My mother said I should stay in the kitchen during the wedding photos—only until the “important guests” were gone. I didn’t mention that for the past year I had been

He nodded toward his computer screen. “This is going to be… distracting,” he said carefully.

“I can handle it,” I replied.

He studied me for a moment. “You’re good at your job, Sophia,” he said. “I don’t care who you’re dating as long as your work stays solid. But we’re going to need to talk about boundaries. Press inquiries. Security. All of it.”

“I know,” I said, grateful he spoke like my competence was assumed, not debated.

Daniel met me that evening at my apartment, arriving through the back entrance the building had agreed to keep private. He looked tired in the way people look tired when their life becomes public property.

“I’m sorry,” he said the moment the door closed.

“You didn’t leak it,” I replied.

“No,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “But I brought this into your life.”

I stepped closer and rested my hands on his arms. “You also brought yourself,” I said. “And I want you. Not the bubble around you, but you.”

He exhaled, tension easing slightly. “We can make it smaller,” he said. “More private. More protected.”

“And my family?” I asked.

His mouth tightened. “They’re already getting calls,” he said. “People asking for introductions. Invitations. Access.”