He had seen someone who was tired.
Someone who needed rest.
“Well,” I said, forcing a smile, “thank you for not calling security.”
A small smile appeared.
“I considered it.”
My eyes widened.
“You did?”
“For about half a second.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
And for the first time since he walked into the room, the tension disappeared.
It surprised me how easy it was.
How natural.
Tristan Bellamy was intimidating when he first entered a room. He carried himself with the confidence of someone who had spent his entire life being listened to.
But standing there beside his mother, watching him gently adjust Eleanor’s blanket when it slipped from her shoulder, I saw something different.
Not a billionaire.
Not a businessman.
Just a son.
A son who cared.
—
Over the next several days, I tried very hard not to think about Tristan Bellamy.
I failed.
