5. Chloe
CHLOE
The morning light filtering through the lounge windows hits the polished wood in warm golden streaks. Coffee steam curls up from china cups, and the chef has laid out a spread that looks like something from a five-star hotel.
Fresh fruit arranged in perfect spirals. Eggs Benedict with hollandaise that's still steaming. Bacon that smells like heaven and probably tastes better.
Yesterday, I would have grabbed a piece of toast and retreated to my compartment to eat alone back when these men barely acknowledged my existence.
Now Adam sits directly across from me, one elbow on the table, watching me pour cream into my coffee like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
Chris has claimed the chair to my right, close enough that his knee brushes mine when he shifts position.
Harry sprawls at the head of the table, long legs stretched out, already working on his second cup of coffee because apparently that's how he starts his day.
Through the windows, snow-capped peaks rise like jagged teeth against a sky so blue it looks fake. We're deep in the Rockies now. The flat farmland of the first day feels like another lifetime.
Adam reaches across the table to refill my coffee without being asked. The gesture is small, automatic, but it catches me off guard anyway. When was the last time someone anticipated what I needed before I asked for it?
"Sleep well?" Chris's voice carries that low, measured tone that makes me want to lean closer to catch every word.
Heat creeps up my neck. Sleep. Right. What we did last night wasn't exactly sleeping, and from the slight curve of his mouth, he knows exactly what I'm thinking about.
"Eventually." I keep my voice steady, reaching for a piece of bacon to give my hands something to do. "The train rocks like a cradle once you get used to it."
"Liar." Adam's grin is sharp around the edges. "You were wide awake until at least three."
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. "How would you know?"
"Thin walls." His eyes glitter with amusement. "Sound carries."
Oh God. The headboard. The moaning. The very enthusiastic appreciation I expressed for Chris's... talents. My face burns hot enough to power the entire train.
Harry snorts into his coffee. "Subtle, Adam."
"What? I'm just saying the acoustics on heritage railcars are surprisingly good. Very... educational."
Chris sets his cup down with deliberate precision. "Are you planning to embarrass her all morning, or can we eat breakfast in peace?"
"I'm not embarrassed." The words come out sharper than I intended, but I'm tired of being treated like I might shatter if someone mentions sex. "I know what I did."
Adam leans back in his chair, studying me with those gray eyes that seem to see everything. "There she is."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"The woman who casually asked if we had a problem that she was a virgin. I was wondering when she'd show up again."
Something warm unfurls in my chest. He likes it when I bite back. The realization should probably concern me more than it does.
"Maybe I only have a spine when I'm properly caffeinated." I take a deliberately large sip of coffee and meet his stare over the rim of my cup. "Fair warning."
Harry's laugh is a low rumble that vibrates through the table. "Christ, Adam. You're going to get yourself killed."
"Worth it." Adam doesn't look away from me. "So what's the plan when you graduate? Business management has to lead somewhere specific."
The subject change gives me whiplash, but I roll with it. "Corporate law, eventually. Maybe mergers and acquisitions. Something that lets me be the person everyone else has to deal with instead of the other way around."
Chris turns in his chair to face me more fully. "You want to be the one calling the shots."
"I want to be the one who can't be ignored." The honesty slips out before I can stop it, but none of them look surprised. "I'm tired of being the afterthought in every room I walk into."
"Smart," Harry says, forking eggs onto his plate. "Nothing worse than being at someone else's mercy."
"Says the man who owns half of Chicago." I raise an eyebrow at him. "When's the last time you were at anyone's mercy?"
"You'd be surprised." His smile is crooked, self-deprecating. "Money doesn't make you bulletproof. Just gives you better armor."
Adam leans forward, elbows on the table. "What kind of law? Corporate litigation? Contract negotiation? Or do you want to be the person who walks into boardrooms and makes grown men cry?"
"All of the above." I steal a piece of cantaloupe from the fruit platter. "I want to be so good at what I do that people cross the street to avoid pissing me off."
"Bloodthirsty," Chris observes, but there's approval in his voice. "I like it."
"You would. You probably crush small businesses for fun."
"Only on weekends." His deadpan delivery makes me choke on my coffee. "Weekdays are for crushing medium-sized businesses. More of a challenge."
Harry shakes his head. "And here I thought you were the responsible one."
