"And I'd also like to thank the amazing project team behind this collaboration." Sabina raises her glass, smiling, and the rest of the audience does, too. "And again to Women for Women for trusting The Fit, and of course, to the cause this collaboration is for. Thank you all for coming, have a great night, grab some champagne and dance. Thank you."

A loud round of applause meets her, and Sabina knocks back her own champagne before she moves down the stage, where her secretary is smiling at her, looking devilishly handsome with his hair pushed back and in the expensive suit Sabina got him. "Congratulations, Ms. Kyle," he murmurs when she's close enough.

Sabina whispers, "Follow me."

In the amazingly clean bathroom, Sabina pushes back, moving her dress and her underwear aside, and Tristan groans in her ear. "Do not ruin my dress or my hair or my makeup, Bishop, got it?"

"That'll be hard, but I'll try my best," he rasps, hands on the wall beside Sabina's head. Sabina hears him inhale shakily when her back presses to his front. "God, shit, you feel so good."

Sabina bites her lip to keep her smile, and she moves her hips back and forth, back and forth. "No ruining your suit either, that cost me a hundred couple of dollars."

"Feel like I'm your sugar baby," he groans, hands fisting into balls, breathing turning erratic. He slides Sabina's hair carefully to the side, exposing her neck, and presses his lips to her hot skin. "You're so hot, fuck."

"Wanna make you feel good," Sabina murmurs, turning her head so she can grasp his neck and kiss him hard. "Always make you feel so good."

Tristan's answering moans are good enough indication that she's done her job.

They stay at the event until the morning, waiting until all their guests have cleared out, and when they get home, Tristan carries her to the bedroom, makes love to her all over again—sweet and slow this time, not dirty and quick like in the bathroom—and looks her in the eye while he pleasures her.

"Say you love me," he breathes, quickening his pace, thumb brushing her lip, the other holding her hips down.

Sabina fists the sheets, writhing underneath him. "I love you," she struggles to say, panting, eyes watering. "I love you, Tristan—fuck, please—"

Tristan swallows her sounds when she releases, nails digging into her skin and bone.

"I love you too," he whispers, after he's cleaned her up gathers her in his arms, kissing her head.

Sabina listens to his heart and hums, breaths slowing.

*

"So I heard you're going to Malta," Rhysand drawls lazily, tossing the box of pastries on Sabina's counter. "That's from my wife, by the way."

Sabina scoffs, sitting down on a stool after passing him his bitter coffee. "I know it's from Andy, I would never assume it's from you. Although, it is kind of surprising to see you come by my apartment."

"I'm surprised you let me in."

"Oh, ha ha, I'm not a bitchy as you are."

Rhysand's face is blank as he takes a sip. "Sabina. When Andrea and I broke up, you invited me for a drink, fully intending to punch me because I hurt her. And you know I hurt her."

That is one of the few times she's heard Rhysand say a lot in one breath, and Sabina doesn't know why he's bringing it up now. "Yup. I remember. Clearly."

The producer looks away, and Sabina raises an eyebrow, unnerved with his behavior. Rhysand usually looks a lot angrier and moodier than this—this weird, fidgety bitchass talking about sentiments. "MJ can fight, I know, but she doesn't have the balls that you have."

"So you're saying I'm a man."

"Let me finish, will you?" he snaps, glaring.

"Ah, there he is." Sabina nods, waving her hand in circles. "Continue."

Rhysand keeps his glare, but he clears his throat. "And Andrea..." Unbelievably, his face fucking softens and his voice softens and Sabina can see hearts flying around this bitch's face. "Andrea can't and won't hurt a damn ant."

"Harton, are you going to kill me?"

His angry look is back. He rolls his eyes. "I'd love to if you shut up for one second."

"Your whole nice and creepy act is scaring me, stop it."

He lets out an annoyed sigh and runs a hand through his black hair. "What I'm saying is," he snaps angrily, "you don't have friends who are going to punch Tristan if he hurts you. But you have me."

