Chapter 82

Naomis POV while Rowan and Celeste are working

Simone and Lila let themselves in quietly, the door closing with a gentle click behind them. Sunlight pours through the glass walls, spilling across the floors and stretching toward the view beyond the windows.

Simone slows immediately, looking around like she always does, a smile tugging at her lips.
“I swear,” she says, shaking her head, “every time I come here, I fall in love all over again. I just love her house.”

Lila slips her shoes off and sets her bag down, glancing around appreciatively. “Simone, you have a beautiful house too.”

Simone laughs softly. “I know. We all do.” She gestures around the space. “But you know how private Naomi is. So when you really see her space like this—how peaceful it is—it just hits different. And this view?” She walks closer to the windows. “Unreal.”

Lila joins her, inhaling deeply like she’s resetting her nervous system. “I agree. Coming here always feels like a breath of fresh air. Like the world slows down on purpose.”

They stand there for a moment, soaking it in.

Then Simone cups her hands around her mouth. “Naaaeeeee?”

No answer.

Lila chuckles. “She’s probably still asleep. Didn’t she say they were up late?”

Simone grins knowingly. “Oh, absolutely.” She claps her hands once. “Alright. Let’s get the mimosas going.”

Lila nods. “Say less. I’ll go wake her and see what she wants to eat.”

Simone heads toward the kitchen, already pulling out champagne and glasses, humming to herself as she works. Lila moves down the hallway, steps light, stopping briefly outside Naomi’s bedroom door.

She knocks softly.
“Nae?”

No response.

Lila pushes the door open just enough to slip inside.

The room is quiet—wrapped in that soft, early-morning hush that only exists before the world fully wakes up. Light filters through sheer curtains, spilling gently across the bed and the hardwood floor. Naomi is sprawled comfortably beneath the covers, hair loose and slightly tangled, face relaxed in a way Lila rarely sees when she’s awake.

No tension in her jaw.
No crease between her brows.
No tight shoulders bracing for the next thing she has to handle.

Just peace.

Lila pauses in the doorway, hand still on the doorframe. She watches Naomi breathe—slow, even, steady. One arm is tucked under the pillow, the other resting loosely across her stomach like she finally let herself exhale. She looks softer like this. Younger, almost. Like the version of Naomi that exists when she isn’t holding everyone else together.

Lila’s chest tightens in that quiet, protective way.

“Yeah,” she murmurs under her breath. “That tracks.”

She doesn’t wake her.

Instead, Lila backs out carefully, easing the door closed without a sound. She lingers for a second in the hallway, then turns toward the kitchen.

Simone is already there—because of course she is.

Three champagne flutes sit neatly lined up on the counter now, not two. Each one perfectly balanced with champagne and fresh orange juice, bubbles still rising lazily to the top. The bottle is back in the fridge, orange juice capped and wiped clean, napkins folded like this is brunch at a hotel instead of a spontaneous morning visit.

Simone glances up, reading Lila’s face instantly. “Still asleep?”

Lila nods, smiling softly. “Out cold. But not in a hungover way. In a… safe way.”

Simone’s expression shifts immediately, something gentler taking over. She looks toward the hallway, then back at the three glasses. “Damn. She doesn’t do that often.”

“No,” Lila agrees. “She really doesn’t.”

She gestures back toward the bedroom. “I wanted you to see her. The way she looks when she’s not carrying the world.”

Simone exhales quietly, shaking her head. “That makes me want to cry and drink at the same time.”

Lila laughs under her breath. “Same.”

She reaches for one of the flutes, lifting it carefully. “Well… since you already made three—”

Simone smirks, picking up the other two. “—I guess it’d be rude not to bring them to her.”

“Exactly,” Lila says. Then, softer, “But seriously. Let’s just… take a second. Don’t wake her right away.”

Simone nods. “We’ll ease her into consciousness. Like civilized people.”

