Page 121 of The Clinch
“Good,” she says, satisfied, then turns back to me. “And you? What’s next?”
The question catches me off guard.
“My last week at the ER is coming up,” I say carefully. “Then I have a week off. Then orientation. Then med school ramps up.”
I don’t mention Ulm. Or my parents. Or the week I already decided not to take.
“Perfect.”
I stare at her. “Perfect?”
“Perfect for a fade. Two busy schedules. Minimal public overlap. Nobody needs a story.”
That lands with real force because she’s right. The cover is gone. If we keep doing this now, it’s just us doing it.
The air beside me tightens. I feel it without looking.
Jessica stands, ending the meeting with the same efficiency she started it.
“My team will coordinate the shift. You don’t have to do anything except be consistent.”
Then she looks between us. “I’m not blind. This started as optics. But at private events, family events—it doesn’t read staged anymore.”
I can feel the embarrassment break the surface, and I hate that Jessica catches it.
Leo gives her nothing.
“That’s a lot of pressure for a new relationship. So take the win. You get to move it out of public view.”
She looks between us.
“No statements. No public breakup. No on-again, off-again theater. You’re private. You’re busy. You’re boring. And whatever you are to each other,” she says, precise as ever, “keep it yours.”
The ring feels loud on my hand.
“Understood.”
She leans back. “Good. That’s all I wanted.”
Leo rises.
Jessica watches us go. “Fifteen minutes,” she says, almost to herself. Then, to me, “See? More than enough.”
We walk out. In the hallway, the light feels too bright. The air feels thinner than it should.
Leo doesn’t touch me. He waits until we’re almost at the door, until the glass walls and sharp light are behind us.
Then he looks at me. His hand hovers at the small of my back.
A question.
I step into it.
His palm settles there, light but certain.
I lean into it.
Not for the cameras. There are no cameras here.
