Page 43 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Tristan

My hands shook as I straightened my tie, smoothed down hair that had somehow become disheveled despite my careful grooming. The reporter's questions still rang in my ears, each one a trap I'd navigated by choosing honesty over self-preservation.

Gemma might very well kill me. Smart business practice would have involved deflection, careful non-answers that protected both my privacy and the hotel's reputation. Instead, I'd sat behind my desk and essentially announced to the world that I was exploring a relationship with two people.

And leaving my job.

I waited for the panic attack to tighten my chest and send me spiraling out of control, but instead I felt… free.

The elevator ride to their floor felt endless. Numbers climbed with agonizing slowness while my pulse hammered against my collar. What if they'd seen the interview? What if they'd hated what I'd said? The thought sent ice racing through my veins, but then I thought more deeply about it, and realized that I'd spoken with the exact open honesty that Juniper and Marco had given me every day since I'd met them.

They wouldn't hate it.

Their suite door stood before me like a judgment, polished wood and brass fittings that suddenly seemed impossibly formal for people who'd spent the morning exploring each other's bodies with desperate hunger. I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated, struck by the absurd possibility that I might be interrupting something private. Something I was not invited to be a part of.

The first knock was tentative, barely audible even to my own ears. When no response came, I tried again, firmer this time, knuckles rapping against wood with the kind of authority that usually opened doors throughout the hotel.

Silence.

I pressed my ear to the door, listening for voices or movement, but heard nothing. The hallway stretched empty in both directions. Where were they? My watch read nine-thirty. It was a reasonable time for them to be out, exploring Bath or eating a late dinner. I'd been presumptuous to assume they'd be waiting for me, watching the news, ready to discuss whatever the interview meant for our future. Hell, I hadn't even told them about the chaos of my day. Hadn't spoken to them other than a brief call the night before.

They had lives beyond this building, responsibilities that didn't revolve around my schedule or my needs.

But the disappointment that crashed over me was anything but reasonable. It felt like physical pain, a crushing weight that made breathing difficult and my vision blur at the edges. I'd just taken the biggest risk of my professional life, had publicly acknowledged feelings I'd never even admitted to myself. And they weren't here to witness it.

Because I hadn't told them what was happening. Why hadn't I told them? I should have asked them to be there.

But I'd been afraid. Afraid that I wanted too much.

I knocked again, harder this time, desperation bleeding through careful control.

"Juniper? Marco?"

My voice carried down the empty corridor, echoing off marble surfaces that suddenly felt cold and unwelcoming.

"It's Tristan."

Nothing.

My forehead dropped to rest against the door. The wood was cool against skin that felt fevered with anxiety and disappointment.

The photographer from before flashed through my memory—that glint of lens catching sunlight, the knowledge that someone had been documenting our arrival for purposes I hadn't bothered to consider. The thought made my stomach clench with nausea.

I'd been so focused on the immediate pleasure of their company that I'd forgotten the reality of my position. Bancroft family business was public business, my personal life fair game for anyone with a camera and an audience. By allowing myself to get involved with them, I'd dragged Marco and Juniper into a spotlight they'd never asked for. And maybe they were furious with me.

That thought, finally, stirred the familiar swelling in my chest and I held it off, breathing slow, deep breaths, as I walked back to the elevator, heading for my office. I couldn't break down in public. Not now.

My breathing was coming faster by the time I entered the executive suite. My assistant had left for the day. The outer office was empty except for the soft hum of computers left on. I pushed through the door to my private space, loosening my tie as if that might help me breathe.

That's when I saw them.

Marco sat in one of the leather chairs facing my desk. Juniper had claimed the sofa, her wild curls catching light from the tall windows while she sketched something in the notebook that seemed permanently attached to her hand. They looked completely at home in my sanctuary, like they belonged in this space I'd never shared with anyone outside of business necessity.

The relief that crashed over me was so intense it nearly buckled my knees. They were here. They were waiting for me. Whatever the interview meant, whatever consequences waited in the aftermath, I wouldn't face them alone.

"I thought you'd left."

My voice sounded choked, panicked, unhinged.

Marco was out of his chair before I finished speaking, crossing the distance between us with quick strides that spoke of his own urgent need for connection. Juniper abandoned her sketching to launch herself at me with the kind of enthusiasm that made my chest tight with emotion I couldn't name.

"We came straight to you. Are you okay?"

Marco murmured, cupping my face in his palms.

"You did so well, sweetheart, but we were worried about your panic attacks."

Juniper was already untying my tie, unbuttoning my suit jacket, coaxing me to breathe.

"I'm okay now," I said.

