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“Time to decompress?” Sophie’s voice interrupts from behind us. “With your best friend, who happens to have wine, ice cream, and a very comfy guest room where we can dissect every excruciating detail of tonight’s corporate soap opera?”

Emma’s relief is visible, tension melting from her shoulders. “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in her perfume. “Take the time you need. Process everything with Sophie. Just...” I smile slightly. “Try not to let her plan our entire wedding while you’re at it.”

“Too late!” Sophie links her arm through Emma’s, winking at me over her head. “I already have a Pinterest board. Several, actually. Plus a spreadsheet of potential venues, categorized by‘sustainability factor’ and ‘likelihood of Emma tripping during the ceremony.’”

“See what I’m getting myself into?” Emma teases, but her eyes remain soft when they meet mine.

“Worth it.” I give her hand a final squeeze. “Text me when you get to Sophie’s.”

“I will.”

I watch them leave. Sophie already chattering about post-gala recovery plans involving face masks and detailed gossip analysis. Mom appears beside me, satisfaction is evident in her expression.

“You did good, letting her go with Sophie tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes the best way to show you trust someone is to let them lean on other people, too.” She pats my cheek. “Even if those other people are your meddlesome sister with questionable matchmaking methods.”

“I heard that!” Sophie calls back, making Emma laugh.

The sound warms me from within. Two years ago, I would have seen Emma’s need for space as rejection and would have retreated behind corporate walls or fled to another city. But now I understand that sometimes loving someone means letting them process in their own way. Trusting that they’ll come back when they’re ready.

Because some things are worth protecting.

But Emma Hastings?

She’s worth trusting even more.

Even when that means letting her process our corporate drama over wine and ice cream with my sister.

Especially then.

As I watch them disappear into Sophie’s car, I make a promise—to myself, Emma, and us. I’m done running from challenges.

Done trying to protect people by controlling situations.

Done being my father’s son instead of my own man.

Chapter Twenty

Emma

“Ice cream first or wine?” Sophie asks, already heading for her kitchen. She’s still in her gala dress, emerald silk rustling as she moves through the apartment. The dress probably cost more than my monthly rent, but Sophie has never been afraid to risk designer clothing in the pursuit of emotional support.

“Both?” I’m curled on her couch, heels discarded beneath the coffee table, Elizabeth’s sapphire earrings carefully placed on the polished surface. My toes flex with relief after hours of confinement. “Though maybe not in the same bowl this time.”

“That was one time! And you have to admit, cabernet over chocolate chip was unexpectedly good.” She returns with two wine glasses, a pint of mint chocolate chip, and spoons. Theice cream is slightly softened—perfect scooping consistency. “So. Want to talk about my idiot brother trying to protect you from the big, bad board?”

I accept the wine gratefully, the cool glass a welcome sensation against my palm. “He apologized. We danced. Everything’s fine, and stop calling my boyfriend an idiot!”

“Uh-huh.” She settles beside me, tucking her feet under her designer gown with practiced ease. “That’s why you’re on my couch at midnight instead of making out with said idiot brother.”

“Sophie!” Heat floods my cheeks, which is ridiculous considering how long we’ve been friends.

“What? Like you weren’t thinking it.” She hands me a spoon, metal cool against my fingers. “Seriously though, you okay?”