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But as much as the thought gutted me, what terrified me more was the idea of doing nothing. Of letting her walk through this alone, carrying the weight of a decision I’d helped create, and not being there when she needed me most.
I opened my eyes, the edges of the room coming back into focus, and let out a slow, shaky breath.
This wasn’t sustainable. Sooner or later, something had to give.
And maybe… I was discovering what being in love felt like.
The streets were quiet as I pulled up in front of the Devereux Gallery, the sleek exterior glowing under soft lights. It was too late for anyone except the cleaning crew, but Anthony’s office light was still on. Typical.
I killed the engine and sat for a moment, hands resting on the wheel, watching the way the light spilled onto the sidewalk. I hadn’t planned to come here. Hell, I hadn’t planned anything past burying myself in spreadsheets and pretending Juliette’s text wasn’t burning a hole in my phone.
But here I was. And maybe that was the right call for once.
Inside, the gallery was hushed and echoing, the quiet that settled in after hours, when the last visitors were gone, and the art seemed to exhale. I found Anthony in his office, leaning over his desk with a phone to his ear, a glass of bourbon within reach.When he looked up and saw me in the doorway, he waved me in without missing a beat.
“Sinclair,” he murmured into the phone, wrapping up whatever call he was on. “Yeah. We’ll circle back tomorrow. Thanks.”
He hung up, gave me a once-over, and reached for another glass.
“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” he said, pouring a generous measure before sliding it across the desk. “Trouble in paradise, or are you just here for the good stuff?”
I took the glass, but I didn’t drink. Instead, I traced the rim with my thumb, watching the liquid catch the light.
“Fundraiser’s shaping up,” I offered, voice low. “Juliette’s got half the city roped into donating something.”
Anthony leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, she’s good at that. Better than I am.”
“She’s good at a lot of things.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Anthony’s eyes sharpened, and just like that, the easy conversation cooled a few degrees. “Gabrielle said she was at the doctor’s today.”
I nodded, feeling the weight settle heavier on my shoulders.
“And?” he prodded.
I shook my head. “I don’t know yet. She hasn’t told me.”
Anthony studied me in the dim light, then exhaled quietly, tipping back in his chair. “You’ve been circling something for weeks now, Sinclair. You want to spit it out, or do we keep dancing around it all night?”
My jaw tightened. I could’ve laughed it off, could’ve deflected—God knew I was good at that — but I didn’t have the energy tonight.
“I’m… holding something back from her,” I admitted. “Something she deserves to know.”
Anthony’s brow lifted slightly, but to his credit, he didn’t press. Instead, he reached for his own glass, swirling the bourbon with a thoughtful tilt of his wrist.
“You can’t sit on the fence forever, Sinclair,” he said quietly. “If you care about her, you don’t get to keep half the truth in your pocket.”
I let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through my hair as the guilt prickled under my skin. I could feel it in my face, could feel the way my defenses cracked just enough for Anthony to see the strain underneath.
I didn’t tell him about Mateo. Couldn’t. Not yet.
But I saw the moment Anthony picked up on it anyway—the flicker in his eyes, the subtle tightening of his mouth.
“You’re a lot of things, Sinclair,” he murmured, setting his glass down with a softclink.“But you’re not a coward. So don’t act like one now.”
The words landed deeper than I wanted to admit, cutting past the practiced edges I usually kept in place. I stood slowly, fingers curling briefly around the untouched glass before setting it back on his desk. “Thanks, Anthony.”
He gave a small nod, no smile this time, just steady, measured understanding.