They move down the hallway together, steps slow, voices instinctively hushed. When they reach Naomi’s door again, Lila pushes it open just enough for Simone to see.

Simone stops.

Her shoulders drop a little. Her jaw unclenches.

“Oh,” she whispers. “Yeah. I see it.”

Naomi shifts slightly in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips, completely unaware she’s being watched—completely unguarded.

Lila smiles. “Told you.”

Simone looks down at the glasses in her hands, then back at Naomi. “Alright,” she murmurs. “We’ll wake her gently.”

Lila grins. “With mimosas.”

They step inside, sunlight warming the room around them, carrying three glasses.

Lila nudges the door closed behind them with her foot, sealing the room back into its quiet cocoon. Simone sets two of the flutes on the nightstand, careful not to clink the glass. The third she keeps in her hand, swirling it slightly, watching the bubbles dance.

Naomi stirs at the soft sound anyway.

A low hum leaves her throat, more reflex than awareness. She rolls onto her side, burying her face into the pillow like she’s negotiating with the universe for five more minutes. Her hair falls across her cheek, messy and loose.

Lila grins. “See? Peaceful. But stubborn.”

Simone leans closer, lowering her voice to a gentle tease. “Good morning, sunshine.”

Naomi groans. “No,” she mutters, voice thick with sleep. “Whoever you are, no.”

Lila laughs quietly and sits on the edge of the bed. “It’s just us. No responsibilities. No drama. Just mimosas.”

At the word mimosas, Naomi’s brow furrows. One eye cracks open. Then the other.

She squints at them, processing. “Why are there… three of you?”

Simone lifts the flute slightly in salute. “Because we’re supportive friends who respect hydration and vitamin C.”

Naomi blinks again, then pushes herself up onto her elbows. The movement is slow, unhurried—still half in sleep, half awake. She takes in the room, the light, their faces hovering near her.

“…Did I oversleep?” she asks.

Lila shakes her head. “Nope. You slept exactly as much as you needed.”

Naomi exhales, something soft loosening in her chest. “Good. Because I feel… weirdly calm.”

Simone smiles at that and hands her the third glass. “Drink before you start overthinking.”

Naomi accepts it, fingers wrapping around the cool glass. She takes a small sip, then another—eyes closing as the citrus hits her tongue.

“Oh wow,” she murmurs. “That’s dangerous.”

“Correct,” Lila says. “That’s why we brought supervision.”

Naomi lets out a quiet laugh, leaning back against the pillows. She looks between them, expression shifting—curious, affectionate, a little emotional but not overwhelmed.

“You guys came early,” she says.

Simone shrugs. “We were invited. Technically.”

“And,” Lila adds gently, “we wanted to check on you.”

Naomi studies the rim of her glass for a moment. Then she nods. “I appreciate that.”

They sit there together—no rush, no agenda. Sunlight creeps higher up the wall. Naomi takes another sip, shoulders relaxing more with each breath.

Lila barely gets her glass back to her lips before Simone tilts her head, eyes sparkling with barely contained curiosity.

“So,” Simone says, drawing the word out. “What happened last night?”

Naomi freezes mid-sip.

Slowly, she lowers the glass and looks at Simone like she’s just been personally attacked before 10 a.m.

“Wow,” Naomi says, voice dry. “No warm-up. No stretching. Just straight into the emotional Olympics.”

Simone shrugs, unapologetic. “I’ve been up for hours wondering.”

Naomi exhales and sinks deeper into the pillows, lifting the flute again protectively. “Can I at least finish one mimosa first?” she asks. “And maybe order food? I feel like this story requires carbs. Possibly bacon.”

Lila laughs. “That’s fair. This does feel like a brunch-level conversation.”

Simone holds up her hands. “Okay, okay. Truce. Finish the mimosa. Order the food.”

Naomi squints at her suspiciously. “You’re still going to stare at me though.”

“Absolutely,” Simone says. “But quietly.”

