8. Kiara
— ? —
Kiara
Nadia finds me on the kitchen floor.
I’m not crying. I’m past crying. I’m sitting with my back against the cabinets, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out how I let this happen.
“Okay.” Nadia closes the door behind her and sets down her bag. “This is worse than I thought.”
“I didn’t hear you knock.”
“I used my key. You texted me an SOS and then didn’t answer when I called back. I thought you were dying.” She crouches in front of me. “You aren’t dying. But you look like you want to.”
“I made a mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?”
“The Jensen kind.”
Her face goes still. “Define mistake.”
“He touched me. I let him. I didn’t just let him. I wanted him to.”
“How far?”
“Not all the way. But far enough.”
Nadia exhales slowly. She lowers herself to the floor beside me, her back against the refrigerator.
“Tell me everything.”
I tell her. The suite. The towel. The signature I never got. The way he kissed me and I melted into him. The orgasm I chased with his fingers inside me and his eyes on my face.
When I finish, she’s quiet for a long moment.
“So you fooled around with your ex-fiancé,” she says finally. “That’s not the end of the world.”
“It feels like the end of the world.”
“It’s not. I’m sure this can be managed. You just stay away from him.”
“How? How do I manage this? He’s my client. I have to see him constantly. And now every time I look at him, I’m going to remember what his mouth felt like on my skin.” I stop. “I can’t do this, Nadia. I can’t compartmentalize like this.”
“You’ve been compartmentalizing for years. You’re excellent at it.”
“That was different. That was distance. He wasn’t here. I could pretend he didn’t exist.”
“And now he exists.”
“He exists and he wants me and I want him back.” My voice breaks. “I want him back, and I hate myself for it.”
Nadia takes my hand. Her grip is firm. “You don’t have to hate yourself for wanting someone.”
“He abandoned me. He left me at the altar. He went back to Lauren.”
“Did he? Do you know that for certain?”
“His mother showed me photos.”
“His mother is a monster. You know that. I know that. Everyone who’s ever met her knows that.”
“The photos were real.”
“Photos can be taken out of context. Photos can be staged. Photos can lie.”
I pull my hand away. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you’ve spent years hating a man based on evidence handed to you by a woman who wanted you destroyed. Have you ever once considered that the evidence might not be trustworthy?”
“I saw his hand on Lauren’s hand.”
“And? People touch each other. It doesn’t mean they were sleeping together.”
“You know what? Fine.” A thread snaps loose in my chest and my voice climbs with it, fast, and I can’t stop it and I don’t want to.
“Say you’re right. Say every last photo is fake.
Say Vivienne cooked them up in a back room and Lauren’s hand was never within a mile of his.
Fuck the pictures, Nadia. Fuck all of them.
It doesn’t change the one thing that has ever actually mattered, because he still didn’t fucking show up. ”
Nadia goes still.
“He wasn’t there.” I’m crying now, and furious that I’m crying.
“On our wedding day. In front of all those people, with me standing in that dress and our baby already inside me and no idea yet what was coming, and he didn’t come.
He didn’t call. He didn’t send one single word.
Take the photos away. Take Lauren away. Take all of it.
That part doesn’t move an inch. He left me standing there.
On the one day I needed him more than I’ve ever needed anyone in my life, he was just gone, and he let me break in front of every person I know. ”
My whole body’s shaking. She doesn’t reach for me. She knows better than to reach for me yet.
“So don’t sit there and tell me the evidence might be a lie,” I say, quieter now, ruined. “The only evidence I care about is the empty space where he was supposed to be standing. That one wasn’t staged. That one I lived through.”
For a long moment Nadia doesn’t say anything at all. “Have you asked him?” she says finally. “Straight out. Why he wasn’t there?”
“Yes. He says he can’t tell me.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both, apparently.”
Nadia tilts her head back against the refrigerator. “That’s suspicious.”
“You think I haven’t noticed?”
“But it’s also not the behavior of a man who simply changed his mind. If he wanted to leave, why not just say so? Why the mystery?”
“Maybe he’s ashamed.”
“Jensen Cole has never been ashamed of anything in his life.”
She has a point. Jensen was always direct. Painfully, sometimes. He said what he meant and meant what he said. The idea of him hiding from his own choices doesn’t fit.
“What are you suggesting?” I ask.
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m asking questions. Questions you should be asking yourself.”
“I’ve asked myself every question a thousand times.”
“And?”
“And I don’t have answers. I only have the fact that he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there, and I was, and Kieran exists because of that wedding that never happened.”
Kieran.
The name lands between us. Nadia’s expression shifts.
“You’re worried about Kieran,” she says.
“Of course I’m worried about Kieran.”
“You’re worried that if you let Jensen back in, he’ll find out.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re worried that if he finds out, he’ll try to take him.”
