Chapter 12
Vance
I woke with Tobias in my arms, unsure of what to do next.
This wasn't something I had experience with.
The morning after. The moment when two people who'd crossed a line had to navigate the space they'd created.
My previous encounters had been straightforward: physical, uncomplicated, easily concluded with a handshake and a mutual agreement to never speak of it again.
This was different.
Tobias was different.
He was still asleep, his body fitting against mine as if designed for it.
His hair was a mess, dark strands falling across his forehead.
His lips were slightly parted, still swollen from the night before.
In sleep, he looked younger. Softer. Like the careful armor he wore during the day had finally been set aside.
I'd almost lost him.
The thought hit me like a punch. Yesterday, he'd been folding my clothes, preparing to leave, convinced I didn't want him. If I'd stayed frozen in that doorway for another minute, if fear had kept me silent, he'd be gone. Out there somewhere, alone, thinking he wasn't wanted.
Because I'd been too fucking scared to tell him the truth.
I tightened my arms around him. He stirred, making a soft sound of protest, and burrowed closer.
"Too early," he mumbled against my chest.
"It's almost nine."
"Too early."
I smiled into his hair. "Since when do you sleep late?"
"Since someone kept me up half the night." He tilted his head up, and even half-asleep, his eyes sparkled with something that made my chest ache. "I'm not complaining."
"Good."
We lay there for a while, neither of us moving to get up. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting warm stripes across the bed. Outside, the world hummed with its usual noise. Inside, everything was quiet. Still. Like we'd carved out a pocket of space that belonged only to us.
"This is strange," Tobias eventually said.
"What is?"
"Being allowed to stay." He traced a finger along my collarbone. "I keep waiting for you to tell me to go."
"I'm not going to tell you to go."
"I know. That's what's strange." He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. "I've never had this before. Someone who actually wants me here."
The words were matter-of-fact, but I heard the weight beneath them. Twenty-six years of being treated like a chess piece, moved around the board according to someone else's strategy. Never asked what he wanted. Never allowed to want at all.
"I want you here," I said. "I should have told you sooner."
"Yes. You should have." But he was smiling. "I'm considering forgiving you."
"Considering?"
"It's a process. I might need to be convinced."
I pulled him down and kissed him. Long and slow, nothing like the desperate hunger of last night. This was something else. Softer. More certain. The kind of kiss that said I'm not going anywhere.
When we finally broke apart, he was breathless.
"Okay," he said. "I'm convinced."
We stayed in bed until almost
noon, not doing anything in particular. Just talking, touching, learning this new version of us.
Tobias shared his architecture courses at Columbia, the historic preservation project his father had dismissed, and the designs he'd sketched in secret—buildings he dreamed of creating, spaces he imagined bringing to life.
"Why didn't you fight for it?" I asked.
"Fight how?" He shrugged, but old pain lingered in his eyes. "My father controls the family company. My brother was always going to take over. There was no place for my ideas."
"So you just gave up?"
"I filed them away. Told myself I'd revisit them someday, when I had more standing. When I'd proven myself." His laugh was hollow. "Except I was never going to prove myself. That wasn't the point. The point was keeping me busy until they needed me for something."
"Like marrying Elizabeth."
"Like marrying Elizabeth." He paused. "I used to think I was being strategic. Playing the long game. But really, I was just scared. Scared of what would happen if I actually fought for something I wanted."
I understood that fear. I'd lived inside it for years, building walls so high I couldn't see over them.
"You fought yesterday," I said. "When you told me you were leaving."
"That wasn't fighting. That was surrendering."
"It was both." I tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. "You stood up for yourself. Drew a line. Said what you needed."
"And then you almost let me walk out the door."
"I almost did." I didn't look away from the truth of it. "I was terrified. Of wanting you, of needing you, of what it would mean if I let myself have this."
"And now?"
"Now I'm still terrified." I pulled him closer. "But I'm more afraid of losing you than of wanting you. So I guess that's progress."
He kissed me softly. "It's progress."
Eventually, we had to get up.
Tobias claimed the shower first, and I lay in bed listening to the water run, marveling at how different the apartment felt.
The same four walls, the same worn furniture, the same view out the window.
But everything had shifted. The silence that used to feel empty now felt full.
Waiting. Like the space itself was holding its breath for whatever came next.
When Tobias emerged, wrapped in a towel and trailing steam, I had to forcibly remind myself that we couldn't spend all day in bed.
"Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're considering dragging me back to bed."
"I'm always considering that."
He laughed. A real laugh, bright and unguarded. Something in my chest expanded a little wider.
"Coffee first," he said. "Then you can think about it."
Over coffee, we discussed what came next.
"Your family's going to keep looking for you," I said. "The longer you stay hidden, the more desperate they'll become."
"I know." He wrapped his hands around his mug, watching the steam rise. "I've been thinking about that. I can't hide forever."
"No."
"But I'm not ready to face them yet. I need..." He paused, searching for words. "I need to figure out who I am first. Outside of them. Outside of what they wanted me to be."
"And what do you want to be?"
He looked at me. "I don't know yet. But I want to find out." A small smile. "With you, if you'll let me."
"I'll let you." I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine. "Whatever you need."
"Even if it's messy?"
"Especially then."
He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine. We sat like that for a long moment, not speaking, just existing together in the space we'd created.
It wasn't a plan. It wasn't a strategy. It was just two people choosing each other, one moment at a time.
For now, that was enough.