ON YOUR KNEES MR. BILLIONAIRE.

CINNAMON.

"How are you out here getting drunk without Oliver?" Risa shouted over the music, tipping back her fourth shot like it had personally offended her. She shook her head, laughing at herself before the glass even hit the table.

The music was so loud I felt it in my chest. My heels were long forgotten somewhere near the couch, my hair half-fallen from its pin, and I was deliciously, unapologetically drunk. Was it irresponsible? Probably. Did I care? Not even slightly. I had earned this.

"I married the best man in the universe!" I yelled back, raising my champagne flute as if I were making a toast to the ceiling. "He's home with Oliver!"

Risa pressed her hand to her heart, feigning genuine anguish. "I'm so jealous of you right now. Like—" she gestured widely, nearly knocking Khole's drink over, "—he rented this entire place. Paid for everything. And didn't even make it weird about it. Who does that?" She shook her head slowly. "Not just wealthy. Thoughtful. That's the dangerous combination."

We all burst out laughing, one that was genuine, rumbling from deep in our stomachs. Risa was clutching Khole's arm to keep herself upright, and Khole was already gone, doubled over, wiping tears from under her eyes.

"Stop it." Dove pointed a finger around the circle, though she was smiling. "Pray for yours. You don't get to want what someone else has because you have no idea what their silent battles look like."

"Risa." I fixed her with a serious look, lips pressed together in an attempt to appear intimidating despite my champagne buzz. "I’m territorial. Don’t even think about it."

"Why are we even talking about men?" Khole threw her hands up. "It's Galentine. G-A-L-E-N-T-I-N-E. As in, girls only. As in, leave the husbands where you left them."

"She has a point." I lifted my flute. "To us."

"To us!"

We clinked our crystal glasses together and drank.

There’s something special about a room filled with women who truly care for one another. It has its own unique vibe. A warmth that feels unlike anything else.

We lounged across the suite in matching blush-pink pajamas that Risa had custom ordered, complete with our initials monogrammed on the pocket. The coffee table was cluttered with half-eaten charcuterie boards, a toppled Jenga tower, and enough empty bottles to make us cringe in the morning.

We had done it all. Applying face masks while shouting answers at a trivia game, exchanging gifts that somehow ended up with Dove wrapping Khole's present in the hotel's complimentary shower cap because she forgot actual wrapping paper, and dancing in our socks to throwback songs we really should have forgotten by now.

Then Khole pulled out a book.

She placed a hardcover with her name embossed across the front in gold with First edition boldly written at the down side on the table

We all went quiet.

Then Khole revealed the book.

"Khole." Risa breathed it out like a prayer.

"It's real," Khole whispered, more to herself than to us, running her thumb over her name so much disbelief in her eyes.

I crossed the room and sat beside her, taking the book from her hands just to hold it. To feel its weight. Years of her dedication poured into those blank pages, filled with doubt and rewrites during quiet mornings. All of it contained in this one object.

"Mom and Dad would be so proud of you." My voice faltered before I finished speaking, and I didn’t try to hide it. "So proud, Khole. I truly mean that."

She pulled me into her arms before I could finish my thought, her shoulders shaking with soft, helpless sobs. I held her tighter and let her cry.

***

We got carried away with the joy of being together and having fun, not realizing when the night slipped away.

Risa went first, mouth slightly open, a decorative pillow squashed under her cheek, still holding an empty wine glass in her hand. Khole lasted maybe twenty minutes longer before she curled into the corner of the sectional, her novel tucked against her chest.

I was genuinely, warmly, spinny-headed drunk but still tuned in to the room the way I always was. Old habit. You don't completely switch that part of your brain off.

I also noticed that Dove had been drinking the heaviest all night. She refilled her glass more than all of us. And she laughed the loudest even though it didn't reach her eyes. It looked like she was acting fine rather than genuinely feeling it.

She excused herself to the restroom, and I let her go while I sat quietly with the other two asleep.

I missed him.

It was that simple, stupid, embarrassing truth. I was surrounded by my favourite people on earth and still there was this soft ache in my chest shaped exactly like Dante Moretti.

I stumbled to the balcony, sliding the door open and stepping out into the cool dark. The city spread below like scattered embers. I was already dialing before I fully decided to.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Hey." His voice was low and unhurried. Just that one word made something in my shoulders relax.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" I leaned against the railing, tilting my face up toward the stars.

"Because you're not here." There was a pause. "You know I can’t sleep without you in bed. It just doesn’t feel right."

I smiled so wide it almost hurt. "I miss you too."

"Why are you even calling me?" I could hear warmth beneath his playful tone. "Aren't you supposed to be enjoying your girls' night and causing chaos somewhere?"

"Almost everyone is passed out."

He let out a low, satisfied sound. "So that means I can have my wife."

"Not really. I'm about to pass out myself. I'm so drunk, Dante."

"Can't I just come and take you away?"

I laughed softly, just for him. "Morning. I promise."

"What a bummer."

"Don't be sad." I held the phone closer to my ear. "I'm yours forever. I'm just theirs for tonight."