Naomi huffs a laugh and takes a longer sip this time, eyes closing again as if she’s bracing herself. “Mmm. Yep. This is definitely a ‘talk after food’ situation.”

She reaches for her phone on the nightstand, thumbs already moving. “Alright. What are we thinking? Pancakes? Waffles? Eggs? Something greasy enough to absorb poor life choices?”

“All of the above,” Lila says immediately.

Simone nods. “Add potatoes. And maybe pastries. For emotional support.”

Naomi grins despite herself. “You two are terrible influences.”

“And yet,” Simone says sweetly, “you love us.”

Naomi glances between them, something warm flickering across her face. “Yeah,” she admits softly. “I do.”

She finishes the rest of the mimosa in a few steady sips, sets the glass down, and sighs like someone gearing up for a confession booth.

“Alright,” she says, already ordering food. “Give me… fifteen minutes. Food on the way. Second mimosa poured.”

She looks up at them, brows lifting. “Then I’ll tell you.”

Simone’s grin widens. “Oh, we’ll be ready.”

Lila raises her glass again. “Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.”

Naomi clinks her empty flute lightly against theirs, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Good,” she says. “Because last night?”
She pauses, shakes her head once, half-laughing.
“Last night was… a lot.”

Naomi sets her phone aside after placing the order, then reaches for the second mimosa Simone has already topped off for her like a seasoned caretaker. She takes a slow sip, eyes drifting toward the ceiling as if she’s replaying the night frame by frame.

“Okay,” she says finally. “I’m not ready-ready. But I can start.”

Simone and Lila both lean in without moving closer, an unspoken agreement not to crowd her.

“It started messy,” Naomi admits. “Like… emotionally messy. The kind where everyone’s feelings are louder than their logic.” She exhales. “There were tears. There was yelling. There were shots. Multiple.”

Simone hums knowingly. “As one does.”

Naomi snorts. “Don’t encourage me.”

Lila smiles gently. “We’re listening.”

Naomi’s expression softens at that. She shifts, sitting up a little more, the blanket sliding down to her waist. “We talked. Like really talked. No dodging. No half-truths.” She pauses, fingers tightening around the glass. “I said things I’ve been holding in for years.”

Simone’s teasing fades, replaced with something more grounded. “How’d that feel?”

“Terrifying,” Naomi says honestly. “And relieving. Like finally taking a full breath after realizing you’ve been holding it in way too long.”

Lila nods. “And Celeste?”

Naomi’s mouth curves into a small, complicated smile. “She finally stopped running. Owned her feelings. All of them.” A beat. “It didn’t fix everything. But it changed the direction.”

Simone studies her carefully. “And you?”

Naomi looks down at her mimosa, swirling it once. “I chose myself,” she says quietly. “For the first time in a long time, I didn’t shrink or smooth things over to keep the peace.”

Lila reaches out and squeezes her knee. “I’m proud of you.”

Naomi blinks, caught off guard, then laughs softly. “Don’t do that. You’re going to make me cry before the food gets here.”

Simone grins. “Too late. I already saw the shimmer.”

Naomi wipes at the corner of her eye with the heel of her hand. “Okay, okay. I’m fine.” She lifts her glass again. “Next part of the story comes with carbs. I refuse to continue without pancakes.”

Right on cue, her phone buzzes with a delivery notification.

Simone laughs. “Perfect timing.”

“Alright,” she says, already padding toward the door, “pour another round while I grab the food.”

She glances back at them, eyes warm but unmistakably serious beneath the playfulness.

“Then I’ll finish.”

Naomi comes back into the living room with both hands full, balancing takeout bags against her hip. The smell of warm food cuts through the citrusy brightness of the mimosas immediately.

“Okay—careful,” she says, setting everything down on the coffee table. Containers are spread out with intention: lids cracked, napkins tucked underneath, sauces lined up like she’s done this a hundred times.

Simone grabs the pitcher and tops off all three glasses without being asked. “Bless,” she mutters.

