Chapter Eight
Hayden
Inside Out
Vanessa stands in the doorway, the soft light from inside her apartment catching along the edge of her hair, the deeper red pulling warmer than it had under the museum lighting.
The dress, navy, falls cleanly against her frame, understated in a way that doesn’t try to draw attention but holds it anyway.
For a second, I just look at her. Not because I don’t know what to say. Because I want to be precise when I do. “You didn’t change your taste in color.”
Her mouth curves, just slightly. “And you didn’t change your need to start with an observation instead of a compliment.”
“I said what I meant.”
“I know.” Her gaze holds mine for a beat longer than necessary. “You always did.”
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s familiar in a way that doesn’t belong to the last decade. “You ready?” I shift the moment forward before it lingers too long.
She reaches for a light jacket draped over the back of a chair just inside the entryway, slipping it on with an ease that feels practiced, like she’s already decided how this night is going to go.
She glances up at me. “Where are we going?”
“Boka. Seven-thirty reservation.”
Her brows lift slightly as she steps out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her. “Michelin star on a Thursday night?” A glance in my direction, something just shy of teasing in it. “Impressive.”
“It wasn’t difficult.”
“Of course it wasn’t.” She chuffs as she descends the stairs, me in her wake, the space between us narrowing naturally, not quite touching, but close enough to register.
“It’s a nice night,” I say as we step out onto the sidewalk a moment later. “It’s only a few blocks to the restaurant if you want to walk. Or I can drive.” My gaze drops briefly to her heels, then back up to her eyes.
“I can handle a few blocks, Hayden.”
“I didn’t want to assume.” We fall into step without needing to coordinate it. I shift slightly as we move, placing myself along the outside edge of the sidewalk without thinking about it.
“You still do that.”
I glance over at her. “Do what?”
She nods subtly toward the street. “Positioning.”
“It makes sense.”
“For who?”
“For you.” My brow pinches together. “It’s safer.”
A quiet exhale leaves her, something thoughtful in it. “Some things don’t change.”
“No.” Not the ones that matter. I don’t say that part out loud.
The city moves around us in its usual rhythm; cars passing, distant voices, the low hum of movement that never really stops, but none of it presses in. She matches my pace easily, not adjusting, not compensating, just walking beside me like it’s something she’s done a thousand times before.
“How’s the band?” she asks after a moment, her tone light, but not careless.
“Busy.” I pause just a second before expanding. “We’re recording.”
“You’ve all done well.”
“It’s what we wanted.” I shrug, because honestly, it’s what Luc wanted, but once I was on the ride, it just made sense to stay on.
“And you got it.” There’s no judgment in it. No edge to her tone. She’s simply stating the facts.
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not.” A small glance in my direction. “You were never the kind of person who aimed low.”
“That hasn’t changed.”
“I didn’t think it had.” One side of her mouth tilts up, but it’s not a smile.
We reach the corner, pausing briefly as the light shifts, the crosswalk opening in front of us.
She steps forward first. I follow half a step behind, my hand hovering just slightly at her back without making contact.
Old habits. We don’t speak again until we’re halfway down the next block.
The quiet isn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it feels deliberate.
“You didn’t ask me what I’ve been doing.” Her gaze forward, not turning to look at me.
“I was going to.” I was, at the restaurant. I didn’t plan for the small talk required during the walk.
“Were you?” She cocks her head to look up at me, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
“Yes.”
Another small pause. “Then ask.”
I glance down at her again, measuring the tone, the space she’s giving me, the way she’s letting me think I’m the one setting the pace.
“What have you been doing the last decade, Vanessa?”
The smile on her mouth grows a tad wider. Not because of the question. Because of how I asked it. “I built a life that fits me,” she states simply.
“That’s vague.”
“It’s true.”
I don’t push. Not yet. “Are you happy?” I ask instead.
Her answer comes without pause. “Yes.”
That lands because the lack of hesitation tells me she means it. It’s clean and without doubt. I’m not sure what I was expecting her answer to be, but I don’t think I expected it to be that absolute.
We reach the restaurant a moment later, the understated exterior giving nothing away to anyone not looking for it. Inside, everything shifts seamlessly. A host steps forward, recognition immediate, the reservation confirmed without question.
“Mr. Sloane, welcome.”
I nod once.
We’re led through without delay, past low-lit tables and quiet conversations, the kind of space that doesn’t need to prove what it is. Vanessa doesn’t comment on it. She just takes it in.
Which tells me more than anything she could have said.
They seat us at a table tucked just enough away from the rest of the room to feel private and contained, even if it’s not completely. I pull out her chair and she sits without hesitation. The host leaves us with a menu and a promise that our server will be with us momentarily.
He approaches within seconds, water poured, specials explained, the rhythm of the room moving around us without interruption. I don’t look at the menu. I don’t need to.
“You already know what you’re having,” her gaze flicking over the page before settling back on me.
“I do.”
“I remember that too.”
