Chapter 11
Vivian
After the lakeside weekend, things changed.
Alejandro had a new security team on my block—guys in flannel, always on their phones but never far from my door. I asked him once if I was in danger, and he just smiled. “There’s been a little unwanted attention since the press got involved. It’ll pass.”
I didn’t buy it, but I pretended to. If being watched meant more time with Alejandro, I’d let them put cameras in my shower.
We spent almost every night together. Sometimes it was dinner at a hidden bistro, sometimes just takeout on my ratty couch, sometimes long walks by the river. Always easy, always safe.
I realized, somewhere between his hand in mine and the way he made me laugh at my own disaster of a life, that I was in love with him.
It terrified me.
Lisa gave birth on a rainy Tuesday. No warning, just a call at 4 a.m.: “Can you come to the hospital?”
When I got there, she was already in a room, sweating and crying and gripping my hand so hard my knuckles popped.
Ryan hovered at the end of the bed, silent and useless.
The baby came fast—a squalling, red-faced boy with a head full of black hair. Lisa held him to her chest and sobbed.
I held her, and for a minute, we were just sisters again. Not rivals. Not enemies.
Ryan stared at the baby like he didn’t know what to do with him.
When Lisa finally looked up, her eyes were puffy but clear. “Can you stay for a while?”
I nodded, and she fell asleep holding my hand.
I watched the baby breathe. I watched Lisa dream.
Then I left.
Back home, I called Alejandro.
“Did you ever want kids?” I asked.
He paused, then said, “I used to. Now, I just want a family. Whatever that means.”
I liked that answer.
He picked me up that night, drove me to his penthouse, and made us dinner. Candlelight, music low, city lights glowing in the distance.
After dessert, he took my hand. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” he said. “You’ve changed my life, Vivian. I didn’t know I could care this much about anyone.”
I laughed, because what do you say to that?
But he was serious.
“I love you,” he said.
I started to cry, and he kissed away the tears.
“I love you too,” I whispered.
We spent the night together. The real kind of together—not just sex, but trust, honesty, every secret shared.
He made me feel whole again. Seen, wanted, safe.
For the first time since my world fell apart, I let myself believe in a future that didn’t hurt.
In the morning, he made us coffee and sat next to me on the balcony, his arm wrapped around my shoulder.
“I have something for you,” he said.
I thought it was another perfect croissant, or a plane ticket, or some silly surprise.
Instead, he pulled a ring from his pocket. No speech, no drama, just the question in his eyes.
“Will you marry me?” he said.
My breath caught.
He watched me, patient as always.
I smiled, blinking back tears. “Yes.”
Holy. Freaking. Heck.
In the hospital, Lisa stared at the blank ceiling, the baby asleep in her arms.
Ryan was gone. He hadn’t stayed the night.
She pressed her face into the baby’s head, breathing in the soft, sweet smell.
She wondered if she’d ever see me again.
Or if I even wanted to be found.