Forty-Two

"This is gorgeous," Essie remarks, examining the framed photo on my mantle. It's a picture Everett took of Lander and me in St. Michaels where we're both wearing thick sweaters and hugging each other by the water, and ugh, fine. I do owe an apology to the inventor of the PSL because I'm ecstatic it's already cuffing season.

"Thanks." I join her by the fireplace and straighten the frame. "Isn't he photogenic?"

"Unfairly so," Cora chimes in from her spot on my couch. "I've said it before and I'll say it again: Lander needs to start camming."

"I always thought I had centerfold potential," Lander remarks as he walks in, surprising me. I figured he'd work late today, but he's home before six for once.

I cross the room to greet him but stop halfway. Immediately, I know something has happened. The look on his face is somber even though he's trying to force something calm in its place. His hair is messy like he's been tugging it. And his tie—my god, the knot is crooked.

"What happened?" I demand.

Lander clears his throat and cocks his head to the side. "Cora, Essie, can I talk to Valeria alone? My place is unlocked."

A minute later, the door has barely closed behind Cora and Essie when I rush into Lander's arms.

The hug he gives me in return is brief, borderline perfunctory. "You should sit. We need to talk."

Hearing those words, I gasp. "No," I warn, backing away. "Fuck no. ‘We need to talk' is the single most dangerous sentence in the English language, only slightly more painful than, ‘Is this you.' Lander, tell me what happened."

"Frank…" He trails off and looks to the side, refusing to meet my eyes. His gaze lingers there until he frowns. "Valeria, is that a picture of us?"

"What? Oh, that. I enlarged it and had it framed. It's not as big as the picture of my tits, obviously, but I know, it's big." I shrug. "I hated how there were no pictures of you in St. Michaels, so I figured...oh no, is this weird?"

He doesn't answer at first. Instead, he wears a far-off look, his blue eyes ticking side to side while his mind travels. "No," he breathes out after a minute. "It's not weird. In fact, it's…" He faces me again. "Valeria," he begins. "Baby."

"No." I shake my head while dread prickles my skin with goosebumps. "I don't care what existential crisis you just went through. The bottom line is, you're not breaking up with me. Not now, not ever. So, if this is a speech to tell me how much your career means to you, just know that I'm not taking this lying down. I'm going to show up at your office and play music outside your door. I'm going to bribe your assistant and get her to put me on your video calls. I'm going to scheme my motherfucking brains out to keep you, and if you don't like it—"

"I fucking love you," he interjects. He reaches out and his hands rest on my cheeks, holding our gazes together. "I mean it. I'm so in love with you, Valeria Fuentes."

My heart is in my throat and yet it's pounding at the same time. There's a rush of tingles along my limbs, and the flutters? They've never been quite like this. But amid all these involuntary, incredible reactions is a profound sense of clarity.

"I love you too," I answer, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

I am hopelessly in love with Lander Dawson—and it's wonderful.

He gives me one of those rare, full smiles. Beaming. Mine alone. "I'm not breaking up with you. Not now, not ever. Nothing is ever getting in the way of us again," he assures me before pausing. "Well, to be honest, I did come here to tell you Frank didn't pick me for Stafford, but said he would if I broke up with you—"

"Seriously?"

"—but fuck that. You're my family, Valeria. You're my life. I would never pick anything over you."

"But—"

"Nope," he cuts in. "We establish this right here and now: You're never the reason anything bad happens to my career."

"But what if there was a way for you to keep me and get Stafford?" I ask, putting my hands on his wrists and squeezing them. "We haven't weighed all the possible outcomes. You're clever, Lander. Maybe there's a deal to cut, or—"

"That's a horrible idea!" a muffled voice shouts through the wall.

Lander and I exchange matching looks of confusion. I point to my bedroom, where our shared wall is located. "Was that…"

"Did someone…"

"Narnia?"

"No…Everett?"

"Yeah…hey," Everett confirms, definitely speaking through the wall.

Still frowning, Lander leads the way to the front door, and when we poke our heads into the hallway, Everett is already leaning out of Lander's condo.

"It's ridiculous how thin the walls are," he comments, gesturing over his shoulder. "I've seen more resilient slices of Swiss cheese."

"I don't mind," Lander replies before winking at me.

Everett snorts. "Well, Dalton and I just got here, and based on your text, it sounds like we all need to talk."

Lander nods. "You have no idea."