thirty-eight #3
The distinction should've felt softer, but it didn't.
"So nothing changes," I said. "Not after a year. Not after you won. Not ever, unless your father says so."
"That's not fair."
"It's the truth," I shot back, sharper than I meant to. "You talk about building your own legacy, but when it comes to me, it's like I don't exist unless he allows it."
Brooks's gaze hardened just slightly—not cruel, but edged. "It's not about him allowing it. It's about me protecting you."
I laughed, but it broke halfway out of me. "Protecting me, or protecting yourself?"
His jaw tightened. He looked down at the floor, then back at me. "Both. Don't make me pretend it's not both."
The words hung between us, heavy, unshakable.
I stared at him, my chest rising faster, because the honesty in his voice hurt more than a lie ever could.
"So that's it?" I whispered. "We just keep circling this same conversation? You hide me, and I let you, because you tell me it's for my own good?"
Brooks stepped forward, his hands gentle at my arms. "It's not hiding you. It's protecting us from—"
"From what? Headlines? Gossip columns? Your father's temper?" My laugh came out raw. "Brooks, it's been over a year. You're a senator now. If we were ever going to matter outside these walls, wouldn't it be now?"
He flinched at that, like I'd touched a bruise. His thumb pressed absently at my arm as if he could soothe me into stillness.
"I told you from the start what this meant," he said softly. "That if you chose this, it would be complicated, and unfair sometimes, and bigger than just us."
"And I told you from the start that I could handle it. I thought I could." My voice cracked, breaking the air between us. "But I didn't think it would mean I never got to exist at all."
He reached for my face, but I stepped back, shaking my head.
"You don't see it," I said. "You come home with purses and dinners and hotel rooms all to ourselves, and you think that's enough. But you don't get it, Brooks—those things don't make me real. They just make me kept."
His brows drew tight, his voice sharper than before. "Don't say that. Don't reduce what we have to that."
"Then what is it?"
His chest rose hard, his tie shifting against it. "It's me loving you the only way I can without tearing everything else apart."
The words should have melted me. Months ago, maybe they would have. But tonight they just split me open.
"You think that's love?" I whispered.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, frustrated now, his voice sharper. "Amira, look at what I've done for you. The house, the trips, the privacy—I've bent my life in ways no one else would ever get me to. Doesn't that tell you what you mean to me?"
I blinked at him, heat rising up my throat. "You think dinners and purses mean more than being allowed to exist beside you in daylight?"
"That's not what I said," he shot back. His eyes were pleading, but his words clipped. "But don't act like you haven't benefited from this too. You knew the tradeoff when you said yes. You don't exactly have the cleanest history."
The room tilted. My hand moved before my brain caught up.
The slap cracked the air between us. His jaw clenched, his head turning just slightly, and then stillness.
My chest heaved, my hand trembling at my side. "Don't you ever talk to me like I'm some arrangement you drew up on paper. I've never asked you for a fucking thing but honesty."
He blinked, stunned, and his voice broke low. "I didn't mean it like that."
Tears pricked hot behind my eyes. "You're such a piece of shit, and you meant it exactly like that."
I turned before my voice cracked and went for the door.
"Amira—wait." Brooks's voice chased me, rough, breaking apart. His footsteps came quick behind mine.
I grabbed my bag off the chair without even checking if everything was in it. My hands were shaking so bad I nearly dropped it, but I didn't stop.
"Please," he said, catching up, his hand brushing my arm before I yanked it away. "I didn't mean it like that. You know I didn't."
"Then why'd you say it?" I snapped, pulling the strap over my shoulder. "Why'd you let it sound like that?"
He looked wrecked. Tie undone, sleeves rolled, hair a mess from his hands dragging through it. His chest heaved like he'd run miles instead of three steps. His mouth opened then closed again.
I laughed, sharp and humorless.
He dragged a hand down his jaw, his eyes shining too bright.
His voice broke low, cracked in a way I'd never heard. "Don't walk away like this."
I had the door half open, the night air rushing cool against my face. "We're not sleeping this off, Brooks. I don't have anything else to say to you tonight."
He stood frozen a few feet away, eyes glassy, his throat working like he was swallowing shards. For a moment I thought he might beg. For a moment I thought I might cave.
But neither of us moved.
I stepped out. Pulled the door shut behind me.
The lock clicked soft, final.
The door shut, and the silence after it was louder than anything he could've said.