“Better than ever. I’ve done things right.”

  Kye studies him for a long second, the agent in him surfacing—calculating, cautious. “What’s the verdict, Sebring? Are you coming back?”

  I want this for him—God, I do. He lights up when he talks about the game and comes alive in a way that nothing else seems to match. I’ve seen the fire in him, the way training has sharpened his focus and softened some of the tension in his shoulders. He’s worked hard. Steady. Determined. No cutting corners.

  But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared.

  Scared of another injury. Scared of the chaos this might bring. Scared of how much I adore a man whose first love has always been a field lined with white paint and blood.

  Still… I’m proud in a way that sits in my chest like both a balloon and an anchor.

  If this makes him feel more himself again, I want it for him for as long as he can chase it.

  “I’m ready to come back.”

  Kye nods, his expression softening. “Let’s do it, mate. We’ll talk to David, set up a training schedule, get ahead of the press before the rumors swirl. You’ve got one hell of a comeback story. Might as well write the next chapter before someone else tries to write it for you.”

  Alex’s whole face lights up—brighter than I’ve seen in weeks. There’s a fire in his eyes, the kind that only shows up when a man’s stepping back into the thing that makes him feel alive. And in that moment, I know. This is more than a good decision. It’s the right one.

  He exhales like he’s finally breathing the air that belongs to him again.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Alex leans into Kye’s enthusiasm, the two of them already tossing around ideas about training schedules and off-season strategies. It’s like watching someone slip back into their skin, and I can’t stop smiling—even if part of me is still catching up to the weight of what this all means.

  Dessert is finished, and the mood at the table is bright with talk of all the possibilities.

  Krishna dabs her mouth with her napkin and leans toward me. “I’m gonna duck off to the loo. Come with?”

  The moment the bathroom door clicks shut behind us, Krishna laughs. “Apologies. Didn’t mean to dash out, but I thought I needed to pee. Now? Nothing. Pregnancy is wild. It messes with your body in ways no one warns you about.”

  She uncaps her lipstick and leans toward the mirror, applying it. She catches my eye and grins. “How does it feel knowing you’re about to marry into the madness? Are you ready to be a rugby wife?”

  I laugh, surprised. “Is that a thing?”

  “Oh, it’s a thing,” she says, tossing her lipstick back into her bag. “Some wives are amazing—strong, grounded, the sort who’ll save your sanity in the stands. But then there are the others.”

  She gives me a look—equal parts amused and deadpan. “Let’s just say high school didn’t end for some of them. It just has better handbags and Botox appointments now.”

  I groan, but it’s playful. “Good to hear. I’ll keep my armor polished.”

  “You’re different from what they’re used to,” she says. “They’ll either love you or fear you. Both work.”

  She rolls her shoulders and straightens, her hand darting to her belly. Her expression shifts—surprise, then joy. “Oh! There’s that little flutter again.”

  “Wow. That must be amazing. Do you have a feeling about the gender?”

  “In my head, it’s a boy. Kye says a girl.”

  “Well, one of you must be right.”

  Krishna laughs. “How old are you, Magnolia?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  She nods. “Do you plan to wait a while?”

  I shrug. “We want children, but the timeline is up in the air.”

  The words sound simple, but they barely scratch the surface. The truth is that I’m not sure what rugby’s going to mean for our lives and everything we’re trying to build.

  It’s hard not to wonder what that means for us. How much time will he have for home? For me? For a family?

  I understand what the game demands. This isn’t a part-time passion. It’s a full-body, full-heart commitment. And while I will be beside him in it, I also know I don’t want to raise a baby half alone while he’s traveling or nursing a busted body.

  So yeah, we want kids. But I’m not ready to bring one into the world unless we’re both here for it. Fully. And right now, that’s still a little too foggy for me to see.

