Nate’s bar was closed to the public, but the back room was open.

The chairs were down from their tables. The bourbon was on its usual shelf. Julian had already poured himself a glass. Nate was behind the bar, mixing his gin with tonic, the bottle sweating in his hand. Gilbert sat at the table with a whiskey he hadn’t touched yet, his fingers loose around the glass, his shoulders still carrying something from the night before.

Franz arrived last. The door unlocked, the way it always was for the brotherhood. He’d left Arianne at home with the twins.

He took the chair across from Gilbert. Nate slid a glass toward him without asking what he wanted.

"Arianne’s not coming," Franz said.

Julian looked up. "Still dealing with last night?"

"She’s fine. She wanted a quiet night with the twins. They need normalcy after the past few days."

"You needed normalcy," Gilbert said. "Your wife fought five men in a parking lot."

"She fought three. Sam fought two." Franz took a drink. "I’m not going to tell her she can’t go out."

"That’s not what I meant."

"I know."

Gilbert picked up his whiskey. Drank. Set it down. His hands were steady, but Franz had known him long enough to see what steadiness cost him.

"I was a mess last night," Gilbert said. "Audrey called me. She said there was a fight. That Sam was involved. That men were trying to force a woman into a car. She didn’t have details. She just said ’we’re at the station, everyone’s okay, but there was a fight.’" He shook his head. "I left work without shutting down my computer. Didn’t tell my assistant. Didn’t tell anyone. Just got in the car and drove."

"Across the city," Julian said.

"From one end to the other. I don’t even remember the drive. I just remember getting there and seeing Sam’s hand wrapped in gauze. Her knuckles were purple. She was grinning."

"Sounds like Sam," Nate said.

"She was like a kid. She kept saying, ’Gil, you should have seen it. You should have seen Arianne’s knee." Gilbert almost smiled. "I didn’t know whether to ground her or applaud."

"You weren’t worried about Arianne," Franz said. It wasn’t a question.

"No. Arianne can protect herself. I’ve seen her do it. I’ve known her since we were teenagers — she’s always been able to protect herself." Gilbert turned his glass in his hands. "But she can’t protect everyone on her own. Sam and Audrey and three strangers. That’s too many people to keep safe. And I wasn’t there."

"You got there."

"After it was over."

Franz leaned back. "I was already driving home when you called me. Script reading ran late. I was maybe fifteen minutes from the estate when my phone rang." He paused. "I wanted to floor it. Drive as fast as the car could go. I had my foot on the pedal before I thought about it."

"What stopped you?" Julian asked.

"If I got pulled over. If I caused an accident. I’d be no use to anyone. So I drove the speed limit. Got there when I got there."

Gilbert looked at him. "That’s infuriatingly calm."

"It wasn’t calm. It was math."

"That’s worse."

Franz didn’t argue.

Nate laughed, low and dry, from behind the bar. "I saw the video. Everyone saw the video." He came around to the table, his gin in hand, and dropped into the chair beside Julian. "The man Arianne kneed in the groin. Brent something. You know his family?"

"I know the name," Gilbert said. "New money. Real estate. They’ve been trying to buy their way into the old circles for a decade."

"He thought he could threaten Arianne with money and influence." Nate’s grin was sharp. "He didn’t know who he was dealing with. She likes to hurt where it hurts the most. He brags about his family’s wealth? She’ll squeeze them dry. The compensation demands alone will gut them. The legal fees. The civil suits. By the time she’s done, the Brent family name will be worth about as much as that busted camcorder."

"The fans’ camcorder," Julian said.

"The one that recorded everything. Yes. That thing’s going to be in evidence for years."

"How are Audrey and Sam?" Julian asked.

"Audrey’s fine." Gilbert’s voice softened the way it always did when he said her name. "She stayed back during the fight. Pulled the Sinclair woman out of the way. She was calm the whole time. She said she’s covered worse stories. I don’t think she has. I think she was just saying that so I wouldn’t worry."

"It worked?"

"No."

Julian snorted into his bourbon.

"Sam’s knuckles are swollen. It took half a day before they went down. She kept showing them to me. ’Look, Gil. These are my fighting hands.’" Gilbert shook his head, but the fondness leaked through. "She was excited. Narrating the whole thing. ’And then I elbowed him in the stomach. You should have heard the sound he made.’ Over and over. Like she was describing a scene from a movie."

"She’s always been like that," Franz said. "When we were younger, she’d tell stories about runway shows the same way. Every detail. Every mishap. She makes everything into a narrative."

"She should have been a writer."

"She should have been whatever she wanted. She chose acting."

Gilbert nodded. Then Franz added, "My manager wants to manage her now. Daryll. He saw the video this morning. He was impressed."

