It didn’t feel real.
Sitting across from Lindsey again—older, sleeker, eyes still soft in the same way they’d always been—felt like slipping into a dream I thought I’d forgotten. Except the dream had been edited, sharpened, updated for modern times. Her face was still familiar, but the details were newer: cheekbones just a little more sculpted, skin a little tighter, lips a little fuller. Her nose, once the thing she’d whispered insecurities about into my chest at night, had been refined into something camera-ready.
She looked polished. Effortless. Well-maintained, as my mother used to call it, which really meant surgically upgraded to fit whatever version of perfection their world demanded.
And she wore it well.
My father looked proud. Too proud.
“She’s done quite well with what I gave her,” he said, folding his hands on the table like a man who was proud of a good investment. “Very resourceful. Doubled the money in five years. Real estate and early crypto.”
Lindsey gave a small, bashful laugh. “I didn’t blow it on handbags, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
I didn’t laugh.
I just studied her.
The same soft brown eyes. The same warmth in her voice. But something was different. Not in a bad way. Just… different. Like someone who’d peeled back all her softness and rebuilt it with steel underneath.
“I wanted to reach out before,” she said, her voice lower now, her gaze steady on mine. “But it felt like the door was closed. And I wasn’t going to beg my way back into a world that didn’t want me.”
My father cut in smoothly. “She’s done this all on her own, Liam. She’s no longer the girl who had to be paid to walk away. You’re equals now. This is a match that makes sense.”
I didn’t look at him.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“I shouldn’t have taken the money,” she said, quietly now, voice almost breaking. “I was scared. And I grew up being told that relying on a man—even one I loved—was weak. That I had to make something of myself. And then your father handed me the chance to do that, and I… I took it.”
I exhaled slowly, unsure what emotion was crashing hardest in my chest. Anger? No. That had come and gone years ago. Grief? Maybe. But mostly it was something like awe, bitter and reluctant. Because I understood her. More than I wanted to. Because I’d have done the same damn thing if the roles had been reversed.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I said, finally. “Not an apology. Not an explanation.”
“But I wanted to give one anyway,” she said, her smile soft. “Because I never forgot you. Not once. And now, I’ve built my own life. I don’t need saving anymore. And if I say I want to be with you now, it’s not because I have to. It’s because I choose to.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Because it was clean. Simple. Honest, even.
But that was the problem.
It was too clean. Too easy. Too perfectly packaged to feel real.
The girl I’d loved back then—she was soft edges and nervous laughs and plans whispered at two a.m. This woman? She was measured. Polished. Carefully edited for mass appeal. And yes, maybe that was what made her perfect in my father’s eyes, but it was also what made her unrecognizable to the version of me who’d once loved her.
She reached across the table, laid a hand over mine.
“I know this is a lot. You don’t have to say anything now. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
We stood together outside the hotel.
She pulled me into a hug. Familiar. Careful. Light.
I kissed her on the cheek.
“You look good, Lindsey,” I said quietly.
She smiled up at me. “So do you.”
And then she walked to her car, her heels sharp against the marble floor, and I turned back toward the private dining room, where my father waited with that infuriating knowing look already back on his face.
“I’ll give you my answer soon,” I told him.
And I meant it.
Because I’d made a choice once when I was too young to know better.
And I wasn’t about to make another one just to keep someone else happy.