“Can’t we just see what happens?” she asked.
God, I wanted that, and I wanted to give her that. But thinking about going into something with them that had no definitions around the relationship was enough to give me hives. I suspected what Daniel had put into the space would work well for the three of us, but it was the uncertainty that had me nervous. I didn’t want things to turn imbalanced or impartial, though maybe letting us be so open for interpretation was the only thing that could stop that from happening.
If I tried to separate my want for them or force them to separate their desire for each other—or me—into boxes, it was possible the corners would break and the whole thing would fold. There had to be some flexibility, I told myself, even if it made me nervous.
“Okay,” I conceded. “We can see what happens. But this has to be closed.”
“Consider it done,” Daniel said at the same time Sophie told me, “Absolutely.”
The two of them reached for each other under the table, sharing a knowing glance that twisted a knot of jealousy in the back of my throat. But before I could even try to swallow past it, Sophie laid her other hand on top of the table, palm up. It was a lifeline, and I took it gladly. She squeezed my hand, and I marveled at the way her fingers wrapped around mine.
“There has to be communication,” I said, hating how desperate it sounded. “No jealousy, nothing spiteful.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “And never.”
“I don’t want to be part of your fights. I mean, I don’t want to be a tool in them.”
Daniel’s breath hitched and he blinked at me, expression unreadable.
No, I hadn’t told them much, if anything, about what had happened, and ideally I wanted to keep it that way. The things I let Neil and Annette put me through, the things I put myselfthrough for them embarrassed me, made me feel weak. I was ready to be done with all of that. To move onward and upward.
“Promise,” Daniel whispered, putting his hand on the table. Just like Sophie’s, palm up.
I scratched the side of my nose, silently cursed my heart for never being satisfied, and slipped my hand into his.
CHAPTER 11
SOPHIE
Iwoke up the next morning with the slightest pressure behind my right eye, a sure sign that last glass of wine had been a bad idea. Confident I would still be in better shape than Finn, I untangled myself from Daniel’s heavy arms and padded barefoot into the bathroom. I grabbed some painkillers and a glass of water, then made my way down the hall to the guest room. Finn had slept with the door cracked open, and there was no real explanation for how endearing I found that.
I tapped my fingernails against the doorframe loudly enough he could hear it if he was awake but not so loud it would wake him prematurely if he wasn’t.
“I’m alive,” he muttered.
“Can I come in?”
“Your house.”
I knocked my shoulder into the door and pushed it open, not bothering to pretend the sight of Finn either half naked or more than that didn’t draw a reaction out of me. He was in bed still, bedding bunched around his hips and head resting against the pillows. Finn absolutely didn’t have a shirt on, and I did at least try to not wonder if he was wearing underwear or not beneath the sheets.
“How’s your head?” I asked, passing him the water and the bottle of pills.
“It’s been better.”
He propped the glass on his thigh and twisted open the cap, dropping three pills into his hand. He made quick work of swallowing them, letting his head bang against the wall as he did.
“Finish the water,” I suggested.
“Is that an order?”
He didn’t even look at me when he said it, but I heard the sharp intake of breath after the words left his mouth. Glancing up, I caught him pull his lips between his teeth and groan.
“Finn.” I set my hand on his leg, the blankets and sheets still between us, the bottle of medicine in his lap. “There aren’t wrong answers.”
“Not sure that’s the truth.”
“There aren’t wrong answershere,” I corrected.