Sabina stares at him. Rhysand stares back.

A laugh escapes her lips, and Sabina slaps a hand to her mouth. "Oh, God. Rhysand Harton, are you telling me you're going to defend my honor? You, a male?"

"It has nothing to do with defending you because you're a woman, cut that shit out." He rolls his eyes. "We both know you can hurt me if you wanted to. Don't get me wrong, I'd hurt you back as self-defense but I'm not looking for reasons for Andrea to divorce me anytime soon."

"So what makes you think I won't hurt Tristan if he hurts me?"

Andy's husband raises an eyebrow. That look alone makes Sabina lose all traces of humor in her face. "Fucking stupid."

"Dumb bitch—"

"Because you love him, you moronic ass," Rhysand spits. "It has nothing to do with me defending you but it has everything to do with him hurting someone I love and consider family."

Sabina blinks. She says, "Blink twice if you're being held hostage."

"Oh, forget it."

"Harton," Sabina calls gleefully, just as he's stalking toward the front door.

"What," he snaps, back facing her.

"You're disgustingly sweet. As a brother, I love you too. So thanks."

Rhysand opens the door and leaves.

Sabina laughs, opening the box of pastries.

*

On the day they're supposed to leave for Malta, Sabina can't taste the coffee Tristan made her.

"You have your bear?" Tristan asks his son, double-checking his bag. "Toothbrush, toothpaste, sunscreen...oh, hat!"

Sabina's staring at them, stomach in knots. Brandon's ready in his jeans and polo shirt and he looks excited, and Tristan's nervous, it's obvious that he is, but he's excited, too.

Sabina's just...frozen. Numb. Feeling like she's about to throw up.

"Honey, you ready?" Tristan mutters, locking Brandon's suitcase. "I'll just load the bags in the car and we can go. Ian's waiting downstairs to see us off, too."

Sabina takes a deep breath. "Yeah," she says, but she realizes that the word doesn't come past her lips, and she clears her throat and says louder and clearer, "Yeah, I'm ready. You guys go ahead, I'll just go to the bathroom and I'll meet you downstairs."

"Okay." Tristan smiles at her and picks up his bag with one hand, and holds Brandon's hand in the other. "C'mon, baby."

As soon as they're gone, Sabina locks the bathroom door, paces, and then fishes for her phone to call MJ.

"You can do this," her best friend says as soon as she picks up on the first ring. "It's just meeting the parents, it's a natural part of the relationship. Tristan's already met yours."

"Yeah, but I wasn't introducing him as the father of my child!" Sabina hisses, pushing her hand to her forehead, feeling her skin sweat. She fans herself, feeling hot, and continues to pace the bathroom. "God, I can't. I can't do this. I'll be in their hometown where the blueberries are with both Tristan and Brandon and then I'll never want to leave them, I won't be able to leave, I'll—"

MJ is quiet.

Sabina's words register in her head. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, slow, and long breath, gathering all her wits and courage. "No. I can do this. Tell me I can do this. I have time after this, marriage is a long way off."

The ginger sighs. "Oh, Sab. Maybe you can sit out on this one first. Stay at home, think this over more—"

"No, Tristan will be disappointed."

"He loves you. Tristan will understand."

"MJ!" Sabina shouts, nearly at her wit's end, close to breaking down. "MJ, tell me I need to go, tell me I need to go, because if I don't, if I don't, and I've just realized I don't want this life but I'm willing to do it anyway because I love Tristan and I love Brandon, if I don't, Mary Jane, I'll never want to again."

Her best friend pauses. And then, "Okay. You need to go to Malta, Sabina. You can do it, just relax."

Sabina hoped that'll help, but all it did was make her feel disgusting in her own skin—like it's not hers. She puts the toilet seat down and closes her eyes, nails digging to her palms. "Okay. I will. I can."

"Text me when you get in," MJ says gently. "And call me if you need anything, okay? Emotional breakdown, mental breakdown, depressive episode...I've been through it all, honey."