“He has money. He has lawyers. He has resources I can’t compete with.”
“Kiara. Listen to me.” Nadia turns to face me fully. “Jensen doesn’t know about Kieran. There’s no reason for him to find out unless you tell him.”
“What if he figures it out? What if he sees a photo? What if someone mentions that I have a child?”
“Who would mention it? Your coworkers don’t know your personal life. I certainly wouldn’t mention it. And Kieran has never been anywhere near that hotel.”
“But what if...”
“What if, what if, what if.” Nadia shakes her head. “You’re spiraling. You’re letting fear make your decisions.”
“Fear is appropriate. Fear is rational.”
“Fear is also exhausting.” She puts her hand on my knee. “You’ve been running on fear for five years. You’ve built walls so high that you can’t see over them anymore. And now Jensen is here, and he’s threatening those walls, and you don’t know how to let them down without everything falling apart.”
I feel tears prick my eyes. I blink them back.
“I can’t let them down,” I say. “Not with Kieran at stake.”
“I’m not saying you should tell Jensen about Kieran. That’s your decision. But you can’t keep living in terror. You can’t keep bracing for every interaction to go wrong.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“The alternative is making a choice. Either you end things with Jensen completely, transfer the account, and never see him again. Or you figure out how to coexist with him without destroying yourself.”
“I can’t transfer the account. Deborah would want to know why.”
“Then coexist. Find a way to be his liaison without falling into bed with him.”
“I already fell into bed with him. Sort of.”
“Then stop falling. Set boundaries. Enforce them.”
“How? When he touches me, I forget how to think.”
“Then don’t let him touch you. Keep physical distance. Have witnesses present. Do whatever you have to do to protect yourself.”
I lean my head back against the cabinet. My eyes ache. My whole body aches.
“I’m so tired,” I say.
“You’ve earned the right to be.”
“I’m tired of being strong. I’m tired of holding everything together. I’m tired of being Kieran’s only parent and my own only support and the person who never gets to break down.”
“You’re breaking down right now. And it’s okay. You’re allowed to have this moment.”
“On the kitchen floor.”
“It’s as good a place as any.” Nadia shifts closer. “You aren’t alone, Kiara. You have me. You have always had me.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep forgetting it. Sometimes you act like you have to do everything yourself. Like accepting help would make you weak.”
“Accepting help got me hurt. Trusting people got me hurt.”
“Trusting one person got you hurt. That doesn’t mean everyone is untrustworthy.”
I close my eyes. The exhaustion is so deep it feels permanent. A weight I’ve been carrying so long I forgot it was heavy.
“Can you take Kieran for my next stretch of shifts?” I ask.
“Of course. What do you need?”
“There’s an event at the hotel that requires all hands. I can’t find coverage for him.”
“I’ll pick him up and bring him to the hotel. You can grab him when you get a break.”
“Bring him to the hotel?” My eyes snap open. “Jensen is at the hotel.”
“Jensen isn’t going to be wandering the employee areas looking for children. I’ll keep Kieran in the break room. You’ll collect him. He’ll never know Jensen exists.”
“What if it goes wrong?”
“What could go wrong? It’s a simple handoff. I bring him, you take him, everyone goes home happy.”
I hesitate. The risk feels enormous. But the alternative is losing my job over childcare failures, and I can’t afford that. Literally can’t afford it.
“Fine,” I say. “Bring him. But stay with him until I can get there. Don’t let him wander.”
“I won’t let him wander.”
“And don’t let anyone ask questions. If anyone asks who he is, just say he’s your nephew. Don’t mention me.”
“Kiara. I’ve done this before. I know how to be discreet.”
“I know. I know you do. I just...” I press my palms to my eyes. “I can’t lose Kieran. Not to Jensen. Not to anyone. He’s the only good thing that came out of that wreckage.”
“You aren’t going to lose him.” Nadia pulls me into a hug. “I promise. You aren’t going to lose him.”
I lean into her. I let myself be held.
“Okay,” I say. “Okay. Bring him to the hotel. I’ll make it work.”
“You always make it work.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice. You just always choose the hard one.”
She holds me until my breathing steadies. Then she helps me up from the floor and makes me tea and sits with me until I feel human again.
When she leaves, I check on Kieran. He’s asleep in his bed, clutching a stuffed triceratops, his face soft and peaceful.
He has no idea that his world is balanced on a knife’s edge.
He has no idea that his father is a few miles away, living in a penthouse, wanting a woman who belongs to someone else now.
Belonging to Kieran. That’s who I belong to.
I kiss his forehead and close the door.
It’s going to be fine. Nadia will bring him. I’ll collect him. Jensen will never know.
Everything is going to be fine.