Chapter 21
The villa hit me like a warm hug from someone who actually gives a shit about you.
Quiet that felt intentional instead of oppressive, like the difference between meditation and suffocation.
The moment I stepped inside, roasted garlic and freshly baked bread smacked me in the face with the reminder that I’d basically survived on anxiety and coffee fumes all day.
Rookie mistake.
The dining table looked like something from a magazine spread about people who have their lives together—candlelight casting warm glows across white linens, silverware that probably cost more than my rent.
The kind of dinner party I’d only ever imagined attending, usually while eating microwaved ramen and questioning my life choices.
“Look who made it before dessert,” Finn said, emerging from the kitchen with wine like some kind of domestic god.
“Barely,” Asher added from the sideboard where he was slicing steak with surgical precision, though his tone lacked real bite.
Liam stood at the head of the table, eyes fixed on me with that intensity that always made my brain forget basic functions like breathing.
He didn’t speak, just watched me with an expression that stirred memories of our studio encounter. Perfectly still, waiting for me to make the first move.
Smart man. I was basically a feral cat at this point.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said, setting down my purse like it contained state secrets. “Today was a shitshow.”
“You’ve been working yourself into the ground,” Liam observed, pulling out the chair between him and Finn. “I’ve noticed how you’ve been channeling your inner hermit lately.”
I settled into the offered seat, immediately feeling their attention wrap around me like expensive blankets.
“There’s been pressure. Organizing press conferences, editing final cuts, dealing with a team that still sees me as the ‘new girl’ who doesn’t quite belong.”
“Distance helps you cope?” Finn asked, pouring wine that probably cost more than my car.
His fingers lingered against mine as he handed it over, sending familiar sparks up my arm that my traitorous body absolutely didn’t need right now.
“Sometimes.” I took a sip, letting the wine work its magic. “It’s easier to focus when I’m not constantly distracted by…”
“By us,” Finn finished with that knowing look that could probably see straight through my bullshit.
I hesitated, then decided fuck it—honesty was apparently on tonight’s menu. “I needed space to think.”
Asher set down the carving knife and turned to face me fully, steel-gray eyes doing their whole mind-reading thing.
“Is that why you avoided us this morning? Brushed past Liam in the hallway like he had some contagious disease?”
“I saw that,” Liam said quietly, and I could hear the hurt he was trying to hide.
Guilt twisted in my stomach like bad seafood. “I’m not trying to push you away. I just—”
“But you are,” Asher interrupted, voice quiet but firm. “And we’re not idiots, Jasmine. We can see what you’re doing.”
I bristled at his directness because apparently my defense mechanisms were still functioning. “I’m not stupid either. I know what this is. I know what people would say if they knew what was happening between us.”
The words hung in the air like smoke from a dumpster fire, acknowledging the elephant that had been growing larger with each passing day.
Silence fell over the table, broken only by candles crackling and the distant hum of a city that never sleeps.
Finally, Liam reached for my hand beneath the table, fingers intertwining with mine and anchoring me with warmth. “We’re not here to make your life harder, Jasmine.”
My voice cracked like I was going through puberty again. “I just… I don’t want to lose this before it’s even real. Before we figure out what the hell it means.”
“Then let us help you carry it,” Finn said gently, his hand covering mine on the table. “You don’t have to bear all this weight like some kind of emotional pack mule.”
Something loosened in my chest then—not full surrender, but relief. Like I’d been holding my breath underwater and could finally surface.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay.”
Asher moved to serve the meal, placing perfectly cooked steak and roasted vegetables on each plate with the kind of care that spoke of long practice.
“You need to eat,” he said simply, setting my plate down. “You’re too thin.”
“I’ve been stress-eating coffee and existential dread,” I admitted, earning a soft chuckle from Finn.
“Well, tonight you’re eating actual food,” Liam said, squeezing my hand before releasing it. “Asher’s been cooking all afternoon.”
“You cook?” I asked, genuinely surprised by this domestic side of the usually intense A&R head.
“Someone has to keep these two from living on takeout and whatever catering abandons,” Asher replied with what might have been amusement. “Liam would survive on coffee and the remnants of whatever meetings leave behind.”
“And Finn would eat nothing but dessert if we let him,” Liam added.
“Hey, dessert is perfectly balanced,” Finn protested, cutting into his steak with dramatic flair. “It has all the food groups: sugar, cream, chocolate, happiness…”
“Those aren’t food groups,” I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in days.
“Says who?” Finn waggled his eyebrows. “I reject your conventional nutritional fascism.”
The conversation flowed easier after that, earlier tension dissolving like sugar in water. Asher surprised me by offering me the last piece of garlic bread without being asked.
Liam kept my wine glass filled before I even noticed it was empty. Finn regaled us with increasingly ridiculous stories from his producer days.
“There I was,” Finn continued, gesturing dramatically with his fork, “in the studio with this pop princess who shall remain nameless, and she decides the only way she can hit her high notes is while standing on her head.”
“Bullshit,” I gasped, covering my mouth to keep from spitting wine.
“I swear on my favorite guitar. Upside down, hair touching the floor, demanding we record her like that because ‘it opens up her chakras’ or some New Age nonsense.”
“Did it work?” Liam asked, clearly having heard this story before but still amused.
“Surprisingly, yes. The song went to number one.” Finn shrugged. “I learned never to question an artist’s process, no matter how batshit insane it seems.”
For the first time in days, I felt whole again.
Not the fragmented version I’d been presenting to the world—Professional Jasmine, Worried Sister Jasmine, Woman Hiding Dangerous Secrets Jasmine—but just me.
Sitting with three incredible men who somehow saw all my broken pieces and wanted them anyway.
“Thank you,” I said quietly as we finished the meal. “For this. For understanding. For not giving up on me when I was being a complete disaster.”
“You weren’t a disaster,” Liam said firmly. “You were protecting yourself. There’s a difference.”
“And protecting us,” Asher added. “Even when it hurts.”
After dinner, we migrated to the living room where a fire crackled in the stone fireplace like something from a rom-com.
The couch was large enough for all of us, and somehow we arranged ourselves naturally—me against Liam’s chest, Finn pulling my legs into his lap, my ankles settling near Asher’s thigh.
No expectations, no pressure, no demands. Just the four of us in comfortable silence, the outside world held at bay by candlelight and shared warmth.
“This is nice,” I murmured against Liam’s chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath my cheek.
“Mmm,” he agreed, hand stroking through my hair. “We should do this more often.”
“When this whole mess with Adelyn blows over,” I said, then immediately regretted bringing up reality.
“It will,” Asher said with quiet certainty. “Whatever she’s planning, we’ll handle it.”
“Together,” Finn added, thumbs tracing gentle circles on my ankles.
I closed my eyes and let myself sink into the moment—fire warmth, Liam’s solid comfort, gentle touches from Finn and Asher. For the first time in forever, I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow’s dangers or yesterday’s regrets.
Just this. Just us. Just belonging.