It makes her smile. "That's not supposed to be funny."

"But it made you smile. Okay. Put on your bitch face—sorry, your game face, as your bitch face is your normal one—and leave the bathroom or wherever you're hiding, and put on a smile."

Sabina swallows hard and nods. "Okay."

"You got this. Love you."

Sabina hangs up.

She doesn't realize how long she's been sitting there, face in her hands and muttering to herself to get it together, until a soft knock raps on the wood. "Kyle, you okay?"

It's Tristan, and he sounds concerned and worried and all the things he shouldn't feel going home.

Sabina smiles so it shows in her voice. "Yup. I'm fine." She stands up, braces herself for the look on her lover's face, and opens the door, grinning. "Sorry, I just had a bad stomach, but I'm good. Come on."

Tristan snatches her wrist before she can take another step., pressing her against the doorframe. His grip is tight, and when Sabina looks at him, his eyes are blank, searching her own. "You nervous?" he asks quietly, eyebrows drawing together. "Or is this something else?"

"Just nervous," Sabina tells him, stroking his face. "But it's fine, I can do this. Come on."

Tristan doesn't let go. He watches her face, and then he mutters, "But you don't want to."

Sabina knew she couldn't hide anything in her expressions. It's either that or Tristan just knows her a little too well. "I do," she tells him, shaking her head. "Of course I do, you met my parents and I want to meet yours, I want them to meet me as your girlfriend, I just—"

"But not as Brandon's mother," he finishes quietly, eyes still locked on her own. "Or soon-to-be mother, or parent, or Mama."

Sabina feels her mouth dry. She takes a deep breath and says, "It's okay. It's okay, I'm fine. I'll get over it like I always do and it just—it needs some time and I have time in the long car ride."

"Is it always going to be like this, Sabina?" Tristan asks. He doesn't sound angry, or hateful, or accusatory—just curious, and—and sad. "You getting over it? You forcing yourself to do this?"

"Tristan." Sabina puts her hands on her cheeks and looks at him straight in the eye. With conviction, she tells him, "I can do this. I can, you know I can. So come on, let's go, we'll be late."

Tristan pulls his hand away when Sabina tries to take it, and he steps back. "You don't want to, Sabina." His breath is shaky when he inhales, and he whispers, "I'm waiting for you downstairs but you don't want to come, but you'll come anyway because you love me, and you love Brandon."

Sabina stares at him. She wants to say he's wrong, but he's not. He's...he knows her, and he loves her enough to stop her.

"And if I love you," Tristan continues softly, "if I love you, Sabina—not the person I want you to be for Brandon, and not the person I'm hoping you to be for Brandon, I wouldn't be waiting."

"And you would be, what, letting me go?"

Tristan only stares at her.

"That's bullshit," Sabina says.

"This is not the life that you want, Sabina," Tristan breathes through gritted teeth, eyes watering. "I've known for a long time that this is not what you want, but I was selfish and greedy and I kept pushing and pushing and taking and taking, but you—" he stops, voice breaking, "you can't force yourself to want this life, you can't force yourself to want to have a kid, to take care of a child, Sabina. You'll be miserable, you are miserable, and one day, because you love me and you love Brandon so much, you'll resent the both of us and what will be left to love of yourself?"

It's the exact same words she voiced to MJ, and the exact same words her friend voiced to her. Sabina's chest rises and falls rapidly, and she hears her pulse in her ears. Her voice sounds like that of a stranger's when she says, "So what are you saying? You're breaking up with me?"

When Tristan doesn't answer immediately, Sabina gets in his space, pushing his chest. "You made me love you," Sabina hisses, gasping for breath, face stained with tears. "You made me love you, so fucking take responsibility for this, you can't do this."

He takes her wrists and holds them tight. "I made you do a lot of things, Sabina. I made you feel like you have to do this for me—ever notice how I say you make me happy but you never say it back? I'm the only one who gets to be happy in this relationship," he snaps, "I have Brand and I have you—you, who's willing to bend what you want because you love me even though you're not happy."

