"Because this—" I gesture at the journal "—is vulnerable. And Thornhills don't do vulnerable. We do power. Control. Winning." I lean against the windowsill. "But mostly because I was terrified. You saw through me once. What if I showed you the real me and you still didn't want it?"
"So you made sure I'd hate you instead." She says and I hate the words.
"At least then I knew where I stood."
She shakes her head slowly. "That's the saddest defense mechanism I've ever heard."
"I'm aware."
"You could have told me. Any time in the last two years, you could have just been honest." Her voice cracks, and now I’m scared I’ve hurt her.
"I know. But I didn't know how. Didn't know if you'd listen. Didn't know if I deserved the chance." I cross back to where she's sitting. Kneel down so we're eye level. "But I'm telling you now. Showing you now. And I'm asking you—begging you—to believe that this is who I actually am."
Isla's hand moves from the journal to my face, cupping my cheek with those her warm fingers. The touch is so unexpected, so gentle, that I freeze.
"I'm starting to," she whispers. "Believe you, I mean. And that terrifies me."
"Why?"
"Because if you're real—if this is real—then I've wasted two years hating someone who was just as scared and broken as me. And if I forgive you, if I let this be something... what happens when you remember who you're supposed to be? When the Legacy Council and your father and all those expectations come crashing back?"
"Then I'll fight them. For you. For this." I cover her hand with mine, keeping it against my face. "I've spent my whole life being who everyone expected. I'm done with that. I want to be who you make me want to be."
"And who's that?" She asks.
"Someone worthy of you."
The words hang between us, honest and terrifying.
Then Isla does something I never expected.
She leans forward and kisses me.
It's soft at first, tentative, questioning. Like she's testing whether this is real or just another dream she'll wake up from. I kiss her back carefully, afraid of scaring her away, afraid this is a moment that could shatter if I push too hard.
But then she makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and careful goes out the window.
I stand, pulling her up with me, and kiss her like I've been wanting to for two years. Like she's oxygen and I've been drowning. My hands find her waist, her hair, pulling her closer until there's no space between us.
She kisses me back with equal intensity, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body pressed against mine. Everything I've beenholding back, two years of wanting and hating and not knowing how to bridge the gap between us, pours into this kiss.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, her eyes dark and unfocused.
"That was..." she starts.
"Yeah."
"We should probably talk about?—"
"Yeah."
But neither of us moves. We just stand there in my bedroom, hands still on each other, the world narrowed down to this moment.
"The movie," she says eventually. "We should finish the movie."
"Fuck the movie."
She laughs, actually laughs and the sound is the best thing I've heard in years.