Lila hands out plates and utensils, already settling cross-legged on the floor. “I’m starving, so this story better be worth the wait.”

They all sit—comfortable, familiar, easy. Naomi takes a sip of her mimosa first, a real one this time, then exhales slowly like she’s bracing herself.

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll start from the beginning.”

She leans back against the couch, plate resting on her lap.

“Rowan called me.”

Simone freezes mid-bite. Lila’s brows shoot up.
“…Rowan Rowan?” Simone asks.

Naomi nods. “That Rowan.”

Lila slowly sets her fork down. “Oh.”

Naomi takes another sip. “Yeah. She called me right after she left the condo. Said she needed answers and didn’t trust herself to sit with it alone.”

Simone glances at Lila. “I knew it.”

Naomi continues, voice calm but layered. “She came over. Asked me straight out if Celeste and I had slept together. Asked how I felt about her. Asked what I wanted.”

Lila leans in. “And?”

“And I told her the truth,” Naomi says simply. “All of it. No softening. No dodging.”

Simone nods slowly. “That tracks for you.”

Naomi huffs a small laugh. “We talked. A lot. Drank wine. Ate. Sat in silence. She stayed the night.”

Both Simone and Lila blink at the same time.

“She stayed the night?” Simone repeats.

Naomi lifts a finger. “Nothing happened. Before you spiral.”

Lila squints. “Define nothing.”

Naomi smiles. “Define boundaries respected.”

Simone groans. “Damn.”

Naomi goes on, quieter now. “The next morning, she told me I was wife material. We danced in the kitchen. We kissed. Then we stopped, because we both knew it meant something.”

The room is silent except for the faint clink of forks.

“And then?” Lila asks softly.

“And then,” Naomi says, “we decided Celeste couldn’t keep running from this anymore. So we brought it to her. Together.”

Simone exhales, shaking her head. “So the triangle finally exploded.”

Naomi nods. “Yeah. But… in a way that felt honest. For once.”

She looks down at her plate, then back up at them. “We’re not pretending anymore.”

Lila smiles slowly. “About damn time.”

Simone lifts her glass. “To honesty.”

Naomi clinks hers lightly. “To honesty.”

She takes another sip, then glances at the food, at them, at the quiet calm of her house filled with people who know her.

“Okay,” she says, already reaching for another bite. “Now ask me whatever you want. I’m not dodging today.”

Simone doesn’t even pretend to ease into it.

She sets her fork down, looks Naomi dead in the eye, and says, “Okay—so are you with Celeste… or is Rowan with Celeste?”

Naomi pauses mid-bite, chews once, then smiles like she’s been waiting for this exact question.

“We’re all together,” she says plainly. “As a couple.”

There’s a beat.

Lila’s mouth opens. Simone’s eyebrows shoot up.

“…Oh,” Simone says. Then, immediately, “OH.”

Lila grins. “I knew it.”

Simone leans back, arms crossing, clearly enjoying herself now. “Okay, okay—so let me clarify.” She tilts her head, eyes sparkling. “Is it like… you and Celeste, and then Rowan and Celeste, orrrr—” she makes a little circle in the air with her finger, “—wink wink, everybody’s involved?”

Naomi laughs, shaking her head. “It’s all equal.”

Simone freezes. “Equal how?”

Naomi sets her plate down, suddenly very serious but still calm. “I want Rowan and Celeste. Fully. And they feel the same way. No hierarchy. No competing. No ‘this one matters more.’ We’re choosing each other—together.”

Lila nods slowly, impressed. “Damn.”

Simone studies Naomi for a second, then breaks into a wide smile. “Okay but… are you happy?”

Naomi doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I really am.”

Simone reaches for her mimosa. “Well then.” She lifts her glass. “To doing life your way.”

Lila clinks hers in. “And to grown-ass communication.”

Naomi smiles, clinking her glass with theirs. “And to not pretending anymore.”