Chapter 3
THREE
CARI
I step outside for air because staying inside feels like I’m going to start thinking things I can’t easily unthink.
Reykjavik at night is sharp and clean in a way that cuts through the noise of the rehearsal dinner behind me.
Warm light spills from the hotel, muffled laughter drifting through the open doors, but out here everything feels quieter, more contained.
Like the world has stepped back just enough for me to breathe.
It helps, but not as much as I want it to.
Because Brody is still in there.
And I am still very aware of him.
I rest my hands on the railing and try to let the wind reset me.
My cheeks are warm from wine and conversation and the persistent awareness I haven’t been able to shake all night.
He’s been doing it again, that thing where he sits too still and speaks too carefully, like he’s holding himself in place on purpose.
Like I’m something he has to manage instead of something he just gets to want.
The door behind me opens. I don’t turn around.
“I thought you might be out here,” he says.
Of course he did.
“You followed me?” I ask, still looking out at the city lights.
“I came outside,” he says.
“Coincidence.”
A pause. “Probably.”
That makes me turn.
He’s a few steps away, hands in his pockets, suit jacket still on like he hasn’t decided whether he belongs in celebration or distance. His tie is loosened slightly, but everything about him still looks controlled. Careful. Contained.
Except he doesn’t feel contained tonight. Not the way he usually does.
“You’ve been weird,” I say.
“I’ve been normal.”
“That’s worse.”
A short laugh slips out of him before he can stop it, and something in my chest tightens in response. It’s brief, but real enough that I feel it land between us.
“I’m not weird,” he says.
“You are around me.”
I see it in his face immediately, the smallest shift in expression. Not denial. Recognition.
He exhales slowly. “I’m not trying to make this complicated.”
I take a step closer before I think too hard about it.
“That’s the problem,” I say quietly. “You are complicated. Around me.”
His gaze sharpens.
“I think you’re reading too much into tonight,” he says.
Tonight.
Like this started at dinner. Like this started at all.
A quiet, incredulous breath leaves me. “Tonight?” I repeat. “Brody, this has been going on for years. Tonight is just the first time you couldn’t distract yourself from it.”
His jaw tightens.
Good. I’m tired of being the only one feeling the weight of it.
“I shouldn’t—” he starts.
“Don’t,” I say, softer now, but firmer underneath.
He stops.
The wind moves between us, cool enough to make me aware of my skin, of the space still separating us, of how much I’ve always been aware of him even when I pretended I wasn’t.
“You keep saying that,” I add. “Like it means something final.”
“It does,” he says.
I shake my head once. “No, it doesn’t. It just means you’ve decided for both of us without asking me anything.”
His eyes hold mine, steady, but something underneath that steadiness is starting to shift. Pressure building at the edges.
“You’re in a different place in your life than I am,” he says.
There it is. The reason. The shield he’s been using without saying it out loud.
I nod slightly like I’m considering it, then step closer again.
“So?”
His breath changes immediately.
“That matters,” he says, but it doesn’t sound as absolute as he wants it to.
“To who?” I press.
“To reality,” he says.
That makes me laugh, quiet and sharp, because of course it does. Of course, he makes it about something structured and external and safe.
“Brody,” I say, softer now, “you don’t get to use reality as a reason not to touch me. Not when you’ve been wanting it as long as I have.”
Something in his expression shifts, subtle but undeniable, like a pressure point has finally been found.
He steps closer. Then another step. Now there’s barely any space left between us, and the air between us is thicker. Charged. No longer something we’re managing.
“I don’t want to mess this up,” he says quietly.
That’s not what I expected.
It softens something in me before I can stop it.
“Then don’t,” I say.
A pause.
“I didn’t say I was going to,” he replies.
“You didn’t have to.”
His hand lifts to my face, then stops halfway like it always does, like he’s been trained to catch himself before he crosses a line. That hesitation is the last straw.
I step forward instead and close the space myself.
His breath catches immediately.
“I’m right here,” I say quietly.
His eyes drop to my mouth for half a second before lifting again, and this time he doesn’t pretend he didn’t do it.
He frames my face, steady and certain, like something in him has finally stopped arguing with itself. And when he kisses me, there is no restraint left in it at all.
It isn’t rushed. It isn’t uncertain. It’s honest in a way neither of us has been allowed to be before now.
I respond, because there is nothing in me hesitating anymore either. No confusion. No doubt. Just recognition. This is what we’ve been circling for years without admitting it out loud.
His hand tightens slightly at my jaw as I step closer, and I close the last bit of space between us.
The way his body presses to mine makes my blood sing with pleasure. His scent surrounds me, wrapping me up in his warm embrace.
The moment his lips touch mine, the world disappears.
He's impossibly soft, the kiss slow enough that I can feel every tiny movement, every careful press of his mouth against mine. My heart pounds so hard I swear he has to hear it, but I can't bring myself to care. I melt into him instead.
He kisses me like he's savoring me. Like he's memorizing me.