"Daryll?" Nate straightened. "Noah Hart’s Daryll? The one who’s been keeping your career spotless for a decade?"

"The same."

"I better get her signature soon. Before this video launches her into stardom and she has her pick of managers."

"He called her this afternoon. I think he’s already decided."

Gilbert was quiet for a moment. He turned his glass in his hands, watching the amber liquid catch the fluorescent light.

"I don’t understand why she chose show business," he said. "No one in our family ever did. We’re business people. Corporate. Practical. She could have done anything. She chose runways and film sets."

"You don’t have to understand it," Julian said. "You just have to support it."

"I do support it. I just don’t understand it." He paused.

"Would you rather she got married and settled down instead?"

The question wasn’t hostile. Julian asked it lightly, the way someone asked something they were genuinely curious about.

Gilbert shrugged. "I don’t need her to settle down. I need her to be happy. I just never understood why this industry. Why the cameras. Why the scrutiny."

"She handles it well," Franz said.

"She handles everything well. She always has."

Nate leaned forward. "Speaking of settling down. She hasn’t introduced anyone as a boyfriend for years. Did something happen? Was there someone and it went bad?"

Gilbert frowned. Thinking. "She used to have boyfriends. Back in college. Once in a while. Nothing serious — or nothing she told me was serious. But it stopped." He paused, calculating. "Around the time Audrey and I broke up. Five years ago. Maybe a little before. I never asked why. I figured she’d tell me if she wanted to."

Nate nodded slowly. Julian took a sip of bourbon. Neither of them pushed.

Franz looked at Gilbert. He didn’t say anything.

He knew what happened five years ago. Or part of it. Sam had told him once, years later, in the kind of confidence that came from being friends for decades. Gio. Arianne’s half-brother. Something brief. Something intense. Something that ended in a way neither of them had ever explained to anyone else.

Gio had been young then. Still finding his place in Arianne’s life, still figuring out who he was supposed to be. Sam had been building her runway career, traveling constantly, never in one place long enough for anything to stick. They’d collided somewhere in the middle of all that motion. It hadn’t lasted. It had left marks.

Franz knew because Sam had told him. And he knew because Gio’s silence on the subject was louder than anything he could say. In all the months since Gio had returned with Arianne, he and Sam had never been in the same room for more than five minutes. They’d never spoken directly. They orbited each other like planets that had once collided and learned their lesson.

But it wasn’t Franz’s story to tell. So he stayed quiet. Drank his drink.

"She’ll tell you when she wants to," he said finally. "Sam doesn’t keep secrets. She just keeps timing."

Gilbert nodded, accepting this. He didn’t know what he was accepting. That was probably for the best.

Julian stretched his legs under the table. "Kyle won’t stop talking about the twins’ birthday. Friday, right?"

"Friday," Franz confirmed.

"He’s packed his bag twice already. Ellie had to unpack it both times. He keeps putting in toys he thinks Lily and Leo will like. He’s treating it like Christmas."

"It’s just dinner," Franz said. "Private. The twins didn’t want a party."

"Kyle doesn’t care. He thinks it’s the event of the year. He asked me if there would be cake three times. I told him yes. He asked what kind. I said I didn’t know. He made me promise to find out."

"Chocolate," Franz said. "With strawberries. Lily’s request."

"Chocolate with strawberries." Julian pulled out his phone. "I’m texting him now. He’ll be thrilled."

"Tell him to pack light. The twins have enough toys for all three of them."

"He won’t listen. He’s already got a bag full of action figures."

Gilbert stood. Walked to the bar and refilled his whiskey. When he came back to the table, his shoulders had dropped slightly. The tension from the night before was still there, but it was settling. The group did that. It distributed weight.

"One more thing," Franz said. "About last night. The woman Arianne and Sam saved. Angelika Sinclair."

"What about her?" Nate asked.

"Arianne put her up in a hotel. Rochefort property. She’s been there since last night. Gio arranged it."

"That’s generous," Julian said. "Considering what Angelika did at the banquet."

"Arianne said someone should have helped her a long time ago. So she helped her."

Gilbert shook his head. "That’s who she is. That’s always been who she is. She just stopped hiding it." 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Franz finished his drink. Thought about Arianne at home. The twins asleep.

"We should do this more often," Nate said. "The four of us. Arianne can join when she wants."

"She’d say we talk too much," Julian said.

"She’d be right."

"Still."

Franz stood. "Same time next week. After the birthday. After things settle."

They rose. Glasses emptied. The back room of Nate’s bar returned to its usual stillness, the chairs waiting for the next meeting, the bourbon back on its shelf. Franz walked out into the cool night air and drove home to his wife.