Tobias's POV
"Dad, I have an idea." Chloe appears in my office doorway Thursday evening, that determined expression she gets when she's decided to manage someone else's life. "And before you say no, hear me out."
I set down the policy brief I've been pretending to read while actually thinking about Ava. "I'm listening."
"Ava needs a break. She's been weird and stressed and I think all this Tyler drama plus work pressure is getting to her."
She settles into the chair across from my desk, warming to her theme.
"So I was thinking—weekend at the country house. Just us three. Mom's in DC until Tuesday, and Tyler's being a dramatic ass who refuses to be anywhere you are. Which is for the better, obviously."
The cruel irony isn't lost on me. A weekend trapped in close quarters with the woman carrying my child, while my daughter plays unwitting host to a relationship that would shatter her world if she knew.
"That sounds..." I clear my throat. "Nice."
"Right? Fresh air, no campaign stress, just family time. Well, family plus Ava, but she's basically family anyway."
Chloe's enthusiasm is infectious and heartbreaking in equal measure.
"I already asked her and she seemed interested but said she'd need to check with you about taking Friday off."
"Of course she can take Friday off." The words come out too quickly, too eager. "I mean, she's been working overtime on the youth program proposal. She deserves a break."
"Perfect! I'll text her now." Chloe pulls out her phone, already typing. "This is going to be great, Dad. Just like old times when we'd go up there before everything got complicated."
Before everything got complicated. If only she knew how much more complicated things have become.
***
Friday afternoon, I pull up to Ava's apartment complex with a mixture of anticipation and dread. The next forty-eight hours will be torture—pretending she's just my intern, just Chloe's friend, while every instinct screams to touch her, make her mine openly.
But when she emerges from the building with her weekend bag, the smile that lights up her face when she sees me makes the torture worthwhile.
"Mr. Murphy," she says formally as Chloe bounds over to take her bag, but her eyes are warm, intimate. "Thank you for including me."
"Tobias," I correct, opening the trunk. "We're not at work, remember?"
The casual correction feels weighted with meaning. Not her boss this weekend. Just a man desperately in love with a woman he can't have.
In the rearview mirror during the drive, I catch her eyes repeatedly. Each glance sends heat straight through me, makes my hands tighten on the steering wheel.
She's wearing a simple sundress that shows off the subtle changes pregnancy is making to her body—fuller breasts, a glow in her skin that makes her even more beautiful.
"—and then I told Mara she should just come up Sunday if she wants to meet you properly,"
Chloe is saying from the passenger seat, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. "You'll love her, Dad. She's got that same dry humor you appreciate in people."
"I'm sure I will," I manage, trying to focus on the road instead of the way Ava's lips curve when she smiles at something Chloe says.
"Traffic's not too bad for a Friday," Ava observes, and I catch her gaze in the mirror again.
"The key is knowing which back roads to take," I tell her. "I've been making this drive for fifteen years. I could do it blindfolded."
Her laugh is genuine, unguarded. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
The easy banter, the domestic normalcy of it, makes my chest ache with want.
This is what I've been craving without fully realizing it—not just stolen moments and secret touches, but the simple pleasure of her company, her laughter, the way she fits into my life like she belongs there.
The country house sits on fifty acres of oak and pine, far enough from neighbors that we can pretend the outside world doesn't exist.
As I carry their bags inside, I watch Ava take in the space—wooden beams, stone fireplaces, the kind of rustic elegance that money can buy but warmth must create.
"It's beautiful," she says, running her fingers along the mantel where family photos sit. "So peaceful."
"It's been in the family for three generations," I tell her, moving to stand beside her. "My grandfather built the original cabin, my father expanded it, and I... well, I mostly just maintain it."
"It feels loved," she says quietly, and something in her tone makes me look at her more closely. There's longing there, wistfulness that speaks to deeper wants.
We fall into a dangerous rhythm immediately. When Chloe turns to check something in the oven, my hand brushes Ava's lower back—just a brief touch, but enough to make her breath hitch.
When she passes behind my chair at dinner, her fingers trail across my shoulder with deliberate casualness. We steal a kiss in the hallway when Chloe showers, pressing against each other desperately before footsteps on the stairs force us apart.
The thrill of almost being caught makes everything electric. During board games, I hook my ankle around hers under the table while calmly discussing campaign strategy with my daughter. The secret contact makes concentration nearly impossible.
Saturday morning, when Chloe announces she's driving to town for groceries we forgot, Ava and I barely wait for her car to disappear down the gravel drive before we're on each other.
"Fifteen minutes," I pant against her mouth, pressing her against the kitchen counter. "Maybe twenty if she stops at the hardware store."
"Enough time," she gasps, her hands already working at my belt.
We don't undress, don't have time. Just grind against each other like desperate teenagers, her dress hiked up, my hands everywhere I can reach.
When her release crashes over her, I swallow her cries with my mouth, following her over the edge seconds later.
Saturday afternoon, Chloe develops a headache and retreats to her room with blackout curtains and strict instructions not to disturb her.
"Want to see the property boundaries?" I ask Ava, desperate for time alone. "There's a nice trail through the woods."
We set off into the trees, walking the paths I've known since childhood. The silence between us is comfortable now, charged but not desperate. Out here, away from campaign pressures and stolen moments, we can almost pretend this is normal.
"Tell me about Veronica," she says suddenly as we stop beside a small stream. "The real version, not the public one."
The request surprises me. "Why?"
"Because I watch you with her at campaign events, and I see how much effort it takes to maintain that partnership. Because I want to understand what went wrong, what you learned."
I skip a stone across the water's surface, buying time to organize thoughts I rarely examine.
"I married her because I wanted a family," I say finally. "Real partnership, someone to build something meaningful with. I was twenty-five and thought love conquered everything."
"What happened?"
"She wanted the image of family, not the reality. The photo ops without the messy day-to-day stuff. She'd show up for school plays if photographers were present, skip soccer games if they weren't."
The old frustration bleeds through despite my efforts to stay objective. "I spent years trying to make it work, convincing myself that duty was enough, that the kids needed the stability. But I always wanted more."
"More how?"
"Real partnership. Someone who'd choose to build a life together, not just use family as a political prop. Someone who'd actually want to be there for Sunday dinners and bedtime stories, not just the moments that advanced her career."
Ava nods, understanding flickering in her grey eyes.
"After the divorce, I told myself that part of my life was over. That I had my career and my children and that was enough." I turn to look at her fully. "I'd given up on finding real love."
"And now?" The question is soft, vulnerable.
"Do you fit what I've always wanted?" I step closer, cupping her face. "God, Ava. I'm starting to think you're everything I never knew I was looking for. These thoughts about us, about a real future... they don't seem so impossible anymore."
"Tobias..."
"I catch myself imagining things I shouldn't. You at family dinners that aren't secret. Holding our child openly. Building something real together instead of hiding in stolen moments."
My voice roughens with emotion. "It terrifies me how much I want that. How much I want you, beyond just this arrangement."
The confession changes something between us, makes our connection deeper and more dangerous than ever. Because now it's not just physical need or circumstantial management.
It's love, and love makes everything infinitely more complicated.