Chapter 47
AUSTIN
Two days back in New York, and I was still adjusting to reality.
The transition from a yacht in Tahiti to the penthouse in Manhattan had been jarring.
Gone were the ocean views and constant sunshine, replaced by gray skies and the perpetual honking of city traffic.
Gone was the crew catering to our every need, replaced by takeout containers and my barely functional coffeemaker.
But the biggest adjustment? Not having Melody within arm’s reach at all times.
I missed her. I missed everything about her. I missed seeing all her lotions and potions cluttering the bathroom counter. I missed that citrus scent that followed her in a delicious cloud.
If someone would have told me six months ago I would be what could only be described as “twitterpated,” I would have laughed in their faces.
But here I was, twitterpated.
I picked up my phone and didn’t even have to open social media to find what I needed to see. I’d been stalking her social media since we got back. She told me she was going to post a few pictures, but she was going to keep the bulk of our trip private.
She had posted some of the photos I’d taken of her in Tahiti.
I smiled as I swiped through them. There were a few carefully curated shots that showed just enough to drive her followers wild with speculation.
Her in that blue swimsuit with a sheer cover-up and oversized sunglasses, looking like old Hollywood glamour.
Her at the vanity in our stateroom, putting on makeup, completely unaware I was photographing her.
Her stretched out on the sun deck with a book, so absorbed in the story that she hadn’t noticed me watching.
The comments had exploded immediately.
The photos were candid. Real. They weren’t the ones she typically posted with the focus on her style or getting ready.
When I took them, it wasn’t with the intention of everyone seeing them.
It was for me. But when she saw the pictures, she got teary-eyed.
She loved them and asked if she could post them.
I liked that I did that for her. Like I was on the inside.
And clearly, the fact that the pictures were taken by someone else had not gone unnoticed.
The comments were very flattering. And suspicious. I loved it. And they loved the mystery. The romance.
Who took these photos?
Melody where are you and WHO ARE YOU WITH?
These photos are giving serious relationship vibes.
Girl you’re GLOWING.
She’d texted me screenshots of some of the wilder speculation, and we’d laughed about it together.
But she hadn’t confirmed anything. She didn’t tag me or mention me.
Just let people wonder. We agreed to keep our relationship to ourselves.
Yes, it would get out eventually, but for now, it was our thing.
We would decide when and how much we gave people.
“They’re some of my favorite photos of myself I’ve ever seen,” she’d told me over FaceTime last night. She’d been in her studio with Cleo, catching up on content creation after a week away. “I look happy. Really happy.”
“You were happy.”
“I was. I am.” She’d smiled at the screen. “Thank you for taking them. For capturing that.”
“Thank you for letting me.”
I cherished those photos too. Had them saved on my phone, looked at them more than I probably should. They reminded me of what we had on that yacht. What we still had, even back in the chaos of real life.
But God, I missed her.
We’d been practically inseparable for a week, and now I’d barely seen her for two days. She was playing catch-up with work—content creation, engagement with her followers, meetings with potential collaborators. All the things that had been on hold while we were away.
I respected it. Loved her drive and passion. Loved that she took her career seriously and didn’t let our relationship consume her entire identity. But I also missed waking up with her.
So when Rodney texted asking if I wanted to grab a drink, I said yes. I needed to get out of my head for a bit.
I grabbed my keys and headed downstairs. The car I hired was waiting at the curb. It felt so strange to be going out because I didn’t want to. Normally, I would be thrilled to be heading out for some drinks because it always ended the same way—me getting laid.
I had zero desire to hook up with anyone.
We met at our usual spot. My jeans and button-down were adequate for the nonexistent dress code. Rodney was already there when I arrived, a beer in front of him and that dopey grin on his face that meant he’d probably already had two. Or three.
“There he is,” Rodney said as I slid into the booth across from him. “The world traveler. How was Tahiti?”
“Incredible.” I signaled the bartender for a whiskey. “Best week of my life.”
“Better than that weekend in Ibiza? Or that time we rented that villa in Cabo?”
“Better than all of it.”
Rodney whistled. “Damn. She must be something special.”
“She is.”
My drink arrived. I took a sip, letting the burn settle me.
I’d been on edge since we got back, and I couldn’t quite figure out why.
Everything was fine. Great, even. Melody and I were official.
We’d made plans to have dinner tomorrow night.
She’d agreed to come to the next Bancroft family event with me.
So why did I feel like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop?
“So give me details,” Rodney said. “Private yacht. Paradise. Beautiful woman. I’m guessing there was a lot of naked time.”
“We’re not talking about that.”
“Come on. I need to live vicariously through you.”
“Get your own girlfriend and you can have your own stories.”
“Pass. Too much work.” He took a drink. “But seriously. You’re really into this girl, aren’t you? Have you ever vacationed with a woman before?”