When I part my lips on a shaky breath, he follows with a quiet sigh that sends warmth rushing through me.
The kiss deepens naturally, unhurried, our mouths moving together in a rhythm that feels instinctive instead of practiced.
My fingers curl into the front of his shirt, holding on because I suddenly can't imagine letting go.
He tilts his head, changing the angle just enough to steal another kiss, and another, each one softer than the last before lingering a little longer.
My pulse skips every time his lips brush mine.
Every gentle sweep, every teasing pause, every breath we share makes my chest ache with something so overwhelming it almost hurts.
I lose track of where I end and he begins.
When he finally pulls back, it's only far enough for our noses to brush. I chase one last kiss without thinking, earning a quiet laugh against my lips before he kisses me again—slow, sweet, and absolutely devastating.
Neither of us speaks. Anything said right now would try to contain something that doesn’t fit inside words yet.
This isn’t everything.
It isn’t the end of restraint.
But it is the first time we’ve stopped pretending that restraint is the only option.
And neither of us is walking away from that unchanged.
I take my time coming back inside.
Not because I need the air anymore, but because I need a few extra seconds to make sure I look like I didn’t just step outside and have my entire internal equilibrium rearranged.
Which feels unfair, considering he is the one who started it.
The hotel hallway is warmer than the terrace, louder too. Music and laughter spill through the dining room doors, a wave of sound and light that feels like stepping back into a world that doesn’t know anything has shifted.
That should be comforting.
It isn’t.
Brody follows a few steps behind me. Not close. Not distant. Just careful.
Of course he is. That’s his default setting.
I push the door open and step back into the rehearsal dinner. The noise hits immediately. Thirty people talking, laughing, glasses clinking. Tony at the center of it all like gravity itself, Viv beside him glowing in a way that makes it impossible not to soften when I look at her.
For a moment, I consider staying near the edge of the room.
Then I keep walking, because I can feel him behind me.
Not touching.
Not speaking.
Just there in a way that feels louder than conversation.
We make it back to the table without saying a word, and that alone feels like a kind of lie.
I slide into my chair and reach for my water instead of the wine. Bad idea to escalate anything further tonight. Brody sits beside me instead of across, which I try not to think about too much and immediately fail at not thinking about.
Kiana glances at me from across the table. She doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts slightly—like she’s been waiting for something and I’ve just confirmed it.
I ignore her.
Across from us, Chuck is mid-story, animated and loud, Viv laughing beside him while Tony shakes his head like he’s heard worse but still enjoys it anyway. It’s all normal enough that I almost believe I can slide back into it.
Almost.
Brody doesn’t look at me.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Because I can feel exactly where he is without looking. Every small shift of his chair. Every movement of his hand when he reaches for his glass. Every moment he stops himself from doing something that would cross a line he’s still pretending exists.
Kiana leans slightly closer. “You were gone a while.”
I take a sip of water. “Needed air.”
“Mm,” she says, like she doesn’t believe a word of it.
Across from me, Brody shifts at the same time I do. Not enough to be obvious. Enough that I notice.
My fingers tighten briefly around my glass.
Tony starts a toast halfway through dinner, something loud and sentimental that makes Viv laugh in a way that lights up her entire face. I focus on that. On them. On anything that isn’t the man sitting beside me refusing to acknowledge the fact that something fundamental has changed between us.
Because it has.
And he knows it.
And I know he knows it.
That’s the problem.
At some point Chuck raises his glass again, grinning as he says something about Iceland being “unnecessarily romantic for a group of people who didn’t sign up for feelings.” The table laughs. Even Brody does, eventually.
When the dinner dishes are cleared away, chairs scrape back and people drifting toward drinks or bed, I stand before I overthink it. Brody stands at the same time, which I refuse to read into even though my body already has.
We move with the group toward the exit, conversation breaking into smaller clusters around us. Tony gets pulled away by a hotel staffer, who has some questions about tomorrow’s festivities. Viv disappears into laughter with her sisters. Chuck vanishes like he’s been waiting for an excuse.
And suddenly it’s just us again in a quieter stretch of hallway outside the dining room.
Brody stops first.
I turn to face him.
We don’t speak immediately, which feels like its own kind of conversation. One neither of us is ready to have in public, or maybe not ready to have at all.
Finally, he exhales.
“I should probably—” he starts.
“Don’t,” I say quietly.
That stops him. Not completely, but enough.
His eyes stay on mine a second longer than they should in a hallway full of people who could appear at any moment. There’s restraint in him again, but it looks different now. Less like distance. More like effort.
Like something he’s actively choosing instead of defaulting to.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
Simple. Controlled. Safe.
Except nothing about it feels safe anymore.
“Yeah,” I say.
Neither of us moves right away. Not until Al calls his name from down the hall.
He turns and walks away, and he doesn’t look back.
And I stay where I am for a beat longer than I should, staring at the space he just left behind, because nothing about tonight feels like it has settled back into place.
Not even close.