Wanted All Along

Chapter Eleven

Elias turned out to be nothing like Amara expected, which she realized within the first five minutes of meeting him was probably the point of Kian introducing them in the first place.

They met at a small restaurant Kian chose specifically, tucked away from the parts of the city where his family’s social circle tended to gather, low lighting and quiet booths that felt more like a place for honesty than performance. Elias was already there when they arrived, taller than Kian but with the same dark eyes, the same watchful stillness, though his version of it carried none of the guardedness Kian still slipped into under pressure. He stood to greet Amara with an easy warmth that felt entirely genuine.

“So you’re the reason my brother’s been unreachable on weekends for four months,” Elias said, shaking her hand, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I was starting to think he’d finally learned how to relax. Should’ve known there’d be a woman involved.”

“Don’t start,” Kian said, though there was no real edge to it, just the easy exasperation of someone used to being teased by family who actually knew him.

“I’m not starting anything. I’m complimenting her.” Elias settled back into the booth, gesturing for them to sit. “Amara, it’s genuinely good to meet you. I mean that. This one doesn’t bring people around easily.”

“He mentioned that,” Amara said, sliding in beside Kian. “Though he didn’t say much else. I feel slightly ambushed, not knowing anything about you.”

“That’s deliberate, probably. He likes control.” Elias said it fondly, without malice, the kind of observation only someone who’d known Kian his whole life could make land as affection instead of criticism. “I’m the older brother. Ran the family business’s European division for six years before I stepped back from most of it. Married. One daughter, four years old, terrifying in the way only small children can be.”

“He’s leaving out the important part,” Kian said dryly.

“I’m getting there.” Elias’s easy humor sobered slightly, something more careful settling into his expression. “My marriage was arranged. Not officially—nobody in my family uses that word, it’s all very modern about it, very much ‘introductions’ and ‘compatible families’—but arranged all the same. I met my wife twice before our parents had already decided we were getting married, and I went along with it because saying no felt like more trouble than it was worth.”

Amara glanced at Kian, understanding suddenly why this dinner mattered so much to him. “How’d that turn out?”

“It’s fine,” Elias said, and something in the careful neutrality of the word told her more than a longer answer would have. “We’re compatible. We’re good partners. We manage a household and a daughter well together, and most days that feels like enough.” He met her eyes directly. “It’s not what I would have chosen if anyone had actually asked me what I wanted instead of what made sense. I love my daughter more than anything in the world. I don’t regret her. But I think about what might have been different, sometimes, if I’d had the nerve at twenty-six that Kian’s finding now at thirty-three.”

The table went quiet for a moment, the weight of it settling.

“That’s why I wanted you two to meet,” Kian said finally, his hand finding Amara’s under the table. “Elias understands the pressure better than anyone. He’s the only person in my family who’s never once suggested I should be more practical about this.”

“Practical’s overrated,” Elias said, some of his earlier lightness returning. “I spent a decade being practical. I’d rather watch my little brother be reckless for once, honestly. It’s more interesting.”

The conversation eased after that, Elias asking genuine questions about Amara’s work, her interview, the position she was hoping to move for, listening with the same attentive focus she was starting to recognize as a family trait, however differently it showed up in each of them. By the time dessert arrived, Amara felt herself relaxing fully for the first time since the run-in with Selena days earlier, grateful for the reminder that Kian’s family wasn’t a monolith of expectation and image—that somewhere in it was a man who’d lived the alternative and still rooted for something different for his brother.

“Watch out for Selena, by the way,” Elias said, almost offhand, stirring his coffee. “Not because she’s dangerous, exactly. Because she’s patient. She’s been positioning herself with our mother for two years now, and she’s very good at making things look like your idea instead of hers.”

“You’ve noticed that too,” Amara said, something in her chest easing at the confirmation.

“Everyone’s noticed it except my mother, who’s decided not to.” Elias’s expression turned serious again. “Naomi noticed it first, actually. My sister. She’s got sharper instincts than either of us. She’ll like you, I think—she’s got very little patience for anyone she thinks is performing, and from what Kian’s told me, you don’t perform much.”

“I’m working on not performing,” Amara admitted. “It’s a newer skill for me.”

“Aren’t we all,” Elias said, raising his glass slightly, something warm and understanding in the gesture. “To working on it, then.”

Amara clinked her glass against his, catching Kian’s eye across the table, something settled and hopeful passing between them that hadn’t quite been there before tonight—the sense, however fragile, that whatever this was building toward, they weren’t building it entirely alone.

They said their goodbyes outside the restaurant a while later, Elias pulling Kian into a brief, firm hug before turning to Amara with the same warmth he’d greeted her with hours earlier.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, just to her, “I’ve watched my brother manage his way through every relationship he’s ever had. Careful, controlled, nothing left to chance. He’s not managing this one. I don’t think he knows how not to be careful with you, and I mean that as the compliment it is.”

“Thank you,” Amara said, something warm lodging in her chest. “For tonight. For being honest with me.”

“Someone in this family should be.” He glanced at Kian, affection plain on his face. “Take care of him. He’s better at it than he thinks, but he still needs reminding sometimes.”

They watched him walk off toward his car, and Kian slipped his arm around her waist as they started toward his own, quiet for a long moment before he spoke.

“Well?” he asked. “What did you think?”

“I think,” Amara said slowly, “that I understand you a little better now. Why you’re so careful about letting people in. It’s not just your parents you’re managing around, is it? It’s the version of yourself you’re afraid of becoming if you’re not careful enough.”

Kian was quiet for a moment, something unguarded moving across his face in the streetlight. “That’s uncomfortably accurate,” he admitted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly. “Careful or not.”

He pulled her closer, pressing a slow kiss to her temple. “I’m starting to believe that,” he said. “Which terrifies me a little, honestly.”

“Good,” Amara said. “It should.”