"Fair enough." There was another pause. "Where's my Oliver?"

"I tucked him in after dinner. He asked about you."

"I know. He sent me a voice message that was mostly just breathing." He smiled. I could hear it. "He's fine."

"Thank you, Dante. Really."

"Don't mention it." His tone changed, gentle yet firm. "He's our son. It's not a favor; it's what fathers do."

I pressed the phone so close to my cheek it felt like resting my head on his shoulder. I wished I could climb through the speaker. I would have if I could.

"I love you, Dante Moretti," I said softly. "Sometimes, I wonder how I got so lucky."

He was quiet for a moment, then his voice took on that rare, unguarded tone he reserved for me. "I'm the blessed one. To think I almost threw everything away—" He paused. "Thank you for this second chance. I don't take any day of it for granted."

"You showed me you were worth it."

We fell into one of those comfortable silences, one that doesn't need filling and is built on two years of learning and choosing each other through good times and tough ones.

"Okay, honey," he said softly. "Go back to your girls. I'll see you in the morning."

"I love you so much."

"I love you too."

I held onto the phone long after we hung up, reluctant to set it down as if doing so would break something between us. Eventually, I lowered it slowly, leaned back against the wall, and let the cool night air brush over my face.

That's when I heard the balcony door slide open.

Dove stepped out with her back to me, moving carefully , exaggeratedly precise, trying hard not to look drunk. She didn’t see me in the corner as she pulled out a fresh bottle of whiskey from somewhere I'd missed her carrying, twisted off the cap, and took a swig straight from it.

I watched her for a moment. She had already consumed more than anyone else tonight by a wide margin. I cleared my throat.

"Are you really going to have all that fun without me?"

She turned around, startled, and then laughed when she saw my face. I was already making my way toward her with my hand extended, and she handed over the bottle with a slight shake of her head. I took a sip, and it burned its way down my chest, hot enough to make my eyes water.

"Good lord," I gasped as I caught my breath, then focused on her. "Dove," I said softly, "are you okay?"

Her smile lingered just a moment too long, one that felt more like a performance than genuine happiness. Then it faded.

Her eyes reflected a deep hurt. She appeared diminished, as if something inside her had been quietly eroding throughout the evening and now, in the dim light with just the two of us, the emptiness was becoming evident.

My question seemed to break her. She wasn't even slurring much when she began to speak, just raw emotions spilling out in an unsteady flow because they had finally become too heavy to conceal.

"It's been so hard," she admitted, pressing her free hand against her chest as if checking whether her heart was still there. "Since the divorce. I keep telling myself I'm fine and moving on and past it but then at the end of the day, the silence is deafening, Cinnamon. It's so—"

She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard.

"Dove. What's going on?"

She looked at me for what felt like an eternity before speaking again. "He filed."

"What?"

"My ex." Her voice lowered. "Filled a claim for property division. He wants half of everything I own." She took a shaky breath. "And he’s pursuing sole custody of Thessa."

The air rushed out of me.

"What?"

"I've been handling it alone because—" She pressed her fingers to her eyes. "What am I supposed to say? 'Hey, girls' night, by the way my life is falling apart?' Everyone has their own lives, their own peace. And here I am again. Another issue. Another disaster. Another Dove problem." Her voice broke on the last word. "People already talk about our family like that, you know? They point at our mother and they point at me like we're cursed, like we just can’t keep our husbands, and maybe they’re—"

"Stop." I reached for her, pulling her in. She hesitated for a moment, then collapsed against me, her shoulders shaking. "Stop that. You don’t have to carry this alone. You have a whole army of people who love you."

"I didn't want to be a burden—"

"You are not a burden. You are my family. And family doesn’t let each other drown silently."

She cried into my shoulder while I held her.

When she finally calmed down, I pulled back slightly to see her face. "Listen to me. No one wishes for this outcome. No one stands at an altar thinking 'this is the person who will hurt me later.' The person you marry isn't always the same as the one you end up divorcing. That’s not weakness. That’s just sometimes, life."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "You don't think less of me?"

"Not at all."

She let out a sigh of relief.

I wrapped an arm around her, gently guiding her toward the balcony door. "Come on. We need some rest. We’ll figure everything out, I promise you that."

She nodded, leaning slightly into me as I guided her inside. I closed the balcony door behind us, the latch clicking softly in the stillness.

DANTE.

Sleep and I had never been good at negotiating, but without Cinnamon in the bed, we weren't even on speaking terms.

I lay there most of the night, one arm behind my head, staring at the ceiling. Her side of the bed still held the shape of her, the indent of her pillow, the faint trace of her perfume on the sheets. I pulled her pillow toward me once, felt immediately ridiculous about it, and then kept it there anyway.

I missed her. That was the embarrassing truth of it. A full night without my wife and I was useless.

But she needed this. She needed her girls and her laughter and the version of herself that existed before she was someone's mother and someone's wife. So I stayed in my lane and I let her have it.

The moment the first gray light crept through the curtains, I was already up.

Oliver was in rare form at six in the morning, hair standing in four directions, one sock on, dragging his stuffed bear across the floor. I scooped him up an