Excited to get to work on some styling ideas I have for the shoot with Lyla Kettler on Monday, I head into the office earlier than usual. It helps that Oliver gets up at the crack of dawn to read the paper and have some breakfast. Usually I’d sleep through a boyfriend’s morning habits, but I enjoy spending time with Oliver so much that I wake up when he does, get ready alongside him, and let him drop me off on his way to work.

Oliver’s driver pulls up in front of the office building Marisa and I run the site from, and the cacophony of taxi horns around us let us know we might spend too long kissing each other goodbye. Oliver grins at me like a lovesick idiot as I get out of the car, and I grin back, sad to have to shut the door and watch him drive away. This all feels very domestic, and somewhere in the back of my mind I know I shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do.

I spend most of the day sorting through loaner outfits from designers and boutiques Marisa and I have relationships with, picking out the pieces that will complement Lyla the most. Time flies, and before I know it, it’s early afternoon. After spending a good chunk of my day around beautiful clothes, I get the itch to head to my studio and make some of my own.

I grab a quick lunch and head uptown, and eat a little before I start working on the finishing touches of a wrap shirt that I’ve been working on for the past week. It’s crisp white and classic with a flounce along the neckline. I can’t wait to finish it up and wear it. A couple hours of intense sewing with a critical eye for perfection, and I’m finally finished. I sew on one of the personalized tags I had made as kind of a joke between Corinne and me, then hang it up on my rack and make a note to myself to take it home with me.

After a little break to stretch out the kinks in my hands and neck, I turn on my computer and navigate to Oliver’s realtor’s homepage. It’s something I’ve gotten in the habit of doing since we got home from Portland, because I know the clock is ticking and I want to make sure it’s still on the market. To do what, exactly? I’m not sure.

My wildest idea so far has been talking to Oliver about letting me buy it. It’d be a hefty dip into my trust fund, but he would pay me back. It’s pretty much the only idea I’ve come up with that would end with him owning the house without resulting to any kind of trickery to get it. I’m not sure he’ll go for it, but I think it’s better than waiting for some kind of a miracle, only to wind up losing the house to someone else in the end.

Right when I’m about to call Oliver and see if he wants to meet up for dinner later, my doorbell buzzes.

Curious, I rush over to the speaker box, press the button and say, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.” Oliver’s voice is warm and soft and smiley.

“It’s almost like you knew I was thinking about you.”

Somehow his laugh manages to carry through the fuzzy connection. “I’m always thinking about you.”

I don’t have a response, I just buzz him up and hope the elevator moves at the speed of light. I have to kiss him as soon as is humanly possible. I slide the door open, and lean on the doorframe so I have a good view of the elevator.

The ding before the doors open set my heart fluttering in anticipation, and when Oliver steps out into the hallway, my nerves start buzzing from my fingertips to my toes.

He’s smiling brightly, looking oh so good in his heather grey handmade Italian suit.

He kisses me like he’s waited years to do it, pressing his hand against the small of my back as he turns us from the hallway into my studio, somehow able to slide the door shut without skipping a beat.

I’m a little breathless when he pulls away, and he rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed as he smiles.

“Hi,” he breathes.

“Hi.” I fiddle with his tie, a lavender silk one that I gave him for Christmas a couple of years ago. “This is early for you.”

He tucks my hair behind my ear, caressing my cheekbone with his thumb. “I wanted to come and see you, maybe take you out to dinner?”

Can’t say no to that. “Sure.” I push up on my toes and give him a quick kiss. “I just need to clean up really quick.”

“This used to drive me crazy when we were younger,” he admits, as he walks over to my desk and sits down. “You were the only teenager I’d ever known who actually liked cleaning up after herself.”

I shrug as I wind up a tape measure. “What can I say, I operate better when I’m in a clean environment.”

“It’s easier for me to understand that now that we’re adults. When we were kids it just got in the way of us having fun.”

“It’s getting in the way of us having fun now,” I tease.

“Well, maybe I don’t understand, then.” He clasps his hands together as he looks around the place, taking it in. It’s been a long time since he’s been up here.

“You should stop by more often,” I say, bending down to pick up a few scraps of fabric that fell on the floor when I was cutting earlier.

The chair squeaks as Oliver turns in my direction, and I slowly straighten my back, making sure he gets a good view of my ass for as long as possible.

“I plan on it,” he replies, his voice all gruff and gravelly. I’ve never heard an innocent statement sound so dirty on his lips, like he’s planning to follow through with something filthy. I hadn’t given much thought to studio sex, but…I gotta admit, it’s appealing.

I throw the scraps into my fabric bin for use on something later.

“Why do you have the beach house pulled up?”

Maybe I should admonish him for being nosy, but my monitor is huge, and it’s not like you can really miss the giant real estate listing. I do, however, curse myself or not closing out the window before he came up here. This isn’t exactly the way I wanted to bring this up with him, but I have to seize the moment.

I walk over to him and when I get close, he holds out his left arm, welcoming me to sit on his lap.

“Oliver,” I say sweetly as I settle in, then give him a soft kiss. “I’ve been thinking…”

I slide my fingers through his hair, gently scratching my nails against his scalp in the way that makes his eyes go all half-lidded.

He hums in response. “What about?”

“Why don’t I buy the house?”

That jolts him wide awake, all relaxing effects of my fingers-through-the-hair trick completely gone. “You’ll pay me back, I’ll sign the deed over to you. You get your house before someone grabs it off the market, and I get to do something good for the man that I love. We both win.”