“Do you?” I steeple my fingers under my chin, my gaze locking with hers.
“I remember a lot of things, Hayden.”
There’s no weight behind it, no accusation, but it lands anyway. The server returns, and I order for both of us with minimal hesitation, selecting a bottle of wine I know will suit her without asking.
Her brow lifts slightly once the server steps away. “Still making decisions for me.”
“You never minded when I got it right.” One corner of my mouth quirking up.
Her eyes sparkle with the tiniest hint of mischief. “Confidence looks good on you.”
“Hopefully one of my finer attributes.”
“That’s debatable.”
“Is it?”
Her fingers trace lightly along the stem of her glass. “So, you have questions?”
“I do.” It’s the reason we’re here.
“Of course you do.” It’s subtle, but a small chuff escapes from her.
I place my elbows on the table and lean forward. “I’m trying to understand something.”
She takes a small sip of water, setting the glass down with care before meeting my gaze again. “Tell me what you need me to explain.”
I watch her for a moment, measuring what she’s offering, what she’s not. “The Gild.”
She takes another sip of water, slower this time. “What about it?”
“It doesn’t fit.”
Her mouth purses into a tight line for just a second, then relaxes. “That’s not my problem.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Good.” A pause. “Because I’m not interested in fitting into something that no longer applies.”
The waiter arrives with our wine, halting our conversation as he pours with quiet precision.
I take a sip, nod, my approval resulting in both our glasses being filled.
He leaves and I watch as Vanessa lifts her glass to take a slow sip.
I’m not sure if she’s giving herself space to think or maybe just choosing not to rush, but I wait for her to speak.
“You don’t like not having answers.”
“That hasn’t changed.”
“No, I don’t suppose I expected that would.”
The server returns briefly with the first course, setting plates down between us. The interruption is brief, but it shifts the space just enough, diffusing the intensity without breaking it. She waits until we’re alone again before continuing.
“You drove past my building.” It’s not accusatory. But it strikes a chord that she’s calling me out for it.
“Yes.” I don’t bother denying it.
“How many times?” Her head tilts just a tad, I think a little shocked at the ease of my confession.
“Enough.”
A small huff of laughter escapes her, quiet, almost impressed. “You’re not even going to pretend you weren’t watching.”
“No.”
“Honesty.” She leans back slightly, studying me. “That’s new.”
“It serves the purpose more efficiently.”
“Well, that’s something.” Her gaze softens just a fraction. “You always did prefer knowing where everything stood.”
“I still do.”
“And you can’t handle not knowing where I stand.” She muses aloud, and the statement lands hard, but accurate.
“I am trying.” I lock my gaze with her narrowed one.
“Are you though?”
“Yes.” I state it with conviction, although, honestly, it’s because it’s second nature to respond this way. I don’t take into account what I’m really feeling.
She considers that for a moment, her fork moving lightly through her plate without much attention to the food. “You’re used to control, Hayden. You need structure and predictability. It’s what makes your world feel safe.”
“You know what happened when there wasn’t any structure.” I keep my tone even, but my pulse ticks up just a notch.
“That wasn’t about me though. Controlling an environment is one thing, but trying to control a person is a different thing all together.”
My jaw flexes for just an instant. “I don’t think that’s what I did.”
“But it was, Hayden.” Her voice is quiet and without judgement.
“And yet you’re here with me.”
“I am.” Another pause, quieter this time, but heavier. “Do you want to know why?” she stares across the table at me.
“I know why.” I keep my gaze locked on hers as I take a sip of my wine.
“Always so damn sure of yourself.” She gives a small shake of her head, a sad smile pulling at her mouth. “Leaving you had nothing to do at all with how much I loved you.”
“Which is why I let you go.” I lean back slightly, watching her now with a different kind of focus. “But it seems the reason you left may no longer be an issue.”
“Do you really think it’s that black and white?”
“Then help me understand.”
She smiles then, slow and deliberate. “You’ve always wanted to set the terms.”
“I just wanted you to be safe.”
“And yet, you were the only thing that was truly dangerous to me.”
My brow lifts at how hard her words strike. I take a beat to digest all the weight they carry.
Before I can speak, she inhales and says more. “You wanted me to be something I wasn’t. Wanted me to conform to ways that made me less than what I was. You weren’t able to love me just as I was.”
“But I did love you.” I counter quietly.
“Not enough to let me live by my own rules. That part of me, that hasn’t changed.” She looks away then, her hands settling on the table next to her plate. The silence between us loud.
I break the tension with another question. “Then why meet? Why have dinner with me?”
After a moment, she answers, her eyes locking with mine. “Because I was hoping maybe you had changed.”
She looks down at her glass, then back up at me, something quieter in her expression now, something less guarded but no less controlled. “And that’s the problem; I’m not sure if you have.”
I don’t respond to that. I don’t need to. Because she’s not wrong. I never considered that I was the one that needed to change; I always assumed it was her. And that is a problem.