April
He appeared, offered his hand, and said loud enough for people to hear:
"You'll have to forgive me. I've spent fifteen years being contractually obligated to sweep in at exactly this moment."
A few heads turned. Someone laughed like it was a joke.
"You okay?" he asked, quieter now.
April's laugh came out slightly unhinged. "Define okay."
"You want to blow this joint?"
"What?"
"Leave. Get out of here. I'm clocking uncomfortable, and I've done enough PR galas to know when someone needs an exit."
Her brain stalled. Stuck between gratitude and flattered he’d cared enough to bother.
"Yes," she said. "Yes. That. Let's do that."
Caleb grinned. "I'll round them up."
“Wait—how do you even know who to get?"
"I'm an actor. Observation's kind of the gig."
"That's—" April's brain tried to process. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting right now."
He was already guiding her toward the edge of the dance floor, his hand steady at the small of her back. When they reached Arthur, Caleb transferred her smoothly, April's hand finding Arthur's arm without her brain fully registering the choreography of it all.
"Be right back," Caleb said, and disappeared into the crowd.
April watched him disappear into the crowd with purpose that suggested he'd done this before. Probably in a rom-com. Except April was pretty sure she was neither the hero nor the girl in this scenario. She was the disaster the party was happening around.
Two minutes later, Caleb returned. With Liam. And Killian. And Jax.
April stared at Jax: newly dressed to kill, entirely uninvited, looking at her like they had unfinished business.
"You weren’t even attending," she said.
Jax shrugged. "I’m here now."
"Also," Caleb added, "Jax texted the group chat."
"There's a group chat?"
No one answered. April decided not to pursue that line of questioning. Her brain was already at capacity.
They were halfway to the exit when Killian's hand closed gently around her wrist. "April. One second."
She let him pull her aside. Into a coat closet. The door clicked shut behind them. April looked around, at the coats, the suffocating dark, and Killian, standing too close in a space that smelled like old wool.
Her spine snapped straight. Arms folded.
Head tilted. The words came out edged. "Caleb at least got me a library.
You know. When he wanted to have a ‘private conversation’.
Books. Natural light. Not—" She gestured at the cramped darkness.
"—a closet that smells like moth balls and rich people's winter storage. "
Killian's expression didn't change. "This isn't about seduction."
April's nose scrunched, "What?"
"I pulled you in here to talk. Not—" He gestured vaguely. Looked uncomfortable for the first time that evening. "Not that. I needed to apologize. And I needed to do it before we got in the car."
Killian Blackwood had been born into a tax bracket where 'sorry' was something other people said to him. April waited.
"I misread," Killian said. His voice was steady. Careful. "Are you okay?"
She'd been bracing for something else. An explanation. A justification. Maybe even a smooth billionaire speech about how the proposal was strategic and she should trust the process.
"I—" April's brain tried to catch up. "I don't know."
Killian nodded. "That's fair." He looked like he was trying to figure out what to say next.
"The proposal," he said finally, "was issued prematurely."
April blinked. "Did you just… corporate-memo your apology?"
"Yes. Is it working?"
"I don't know." April laughed, sharp-edged, a little cracked.
Killian's expression softened, "I should have asked first.”
His hand lifted, stopped, hovered close enough that she could feel the heat of it at her wrist. Then it dropped back to his side.
“I didn't. I'm sorry." Then he stood there like that was it.
She waited for the reflex to soften. It didn’t come.
“Okay,” April said.
Not yes. Not forgiveness. Just… next.
"Okay?"
"Okay. We're leaving now. And I'm going to pretend the last ten minutes didn't happen until I've had food and possibly a drink. Or five."
Killian nodded. "Deal."
He stepped back first. They left the closet.
April had the fleeting thought that her life had become a series of exits. At some point, she was going to have to stop leaving places and actually stay somewhere.
But not tonight.
???
The limo was sleek and black, the kind that either belonged to someone very important or someone pretending very hard.
Liam appeared at her elbow. “Killian keeps one on retainer.”
Of course he did.
“Mr. Sterling,” someone called, panicked-polished. “Your speech, the Silvers’ donor table wants you, press is waiting—”
Liam didn’t break stride.
April glanced at him. “Can you… leave your own gala this early?”
“They won’t miss us,” Liam said.
They literally had. Out loud. April gave him a once over then shrugged and climbed into the car anyway.
She was already typing before the door shut.
April: We're coming to get you. I need you.
She hesitated. Then kept typing.
April: Also I'm engaged now? For real? It's complicated.
Mateo: I'll be ready. Bringing food.
"We're getting Mateo," she announced to the limo at large.
No one questioned it.