  “I was thirty-four and Kye was thirty-eight when we got married. We didn’t want to wait to start our family—and thank God we didn’t. Even getting a jump on it, it still took nearly two years. Specialists. Tests. A lot of hoping through heartbreak. It wasn’t just effort—it was luck, timing, stars aligning in just the right way. We were a week away from starting IVF when this one surprised us.”

  Krishna’s words aren’t a warning. More a gentle, well-meaning nudge.

  “It made us realize how little control we had.”

  Something about that sticks, nothing unsettling, but it makes me take stock.

  I’ve spent so much of my adult life avoiding pregnancy. But I’ve never once considered what would happen if, when the time came, I couldn’t. If wanting wasn’t enough.

  Krishna’s tone is gentle, an offering of advice without pressing into sacred territory. “You’re young. There’s no rush, especially if you’re still figuring things out. But since you know you want kids someday, it might not be a bad idea to see someone. Just to get a sense of where your fertility is at.”

  It’s the way she says it—easy, warm, like a friend passing on hard-won wisdom—that makes it land without pressure.

  “I need to find a GYN here anyway. No harm in getting checked out.”

  She smiles, soft and knowing. “Exactly. Just information. That’s all it is.”

  Taking stock doesn’t mean we’re going to try tomorrow. It means being prepared when we decide the time is right.

  “Since you don’t have a care provider yet, I recommend Dr. Meera Shah. She’s brilliant. Gentle, practical, no scare tactics. You’d love her. She’s a straight shooter. The good kind.”

  “Thanks. I think I’ll make an appointment with her.”

  We step back into the restaurant, slipping into the low buzz of clinking glasses and murmured conversation. Things have changed little at the table—Alex still leans back with his beer, Kye animated as he talks through preseason plans.

  There’s a natural lull now—the unmistakable post-dinner exhale when everyone’s full, content, and not quite ready to move. Krishna gives Kye a look—one of those silent married glances that says everything—and he responds with a knowing nod.

  “Shall we?” he asks, already reaching for his jacket.

  We gather our things, sliding out of the booth and murmuring thank-yous to the staff as we make our way out.

  In the car, I stare out the G-Wagon window, watching the Sydney skyline stretch and blur—city lights smudging into long watercolor streaks across the glass. Alex glances over a few times, quiet, reading me in that way he does.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I nod, slow. Thoughtful. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

  But the things I’m thinking about aren’t small.

  It’s more than the conversation with Kye, which will shift the entire trajectory of our lives. More than the soft flutter of a baby. More than Krishna’s story, though it lingers. It’s the weight of the complete picture. The scope of what’s ahead.

  It’s our future, widening, unfolding—a road I hadn’t fully seen until now. And suddenly, I can’t unsee it.

  Chapter 6

  Magnolia Steel

  The estate resembles something lifted from the pages of Vogue Living with wrought-iron gates and a white stone drive that curves toward a Spanish-style villa glowing beneath warm lights. The fragrance of citrus trees in bloom wraps around us the second we step from the car.

  Alex’s hand settles at the small of my back as we walk toward the entrance of Kye and Krishna’s home.

  “You good, babe?”

  I nod, even though my stomach is a mess of nerves. “Please don’t let me trip in these heels.”

  He chuckles, leans down, and presses a kiss to my temple. “You’ve got this. You’re already the best-looking woman here.”

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t know that.”

  “Oh, but I do.”

  God. This man.

  Inside, the house is buzzing—music humming low, glasses clinking, polished laughter echoing off stone walls and high ceilings. People move with an ease I don’t yet have, but I’m trying. I smile when I should. I hold my clutch just so. And I keep reminding myself that I belong here, because Alex says I do—and maybe I’m starting to believe it.

  The wives have gathered near the long marble island in the enormous kitchen, drinks in hand, perfectly highlighted hair catching the light.

  I brace—but then I hear it. “Magnolia!”

  It’s Krishna, radiant in a wrap dress that does dangerous things for the baby bump she’s rocking. She pulls me into a warm hug, and the knot in my chest loosens.

  “You are stunning,” she says, holding me at arm’s length. “Also, these earrings? Illegal.”