“Felicity,” he sighs. There isn’t any heat in it though, like he wants to argue but he doesn’t really have a good argument. His lips are pressed together as he searches my face, and I think he might actually be considering it. His hand slides along the small of my back, just under my shirt, pulling me closer to him. “I don’t know if—”

He’s interrupted by the sound of my studio door sliding open, and when I look back to see who it is, I’m met with my brother’s shocked—then livid—face staring back at me.

“What the fuck is happening?” Ben asks, eyes narrowed in my direction. The words come out thin and sharp, like he barely has a hold on his anger.

Okay, probably not the best way for him to find out about Oliver and me, but I’m not going to tiptoe around my brother’s emotions, because he doesn’t have a right to be angry here. I stand and walk toward him, just like it’s any other day.

“What are you doing here?” I ask calmly. He only visits at lunch—when he visits—and any other time he calls beforehand.

“I stopped by to get Marisa’s bridesmaid dress. The bride is having a meltdown, and she wants to have a little summit tomorrow. I texted you twice but didn’t get an answer, I figured you were out or something, but now I get it.”

Ben’s hands are clenched at his side, and he’s practically vibrating with anger. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry, which is just…ridiculous. I wish I hadn’t muted my phone so I would’ve had some kind of warning to head this off, but, then again, there’s nothing here for Ben to be angry about or for me to be ashamed of.

“Sorry, I was working and I muted my phone.”

“Is that what you call working?”

“Hey,” Oliver snaps, standing up and ready for a fight.

I hold my arms out toward both of them on either side of me, hoping we can talk this out instead of things escalating.

“I told you to stay the fuck away from her,” Ben shouts, completely ignoring me.

Wait, what? “This isn’t any of your business, Ben.” I’m starting to get as angry as my brother seems. “You don’t make decisions for me, and you don’t get a say in who I date.”

Again, he doesn’t even acknowledge my presence, he just stands there staring daggers at Oliver.

“I’m in love with her, man.” Oliver says to Ben, then looks at me with a soft smile.

Ben moves in a flash, pushing past me and punching Oliver square in his jaw with a sickening thud.

Oliver gathers his footing quickly, nailing Ben with an uppercut. They scuffle, eventually hitting the wall and then falling onto the floor, miraculously managing to not knock anything over.

“Hey!” I scream as they fight each other, even though Oliver obviously has the upper hand. “Hey, stop it! Stop right now, both of you!”

Somehow that gets their attention, and I grab a fistful of Ben’s shirt in my hand and yank him back off of Oliver. “Get off of him, Ben. Now.” He doesn’t come easily, but eventually he complies.

I finally get them separated, but they’re both breathing heavily, all red-faced with bloody mouths and bruises blooming on their cheeks.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” I ask my brother.

When he sees how angry I am, I guess realization at what he’s done finally hits him and his shoulders slump.

“You’re my sister,” he says, as if that excuses any of this behavior.

“Don’t go pulling some bro code shit with me, Ben. I’m a grown woman and Oliver is a grown man and we choose who we’re in relationships. You don’t get a say in it. And you certainly don’t get to come into my studio and start throwing punches over something that is none of your damn business.”

His eyebrows knit together in anger. “It’s not my business?”

“No,” I dismiss him. “Not even remotely.”

He gestures between me and Oliver. “If everything is on the up and up here, then why were you hiding it? How long has this been going on?”

“Three weeks,” Oliver says, wiping a drop of blood from his lower lip.

“What,” Ben says with a bitter laugh. “Were you embarrassed?”

“Never,” Oliver says, looking at me.

“Fuck you, Ben, for even insinuating such a thing.” Maybe he doesn’t realize what he’s insinuating about me when he makes the accusation, but seriously. Fuck him.

He catches on a little too late, and gives me a pleading, “Felicity, I didn’t mean—”

“What has gotten into you? It’s not enough for you to start a fight in my studio, you have to insult me, too? Get out, Ben. Just…get out.”

He looks like he’s going to argue with me for a few seconds before he thinks better of it, and reluctantly makes his way to the door. This isn’t necessarily how I want to leave things between us, but if he stays, I’m not entirely sure I won’t say something that I’ll regret later. When he walks out, he looks back one more time, and then disappears into the hallway.

It’s then that I realize that Marisa’s dress is still hanging by the door, and the last thing I want is for him to have to come back here again to get it. I don’t want to see his face for a little while at least. I grab the dress and run out to the elevator, thankfully catching him right as the doors open.

“Here,” I say, slamming the dress into his chest.”

“Felicity, just let me—”

Maybe it’s going to be an apology, but if it is I’m not ready to hear it. I need to be clear headed before I can get into a state of being ready to accept what he has to say to me, and I’m nowhere near there yet.

“I don’t want to hear it right now, okay? Give me some time to cool off and be a little less pissed at you for how you behaved in there. I thought you wanted me to be happy?”

“I do, but—”

“You don’t get to put any qualifiers on it, Ben. Oliver makes me happy. You should be happy. I don’t understand why you’re not.”

I don’t give him a chance to answer me, I just turn around and walk back to the loft.

When I walk in and see Oliver standing right where I’d left him, I’m quick to try and lighten the mood.

“Well, that went to shit really quickly.” But, Oliver doesn’t laugh. “I get why you didn’t want to tell him. No one would look forward to a black eye.” Still nothing.

I walk over and gently touch his unbruised cheek, but Oliver flinches away from me. Coming back from this is going to be harder than I thought, and the prospect of what that might mean for us leaves my heart plummeting to my toes.

I reach for his hand, and it takes a few seconds for him to clasp mine. I ignore the heaviness that’s settled in my stomach, knowing that everything’s just changed in a way that I’m not going to like. I push it down to deal with the issue at hand.

I can fall apart later, if there’s something to fall apart over. Until then…

“C’mon,” I say, nodding toward the door. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”