Their arms wrapped around me from both sides, solid warmth that anchored me to the present moment instead of the spiral of anxiety that had been consuming my thoughts.

"We saw,"

Juniper said against my shoulder, her voice muffled but warm with approval.

"And heard every word..

"I said too much."

"You were perfect,"

she insisted.

Perfect. The word hit like absolution, like permission to stop apologizing for choices that had brought me more happiness in the past week than I'd experienced in years. They'd seen my public declaration and come to find me, not to retreat but to move forward together.

"But why didn't you tell us what was happening?"

she admonished.

"I can't imagine having to face that alone, having to deal with reporters and questions… with your anxiety."

"You both said you had to work today."

Juniper rolled her eyes.

"Marco was panicking about whether you wanted to be our boyfriend, and I was sketching ideas for the Bancroft Inn. No actual work got done."

"Hey!"

Marco said.

"I answered four emails."

"Four emails! All day,"

she said, winking at me.

I swallowed, my brain replaying one word over and over.

"Your boyfriend?"

"Obviously,"

Juniper said.

"And if you do want to be our boyfriend, you need to communicate better. You're used to dealing with everything yourself, but you have us now. You should have told us right away that something was wrong. We're in this too."

"How can you both be so calm about everything?"

Marco grinned.

"Juni and I haven't always been the chill, laid-back, awesome couple you see today."

I snorted.

"Hard to imagine."

"Okay, we were always kind of chill. But we had a rough patch when we bought the Palm Springs property. Before that, it had been all Portland and Seattle, and things went pretty smoothly."

Juniper nodded.

"It was easy enough to travel between the two properties, and we still had plenty of time for each other. But the Palm Springs property nearly ripped things apart. One of us had to be managing the renovation, while the other managed two hotels, and it was just too much."

"We never saw each other, never had a free moment,"

Marco said.

"And we realized our work-life balance sucked,"

Juniper said, grinning up at me.

"You're familiar with that, huh?"

I snorted and shook my head, a smile creeping across my lips.

"Anyway, we knew we wanted to save our relationship, so we learned how to balance things, how to communicate what we need. To hire people who can take on some of the load, and allow us to focus on the things that matter to us."

Juniper stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek.

"That's you, Tristan. You matter to us. Okay?"

"Okay,"

I murmured as I held them both tighter, finally understanding that some risks were worth taking, regardless of consequences.

"You really want me to be your boyfriend?"

Marco laughed.

"Of course! I mean, this is all new, and who knows… It may blow up in our faces in two weeks."

"That happens to us a lot, too,"

Juniper said.

"But I don't think it will this time. I think this will last. And your public statement made me sure of that. The way you refused to apologize, the way you protected our privacy while still claiming us publicly. We both knew right then—this man is ours, and we've got to figure out how to make sure he knows that."

The possessiveness in her voice sent heat racing through my nervous system, made my hands tighten against their backs as I processed what she was really saying.

"You were brilliant,"

Marco added, his voice rough with emotion that matched what I could see in his dark eyes.

"Honest without being reckless, protective without being possessive. I've never seen anyone handle that kind of pressure with such grace."

Their praise should have made me feel better, should have quieted the anxiety that had been churning in my gut since the moment I'd agreed to the interview. Instead, it made the potential consequences feel even more real, more significant. They were proud of me for risking everything I'd worked to build, but they didn't fully understand what that risk might cost.

"The hotel,"

I said, reluctantly loosening my grip to step back enough for proper conversation.

"This could reflect badly on the Bancroft brand. What if it hurts the Bindery, too?"

"Is it worth losing this connection to mitigate that risk?"

Juniper asked.

"It doesn't feel worth it to me. We can't predict the future, we don't know how people will react. We can only do what makes us happy and try our best to keep our businesses running in the meantime.”

All at once, a future spooled out in front of me that had nothing to do with the responsibilities that had always tied me down, and the only thing I could do was smile and hug my lovers.

"Gemma has agreed to take over effective next week. I'll need a little time to wrap up loose ends," I said.

"So we'll need to stay in Bath for the time being. And maybe it's time to show you my flat?"

Juniper giggled and adopted a terrible British accent.

"Your flat. So posh and British. Do you want to fuck me in your flat, guv'nor."

"Only if you never use that accent again," I teased.

Marco snorted.

"You'd fuck her even if she spoke only in that accent. She's irresistible, my wife. Terrible at accents, but irresistible."

I beamed at both of them, feeling happy in a way I wasn't sure I ever had.

"Both of you are. You wore me down with your filthy minds and naughty hijinks. And now I'm not sure I'll ever have enough."