April typed again.
April: Leaving gala. Going to club. Still engaged. I think.
She sent it to Laura.
The reply was almost immediate.
Laura: I thought the engagement was a prank?
Laura: what do you mean it's still real?
April stared at her phone.
Laura: April how are you even getting to this club, is someone going with you?
Laura was trying to help. April didn’t know how to explain that she was fine. Mostly. Probably.
The limo slowed. Pulled up to the curb outside Mateo's restaurant.
April: Gotta go. We’re at Mateo’s
Laura: That isn't a gala or a club
April put her phone away and leaned for the door handle, but Killian was faster.
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know.” He was already opening the door, stepping out, glancing back at her like it wasn’t a question.
April stared at him for a second, then followed him onto the sidewalk.
They walked around to the back of the restaurant, toward the service door she’d come through earlier, when the day had still made a little sense. Mateo was visible through the window, moving through the kitchen with efficiency built from years of muscle memory. Killian held the door open.
Mateo looked up, did a double-take. “Killian Blackwood using the staff entrance, should I take a picture? Commemorate the moment?”
“The view’s much better here,” Killian said, already looking at April.
Mateo’s eyebrows went up, but he didn’t comment. He went back to packing boxes as April stepped inside.
“You didn’t have to come get me,” Mateo said without looking up. “I could’ve met you.”
“I wanted to,” April said simply.
Mateo’s hands paused for a second, then kept moving. April watched him work, the precision of it, the care, like he was building something instead of packing it away.
“You don’t have to do this” she said.
“Do what?”
“Take care of me.”
Mateo set the box down and turned to face her fully.
“When I was a kid, food was how I survived. Not just physically. It was how I kept peace. How I proved I was worth keeping around.” He picked the box back up, added another container.
“I fed people because it was the only thing I knew how to do. Now it’s just part of who I am and I embrace it. ”
“No one ever took care of me, I was the competent one. So no one ever—” She stopped.
“Then let me be the one who insists.”
He sealed the box and handed it to Killian, who took it without comment. “Here’s the rule,” Mateo said, still focused on April. “You eat when you’re stressed. That’s my boundary with you.”
“That’s a weird boundary,” she said, trying to laugh.
“You’re a weird person.”
“Fair.”
They walked back to the limo, Killian carrying boxes, April beside Mateo. When they reached the curb, Mateo stopped, stared at the limo, then at the silhouettes inside.
“April," he said carefully, "I know that's a limo, but those are some very large men.”
“I’m aware.”
“Where am I supposed to sit?”
“We’ll make it work,” Killian said, opening the door.
Mateo climbed in, followed by a brief, visible round of human Tetris, Liam shifting closer to Caleb, Arthur angling his shoulders, Jax somehow taking up less space than physics allowed. Mateo wedged himself into the remaining gap with the boxes on his lap.
“This is a fire hazard,” Mateo said.
“Probably,” Caleb agreed.
Killian got in last and shut the door. The limo was officially at capacity.
April looked around at all of them: Killian, composed but still apologetic; Arthur, eyes narrowed like he was calculating load-bearing limits; Liam radiating calm despite being compressed; Caleb delighted by the chaos; Jax pretending he wasn’t up to no good; Mateo clutching boxes like they were life preservers.
“Okay,” April said. “Show of hands, who else feels like tonight is a fever dream?”
Every hand went up. Including hers.
“Right. Okay. So—do we all… know each other?”
The men looked around the limo, over shoulders pressed too close.
“I’m Caleb,” Caleb offered.
“I know,” Arthur replied.
April released a slightly unhinged laugh, the kind that let pressure escape before something ruptured. “I think I need an icebreaker.” She could feel her eyes go a little wild.
“Nothing makes sense right now. I’m in a limo with six men, we’re going to a club, I’ve been engaged three separate times today, and I haven’t run a risk assessment on any of this, and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Mateo reached for one of the boxes and handed her a container. “Eat first,” he said. “Existential spiral second. I’ve penciled it in for after midnight.”
The warmth seeped into her hands. She opened it, took a bite, and felt her nervous system finally unclench.
She leaned back against the leather as the tires hummed beneath them.
This morning, she’d been hiding in a supply closet.
Now she was in a stretch limo full of beautiful chaos, her life suddenly something that required a guest list and a press statement.
It wasn’t a prank anymore. Which would’ve been comforting, if she had any idea what it actually was.
The song was still ghosting around the edges of her mind. “I wish I knew what Jiro was thinking,” she murmured, mostly to the air.
She didn’t notice her thumb brushing the ring. She didn’t see Jax go still in the shadows of the far seat. A second later, his fingers began moving over his phone.