Mom's gaze flickered to Ashley's face. Dad's hand found the back of her chair and rested there. Sophie whispered, delighted and excited, like a teenager "Boss level."
Ashley stood up as the vast living room suddenly felt too small. The house felt like an arena dressed as a home.
She didn't even think they'd need her family there.
But Camila had taken the initiative and invited them, to show support in her words without even consulting with her or Julian. Where was she herself right now? Ashley wondered if she was off meddling somewhere she wasn't wanted, all in the name of looking out for her family.
The whole space started to feel too sleek for how ragged she felt. While outside, the city was going about its business like her marriage wasn't trending worldwide.
Stacks of printouts and two open laptops formed a barricade between her and the chaos beyond her windows.
Their PR publicist, Ava was already scrolling through her sentiment analysis charts on her tablet,with a half-drunk latte abandoned at her elbow.
A whiteboard behind them bore two giant headings in green marker: "The Vegas Couple" and "Vegas Vow." The whole thing was beginning to look ridiculous.
She didn't look up.
"We've got an hour before the press briefing begins," she said. "The internet is split. Half the feeds are swooning, half are calling you reckless. Investors are nervous but not panicking…yet."
Ashley rubbed at a dull ache above her brow. "So the brand is either Romeo and Juliet…or Bonnie and Clyde."
She wished she wouldn't go over the whole talking points and practice again. After all they'd spent their whole night doing that yesterday.
"Exactly," Ava said, finally meeting her eyes. "This briefing sets the narrative and tone. If you and Julian show cracks, the competition would smell blood and wonder if there's more to your marriage. If you show unity, even the doubters will need to re-evalulate."
Ashley glanced at the clock. The meeting would start in minutes and Julian was still out on business. He'd said he had a little detail to tidy up at the office when he left. Lila, her assistant and an intern from Blackwood Capital's own PR team were beside her, making small talks to disperse the nervous energy they'd sensed building up. She looked forward to the night when it would just be her and Julian, free of the cameras, microphones, and a nation hungry for scandal dressed up as romance.
Her phone buzzed. She quickly picked up praying it was Julian,to her relief it was. The text simply read, "On my way. Don't let Ava bully you into clothes you ain't comfortable with."
Despite herself, a corner of her mouth lifted, relief washed over her. Then she squared her shoulders. There'd be time to process Camilla's appearance at her parents' doorstep, time to untangle the implications of that access log. Right now, she had to walk into the next room, own a story that wasn't supposed to be public, and prepare to stand beside a man who was equal parts of safeguard and risk.
The intercom buzzed, Julian's arrival. Ashley breathed once, deep and deliberate. "Showtime," she murmured, and stepped into the storm she hadn't chosen but would control.
At the other side of the town, two people decided to skip the circus and noise.
Brooke knocked once, then let herself into Neville's apartment. The smell of garlic and rosemary greeted her first, followed by the clink of pans.
Neville's place was neat but lived in. Legal books stacked on a coffee table, a half finished jigsaw on the sideboard. "You're skipping the press briefing for this?" she teased, slipping off her coat.
"I'm skipping the whole noise," Neville replied, stirring a pan of sauce. He wore rolled-up sleeves and a tie tossed over a chair more boyish tonight than the lawyer who'd brokered Ashley's contract. "Besides, you're a far better use of my evening."
Brooke perched on a stool at the counter, watching him slice the home made bread.
"Flattery will get you out of depositions but not out of overcooking pasta."
He chuckled. "It's al dente. Trust me."
They ate at his small dining table with the city lights spilling through the window. Conversation flowed easily, cases gone wrong, bad first dates, the absurdity of tabloid headlines. Neville's laugh was deeper than she expected, a sound that made the room feel smaller, safer.
Over the course of the week they'd been chatting and texting non stop. Exchanging memes like high schoolers.
Brooke found herself studying the crease at the corner of his eyes when he smiled, the way he reached automatically to refill her glass without asking.
She realized she was leaning toward him without meaning to.
" Do you get sick of clients with a lot of publicity? They always seem to have a lot going"
"Only on days that end in Y," he said wryly, then softened. "But then I get moments like this, where I can cook for someone who understands the grind."
Her cheeks warmed. She glanced away, out at the city, where camera flashes might be going off for Ashley and Julian. "You're missing quite the show tho."
"I don't need the show," Neville said quietly. "You're the show i'm interested in."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It hummed.
After dinner, Neville put on a vinyl record, something smooth, low jazz that melted into the background. Brooke curled one leg beneath her, facing him.
Their talk turned personal. Their childhood summers, favorite books, the ridiculous things clients had said under oath. She laughed so hard at one story that she nearly shed tears.
Neville caught her hands in his hands. He didn't let go right away.
Brooke's heartbeat stumbled. The warmth of his fingers against hers felt too easy, too right.
The music swelled, and she realized the world outside, the Blackwood scandal, Ashley's briefing, the noise had faded completely.
Neville's gaze lingered on her mouth. "Brooke…"
She answered by leaning in, closing the small distance. The kiss was gentle at first, testing, then deepened. Unspoken promises passing between them. It wasn't a fling's careless brush, it was something with weight.
When they finally parted, breath mingling, Brooke felt the air around them shift and a tiny tinge of guilt, as the city lights blinked on like a thousand disapproving witnesses.
The record turned softly in the background, but neither of them moved, suspended in the new, fragile world their kiss had just created.
They both wondered what their respective clients were going to make of this and its ethical implications.