Sabina yanks her hands away and moves back, shaking her head. "This is normal, I have a right to feel this unease and anxiety about meeting your parents with your son."

He nods once. "I know. Which is why you're not coming with me. I don't want you to feel like this for the rest of the week."

"Tristan."

"Brandon and I come from this place, Sabina," he says quietly. "It's our home, we grew up blueberry boys. Somehow, something about that scares you."

She told MJ she can't leave after this.

That's what scares her.

Tristan takes a deep breath. When he speaks, Sabina can hear his chest crack. "When I come back and you still want this, you still want to do this life with me, then we'll work on it, we'll go to Malta when you're ready. I'm not going to be selfish, I've been selfish long enough."

They both know he didn't say 'you still want me' because Sabina does. Sabina wants him.

Just not the life that comes with him.

Tristan knows it. That's why he says, "But if you don't." He looks at her. "Then you keep your heart, Sabina. And I'll keep mine."

He smiles, moves forward, cups her face tenderly, and bends down to kiss her forehead. It's only when the door shuts closed that Sabina moves. Touches her face where his hand touched her.

It's going to be hard to sleep at night, with the imprint of his touch still searing on her skin. It looks the same—dark, smooth, no bruises or scars or marks, but she can still feel the rush of electricity in her veins, trace the outline of every finger of Tristan's hand. Feel his kiss on her lips.

*

"What time is my peasant—sorry, interviewee coming in today, Jamie?" Sabina asked, taking the folder from the HR representative sent to her for her new and unnecessary secretary, sipping her coffee on the way to the office. "And please tell me this one's not a stuttering mess."

She was still pissed at Elyse. She didn't want a secretary.

"He's waiting by the reception, Ms. Kyle," Jamie uttered, pushing open the glass door. "Name is Tristan Bishop, twenty-four years old, looks nice, as you requested. And no, not a stuttering mess, ma'am."

Yes, she requested someone both competent and nice to look at. Sabina tossed his file on the desk and took off her blazer. "Let him in in five."

Jamie nodded and left.

Sabina opened the folder, eyebrows raising at the picture. Blonde. Blue eyes. Sharp jaw. Tall. Broad. Handsome enough.

Went to medical school but he quit, must've been too tough or he had no passion for it Oh, had a certification in executive protection, interesting. Worked at blueberry farms before moving back to South Bend. Weird, but not creepy. Fine so far.

Sabina speed-read through his application, fingernails tapping the paper until three gentle knocks come at the door.

Sabina put the papers down and says, "Come in."

This man looked as beautiful as he did in the pictures—if not more. Sabina leaned back against her chair and did a full sweep from head to toe while he walked up to the steps leading to her desk.

He raised his head, and he smiled. "Good morning, Ms. Kyle."

Sabina stood, rounding her desk. "You have a certificate for executive protection?"

"Yes, ma'am." He was still smiling.

"Which means?"

"I can be a bodyguard, too."

Satisfied, Sabina stood in front of him, raising her head to meet his eyes. "Are you organized?"

"Yes."

"Polite?"

"I'd like to think so, yes."

"Great. Come in at seven thirty with a pumpkin spiced latte, I'll give you my address as soon as you sign the contract. There'll be a desk waiting for you outside, decorate it, sleep on it, I don't care. I'll walk you through what you need to do as my secretary once you get settled." She rounded her desk again and sat down, tapping her nails on her table. "As for your bodyguard duties, just be with me at all times and do your shit, and you're good. Jamie has your contract, sign it, and come back."

His face brightened. "Thank you, Ms. Kyle."

"Okay, you're dismissed." Sabina focused back on her computer.

When the door opened, she held up a finger and said, "Wait."

The man turned around, hand on the doorknob.

Sabina looked at him. "What was your name again?"

His smile widened. "Tristan Bishop."