thought that's been building all evening.
"I want to introduce you to my parents."
His entire body goes still. "What?"
"Not in person, obviously. But production mentioned they might do family introduction segments, where relatives send video messages about the contestants.
" I speak quickly, encouraged by his attention.
"I could ask them to make a video for you specifically.
Help the audience see you as more than just the orc bachelor.
Show them you're someone's potential son-in-law, not just a novelty. "
The silence stretches uncomfortably long.
"Trinity..."
"They'd love you. My dad especially. He's all about integrity and hard work, and my mom has this thing for lost causes—she'd adopt you in about five minutes."
"I cannot."
The words hit like cold water. "What do you mean you can't?"
"I cannot meet your family. Not through video messages, not in person. Not yet."
"Why not?"
He stands abruptly, pacing to the edge of our fake clearing. "It is complicated."
"Everything's complicated. That doesn't mean we avoid it."
"This is different."
"How?"
When he turns back to me, his expression has returned to that carefully controlled mask I'm learning to recognize as his defensive mode.
"Your family expects certain things from potential partners. Standards. Accomplishments." His voice roughens. "I cannot represent myself as someone worthy of their daughter when my own clan questions my worth."
"That's ridiculous. You're—"
"I am an exile, Trinity. A failed leader who volunteered for human entertainment to regain standing I lost through poor judgment.
" The words come out harsh, self-condemning.
"Your parents will research my background, discover my political failures, learn that associating with me could damage your reputation further. "
"You don't know my parents."
"I know enough about parents."
Something in his tone suggests personal experience with parental disappointment. I stand, moving closer despite his obvious desire for distance.
"What aren't you telling me?"
"Nothing relevant."
"Try again."
He looks away, jaw tightening. "My own father disowned me when I chose exile over exile. Said I brought shame to the family name, that voluntary participation in human spectacle proved I had no honor left to salvage."
Oh.
"Your father said that?"
"Among other things."
"What other things?"
"That I am dead to him. That using our family's reputation to rehabilitate my own political standing shows fundamental selfishness. That I care more about personal advancement than clan welfare."
The pain in his voice cuts deep. "Do you believe him?"
"Some days."
"And other days?"
"Other days I remember that defending human children during wartime was the right choice, regardless of political consequences."
He defended human children. The pieces of his past click into place with the exile, the shame, the strict way he talks about honor and protecting people.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing heroic. I prevented unnecessary casualties during a territorial dispute.
Children were caught in the crossfire, and I chose their safety over tactical advantage.
" His voice flattens. "My unit suffered losses because of that choice.
Families blamed me for deaths that might have been prevented with different priorities. "
"You saved children."
"I failed my warriors."
"You made an impossible choice in an impossible situation."
"I made the choice that cost me everything." He finally meets my eyes. "Including the right to represent myself as suitable for someone like you."
The vulnerability beneath his words breaks my heart.
This strong, thoughtful man who defended me to cameras and producers, who speaks about honor and partnership like they're sacred concepts, who makes tea and talks about metalworking with quiet passion, reduced to shame because he chose mercy over strategy.
"You're wrong," I say.
"About what?"
"About not being suitable. About not being worthy. About my parents not loving everything I'm falling for."
He goes very still. "Falling for?"
Shit. Did I just...?
"I..." My face burns. "I meant... that is..."
"Trinity."
"Yes?"
"Are you falling for me?"
The question hangs between us like a challenge. Honest answer or safe deflection?
"Yes," I whisper. "I think I am."
His smile starts slow and builds into something radiant. "Good."
"Good?"
"Because I am definitely falling for you."
And then he's kissing me, properly this time, with none of the hesitation from our cinnamon roll moment. His hands frame my face like I'm something precious, and I melt into him completely.
I'm breathless and dizzy and absolutely certain about what I want.
"The family video offer still stands," I manage. "When you're ready. No pressure, no timeline. Just... when you're ready to let someone else see how amazing you are."
"Maybe," he says carefully. "Someday."
"Someday works."
And standing there in our artificial forest, surrounded by fake trees and manufactured romance, what we're building feels like the most real thing I've ever experienced.