“No, I haven’t. And yeah, I really am into her.”
“I never thought I would see the day Austin Bancroft got himself hitched.”
“I’m not hitched.”
“I’ve been following her on Instagram. I get what you see in her.” He made a vulgar gesture with his hands in front of his chest, grinning. “She’s got an amazing rack.”
I punched him in the shoulder. Hard.
“Ouch!” Rodney yelped, immediately rubbing the spot. “What the hell, man?”
“Never again,” I said, my voice flat and dangerous. “Don’t talk shit about her.”
“It was a joke. And I wasn’t talking shit. I was giving her a compliment.”
“Never. Again.” I held his gaze until he looked away. “I’m not kidding, Rodney. Don’t talk about her like that. She’s more than just a great rack.”
“See you think so, too.”
“I think about a lot of things,” I said. “Not just her boobs. If you actually spent any time with her, you would know she was more than just a beautiful woman.”
“It’s not like you’re bringing her around,” he muttered.
“And with bullshit comments like that, you wonder why.”
“Alright, alright. Jesus.” He held up both hands in surrender. “Fuck. Since when are you so touchy?”
“You’re a pig.”
“Wow. Okay.” He took a long drink of his beer. “You’ve got it bad.”
“I know.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Rodney seemed to be processing this new information, and I focused on my whiskey, trying to shake off the irritation. I wasn’t sure what jealousy felt like, but I was pretty sure it was this strange feeling that made me feel just a little nauseated.
“So what’s the plan?” Rodney finally asked. “You going to marry her or something?”
“Maybe. Eventually. I don’t know.” The words came easier than I expected. “But yeah. I could see it. With her.”
Rodney made a sound in the back of his throat, something between discomfort and amusement.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing. It’s just—wow.” He shrugged. “It sounds like another one is about to bite the dust.”
“Another one what?”
“Bachelor. Free spirit. Whatever you want to call it.” He gestured at me with his beer bottle. “The infamous Austin Bancroft. Rebel child. Reckless soul. Wanderer. Falling for the good girl. It’s a tale as old as time.”
I felt my jaw tighten. “Your point?”
“My point is buckle up, buddy.” He grinned, but there was something sharp in it.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“A sexless marriage. Married women don’t have to have sex to keep the man. They got the man. They got the house. You’ll have a to-do list on the fridge, and picking up dog shit is just around the corner for you. You’ll give up that fast little car and end up driving a minivan.”
The words hit me wrong. Made my skin prickle with defensiveness. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? I’ve seen it happen to dozens of guys. They meet some woman, fall in love, think it’s going to be different for them. And then?” He snapped his fingers. “Reality hits. The romance fades. The sex stops. And suddenly you’re trapped in a life you never wanted.”
“That’s not true. You wouldn’t know a serious relationship if it bit you in the nose.”
“Women want commitment and marriage,” Rodney continued, warming to his theme. “And guess what? Commitment and marriage get old fast. Especially for guys like us. We’re not built for monogamy and mortgages and all that domestic bullshit.”
“Guys like us,” I repeated. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You know what it means. We like variety. Adventure. Freedom. You really think you’re going to be happy with the same woman for the next fifty years? Coming home to the same person every night? Eating the same meals at the same table?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”
He snorted. “What about kids? She pops out a few kids and what do you think happens then?”
“I think I have a family,” I growled. “That’s pretty normal.”
He shook his head. “You’re going to be knee deep in baby shit and bottles. Your pillow talk is going to be all about what cool little trick the spawn did that day and who’s picking up the diapers the next day.”
He apparently thought that was pretty funny. He laughed, finished his beer, and gestured for another one.
I stood up, tossing cash on the table for my drink. “I’m done here. I really am not about to listen to you spew more bullshit when you don’t have the first clue about what you’re talking about.”
“Come on, Austin. I’m just being honest. I’m trying to help you see the big picture. Prepare you for what you’re getting yourself into.”
“You’re being an asshole.” I looked down at him. “And you’re wrong. About me. About Melody. About all of it.”
“Am I? Or are you just too deep in it to see clearly?”
I walked away without answering. Let him think what he wanted. Let him wallow in his cynicism and loneliness. Because he was wrong.
The thing with Melody wasn’t going to fade. Wasn’t going to turn into some joyless existence of obligation and resentment. If I was fortunate enough to have her marry me and give me children, I would talk diapers all day every day.
I stepped outside and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. But Rodney’s words kept echoing in my head. Was he right? Would this feeling I had for Melody eventually fade into something else? Would the excitement fade? Would I wake up one day and resent the life I had chosen?
No. I shook my head, walking aimlessly down the street. That wasn’t going to happen.
Because what I had with Melody was different. She wasn’t trying to change me or trap me or turn me into something I wasn’t. She made me want to be better not because she demanded it, but because she deserved it.
That wasn’t a trap. That was a gift.