"Stop agreeing with me!" I'm on my feet before I realize I've moved. "Stop acting like that makes it better. It doesn't. None of this is okay."
"I'm not saying it's okay." He turns to face me, and there's no defense in his expression. No walls. Just raw honesty that makes something twist in my chest. "I'm saying that when Marcus told me I needed a girlfriend, I didn't think about the investors. I thought about you. I thought, this is it. This is my excuse to finally reach out. To finally see if the real you is anything like the woman I've been reading about for years."
"And?" The word comes out sharper than I intend.
"Better." His voice drops. "You're better than anything I imagined. Smarter and funnier and more stubborn and so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes. Every second I spent with you made me want more."
"You said you didn't plan to fall for me."
"I didn't. I planned to use you for the dinner and let you walk away after." He holds my gaze. "But I was already gone before you got on the plane. Every email, every little piece of yourselfyou gave me, I fell deeper. By the time you showed up in Malibu, I knew I was fucked."
"Convenient."
"True."
"How the hell am I supposed to believe you?" I stop in the middle of the cabin, arms wrapped around myself. "Everything from day one has been a lie. The money, the dinner, bringing me here."
"Not all of it."
"Then which parts were real? Because I can't tell anymore."
He stands slowly, careful with his arm, and closes the distance between us. He stops close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his body, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to see his face.
"This," he says quietly. "What I feel for you. That's real. It's the only real thing I've got."
I want to believe him. It scares me how badly I want to believe him.
But I've been here before. I've trusted before. And it wrecked me.
"I can't just take your word for it," I whisper.
"I know." He reaches up with his good hand and brushes hair away from my face. His touch is gentle, almost careful. "That's why we have six more days. I'll show you instead."
I should step back. Put distance between us. Rebuild the walls he keeps knocking down.
Instead I stand there and let his fingers trail along my jaw, let myself feel it even though I know I shouldn't.
"This doesn't change anything," I say.
"It changes everything." He drops his hand and steps back. "But I can wait until you see it."
He goes back to the sofa and picks up his book like nothing happened.
I stand there for a long time, trying to make sense of what he just told me. It should terrify me and it does.
But underneath the fear, there's something else.
That night, we get into bed on opposite sides, but the silence between us is different now. It’s charged and electric and it feels like the air before a thunderstorm rolls in.
I lie there for hours, listening to him breathe.
When I finally fall asleep, I dream about him.
His hands sliding over my skin. His mouth hot against my neck. His voice low in my ear, telling me I belong to him. I dream about giving in, letting go of everything and just letting myself feel.
Three more days.
I don't know if I'm going to make it.