  I reach up, fingers grazing the delicate gold-and-diamond earrings swaying below my jaw. “Alex surprised me with them tonight.”

  Krishna grins, her eyes soft. “Wasn’t that sweet? I can’t imagine a more perfect way to start a marriage—with thoughtfulness and a little sparkle.”

  Callie steps up next, her sleek ponytail swaying as she closes the distance, a flute of something sparkling in her hand. “There she is,” she says, her grin wide. “I was hoping I’d get to hear that accent again tonight.”

  I smile, the tension in my shoulders softening. “You mean this old thing?”

  She laughs. “Megan and I still talk about it. You could read off the catering menu and we’d be happy.”

  “You’re so sweet.” I’m grateful for her warmth.

  “Welcome to the Wives Club,” she says, raising her glass.

  “Thanks. The transition is… a lot.”

  Julia joins the circle, her drink in hand and not a trace of a baby bump. “I remember all too well. At least I had the long-term girlfriend phase to prep me for the wife part. You sort of dove into the deep end.”

  I laugh. “Sink or swim, right?”

  Julia pulls out her phone and taps her screen, turning it toward me. “Speaking of life changes… meet Brayden.”

  The photo is of a dark-haired baby swaddled in navy, cheeks round and kissable, a tiny fist curled at his chin.

  “Oh, Julia. He’s beautiful.”

  “Born while you were in the States. He’s home with Mum tonight. I needed adult energy and clothes that don’t reek of spit-up.”

  “You look beautiful. Motherhood suits you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Megan loops an arm through mine as though we’ve known each other for years. “C’mon, and join us, Magnolia. We’re trading war stories over here. Locker-room pranks, surprise schedule changes, who lost it during post-game interviews.”

  For the first time tonight, I let myself laugh—really laugh.

  I catch Alex across the room, chatting with a circle of teammates, his eyes flicking to mine, the smallest smile tugging at his mouth. And something clicks into place.

  I didn’t expect to be so welcome here. Or this safe. But I am. And I think that’s the scariest and most beautiful part of all.

  I glance down at my glass, now empty. “I’m going to sneak off for a refill—anyone else?”

  A soft chorus rises.

  “All good here.”

  “Still working on mine.”

  “Just got a fresh one.”

  The soft buzz of conversation fades behind me as I make my way down the garden path, heels clicking against the flagstone, to where the bartender is set up by the pool. Fairy lights hang like constellations overhead, casting a warm, romantic glow. I pause beneath them, letting the quiet settle. Just a moment to breathe.

  But I’m not alone.

  “Magnolia.”

  I turn—and there he is.

  Tyson steps from the shadows. Crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled, calm face, dangerous smile. It’s the same one he used to wear when he was crossing a line and didn’t care.

  “You look beautiful, Mags. But it should be me beside you tonight. Not him.”

  Why is he here? Kye and Krishna wouldn’t have invited him.

  My spine straightens and I’m flooded with dread. “Please don’t do this again. Not here. Not tonight.”

  He takes a slow step toward me. “You think he knows you better than I do?”

  I don’t even blink. “I think he doesn’t have to manipulate me to keep me.”

  He opens his mouth, but I raise a hand to stop him before the lie can slip out. “I love Alex. And nothing you say will ever change that or make me want to be with you.”

  The words hang there, clean and final. But Tyson doesn’t take the hint.

  His jaw clenches. The smile vanishes.

  “You’re only marrying him because you think it makes you safe. But that’s not love. That’s survival.”

  My patience fractures. “That only proves how much you don’t know me. Because I’ve never needed a man to make me feel safe.”

  “I know you, Mags.” His tone sharpens, pleading and accusing all at once. “You can pretend with him, wear the ring, play the perfect fiancée, but you remember what we had.”

  “No,” I say. Cold. “I’ve told you over and over. Everything between us was a lie. And even if it hadn’t been, it pales compared to what I have with Alex.”