"Responsible doesn't mean boring," Chris says. "Just means I plan my hostile takeovers in advance."
The easy back-and-forth feels surreal. Before, these men couldn't be bothered to grunt hello when I walked into a room. Now they're joking about corporate warfare over eggs Benedict like we've been doing this for years.
"What about you?" I turn to Adam. "What exactly do you do with your division of the family empire?"
"Real estate development. Hotels, mostly. Some residential projects." He shrugs like he's not talking about millions of dollars in property. "I find places that aren't living up to their potential and make them better."
"How very noble of you. Gentrifying neighborhoods one boutique hotel at a time."
His grin turns wicked. "Someone's got to drive up the property values. Might as well be me."
"At least you're honest about being a capitalist pig."
"Oink oink, sweetheart."
I nearly spit coffee across the table. The casual endearment, delivered with such shameless arrogance, shouldn't be attractive. It really, really shouldn't.
Harry reaches over to pat my back while I cough. "Breathe, Chloe. He's not worth dying over."
"Speak for yourself," I manage, wiping tears from my eyes. "That was the worst comeback I've ever heard."
"Hey." Adam looks genuinely offended. "That was comedy gold."
"That was comedy pyrite. Shiny on the surface, worthless when you look closer."
Chris makes a sound that might be a strangled laugh. "She's got you there."
"Whose side are you on?"
"The side with better insults." Chris turns to me with something that looks almost like pride. "Where did you learn to do that?"
"Do what?"
"Cut someone down to size without breaking a sweat. Most people Adam steamrolls in the first five minutes."
Heat spreads through my chest at the compliment. When was the last time someone praised my sharp tongue instead of telling me to be nicer?
"Self-defense mechanism," I say. "You develop a mouth when you spend your whole life being underestimated."
The mountains outside shift like a slow-motion kaleidoscope. Sunlight catches on snow and throws it back in brilliant flashes that make me squint.
"Must get exhausting," Harry says quietly. "Always being ready for a fight."
Something in his tone makes me look at him more carefully. There's understanding there, like he knows exactly what it feels like to be dismissed before you open your mouth.
"Only when you lose." I reach for my coffee, suddenly needing something to do with my hands. "Which I try not to make a habit of."
"Good policy." Adam's voice has lost some of its teasing edge. "Never give them the satisfaction."
The words hang in the air for a moment, weighted with something I can't quite name. Outside, a hawk circles lazy spirals against the blue sky, riding thermals between the peaks.
Chris clears his throat. "So what's the plan for this weekend? Besides surviving whatever social nightmare our parents have planned."
Right. Dad is their stepfather. Sometimes I forget we're technically family — that the man who managed to make me feel like a footnote in my own childhood married their mother for reasons that have never fully made sense to me.
"Honestly? I'm just hoping to get through it without embarrassing myself." The eggs on my plate have stopped being appetizing. "These things are always a production. Everything has to be perfect for the photos."
"Photos?" Harry's eyebrow arches.
"Oh, you didn't know?" I set my fork down.
"This whole weekend is basically a curated photo shoot.
The vow renewal, the mountain estate, probably a golden-hour shot of us all pretending to laugh on a scenic overlook.
He'll hire a professional photographer to document how much fun we're having as one big happy family, and it'll be on his Instagram within forty-eight hours with some caption about gratitude and blessings. "
The silence that follows is heavy enough to sit in. Adam's jaw tightens, just barely, just enough that I catch it.
Chris goes still beside me — not the casual stillness of someone comfortable, but the deliberate kind, like a man choosing not to react.
Harry wraps both hands around his mug and takes a long pull, then sets it down on the table with a little more force than the surface deserves.
"Can't have expensive experiences without documentation," Adam says finally. "Otherwise, did they even happen?"
"Exactly." The word comes out with more edge than I intend, but I don't smooth it over. "God forbid the neighbors suspect he can't charter a private railcar for his wife's anniversary. The optics would be catastrophic."
"The neighbors definitely talk," Chris says. "That's the whole point."
There's a flatness in his voice I recognize immediately — the same tone I use when I talk about Dad's brand of parenting, where love is a prop and warmth is a backdrop.
I glance at him sideways. He's not looking at me, but something in the set of his mouth tells me he understands exactly what I mean.