  His eyes darken. “He will never love you the way I love you.”

  “I believe that. Because the way you love—the way you cling to something that’s dead and gone—is not love. It’s control. And it’s dangerous. It scares the hell out of me.”

  How do you reason with a man who’s rewritten the story in his head? Who’s flipped every page and scrawled his name across the ending as though he earned it?

  I take a step back, eyes flicking toward the warm hum of conversation just a few yards away. Laughter floats beneath the twinkle of lights. Safety is so close.

  Yet so far away.

  “I’m done, Tyson. You don’t get to keep showing up in my life.”

  I turn to walk away, and his fingers wrap around my wrist. Not hard. Not painful.

  Controlling.

  Possessive.

  I freeze. My breath tangles in my throat.

  “Let go of me,” I say, my voice low but sharp, meant only for his ears. I don’t want to draw attention or cause a scene.

  His grip tightens, and my panic rises.

  “Get your fucking hand off her.” Alex’s voice slices through the air—low, sharp, deadly. I turn, already knowing the fury I’ll find on his face.

  And there it is––murderous calm.

  His jaw locked. Eyes black with fury. Shoulders squared as if he’s seconds from detonating.

  Tyson releases me, but it doesn’t matter. Alex is already closing the distance.

  He grabs Tyson by the front of his shirt and slams him back a step, teeth clenched, trying to hold the rest of himself together. “You so much as breathe near her again, and I’ll end this for real.”

  Tyson recovers, shoulders relaxing. “You should ask her what she hasn’t told you. Ask her what we were⁠—”

  I shove myself between them, palms against Alex’s chest, pushing hard. “Stop. Please. This isn’t the place for this.”

  He glares at Tyson, and I sense the resistance in him falter beneath my hands.

  Tyson laughs—quiet and smug. “What, you afraid he’s gonna find out what we were?”

  My spine stiffens and I meet his eyes, steady and unflinching. “There are no secrets between Alex and me. He knows everything. I left nothing out because I knew this day would come. This was so predictable. You’re just living down to every expectation I had. And somehow, I’m still disappointed in you.”

  He flinches, and something in his eyes shifts.

  Alex breathes hard through his nose, jaw tight, twitching as he stares Tyson down.

  I touch his arm, grounding him. My voice is soft. “I came here to meet the other wives and enjoy tonight, but he’s ruined that for me. Will you please take me home?”

  Alex doesn’t take his eyes off Tyson as he answers. “You want to hurt me? Fine. Take your swings. But why can’t you see how much you’re hurting her in the process? You claim to love her, but all you do is hurt her.”

  Tyson doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The damage is already done.

  Alex steps back, tucking me into his side as we turn away—leaving Tyson behind in the shadows where he belongs.

  We say nothing as we walk out.

  Alex’s arm remains wrapped around me protectively, but I feel exposed and seen in the worst possible light.

  This party was supposed to be my debut into the wives’ club. Instead, I may’ve just become the next scandal.

  Chapter 7

  Magnolia Steel

  The boutique smells like peonies. Soft classical music plays from somewhere overhead, and everything around me is white and gold and gentle. Velvet settees. Rows of gowns so delicate they remind me of clouds caught on hangers. A silver tray of champagne flutes sparkles beside a tower of finger sandwiches no one has touched.

  It’s perfect. Elegant. Everything bridal dreams are supposed to be.

  Despite my happiness, I’m… unsettled.

  Malie’s chatting with the stylist near the front desk, asking questions about alterations and timelines. Leilani and Sefina flank me, flipping through racks and pulling gowns they think will suit me.

  They’re so excited.

  I’m trying to be.

  I slide my hand over the tulle of a nearby dress, soft as breath, and remind myself to smile. This should seem like a fairy tale. And it does. But someone is absent.

  I always imagined Violet would be beside me for this part… as my person. The one who’d hand me tissues when I cried because I’m overwhelmed. The one who’d laugh with me over the ballgown disasters or swoon with me when I found the perfect dress.