"We're supposed to be documenting this for social media," she reminds me. "Contract requirements."
"I don't care about the contract."
"You paid a thousand dollars for this contract."
"Best money I ever spent." I kiss her again, softer this time. "But you're right. We should probably maintain some pretense of actually watching movies."
We head back to the theater room, but everything's different now. The air feels charged. Dangerous. Like we've crossed a line we can't uncross.
Isla settles back on the couch, and this time when I sit next to her, I pull her against me. She tenses for a second, old instincts, then relaxes into my side.
I restart the movie, but I couldn't tell you what happens in the next hour. All I'm aware of is Isla tucked against me, her head on my shoulder, her hand resting on my chest.
Halfway through the second movie, Sunset Boulevard, her choice, she speaks.
"I should probably take a photo. For Instagram."
"Probably."
She pulls out her phone and angles it to capture us on the couch together. I'm looking at the screen, but she's looking at me. The photo captures the moment before she realizes she's been caught staring.
She posts it immediately. Caption:Date 3/5: Movie marathon with someone who has surprisingly good taste in film noir. #ThornhillGala #OldHollywood #Complicated
"Complicated," I read over her shoulder.
"Well, we are."
"Fair point." I kiss the top of her head without thinking. The gesture feels natural. Easy. "For what it's worth, I think complicated is better than enemies."
"Much better." She pauses the movie. "Sebastian, I need to say something."
My stomach drops. Here it comes. The retraction. The realization that this was a mistake.
"Okay."
"I'm giving you this chance. Really giving it to you. But I need you to understand, if you hurt me again, if this turns out to be another game, I won't recover from it. I'll transfer schools if I have to. I'll do whatever it takes to never see you again."
The threat should scare me. Instead, it makes me more determined.
"I won't hurt you. Not again. Not ever." I turn her face toward mine. "You're the only thing in my life I've ever actually chosen. Everything else, Thornhill, the Legacy Council, the expectations, that was decided before I was born. But this? You? This is mine. And I'm not going to fuck it up."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She kisses me again, and this time the doubt stays quiet. Her mouth slows, presses with intent. I slide a hand to her waist and pull her closer. She goes easily, settling onto my lap like the choice finished forming before I touched her.
My hands trace her body, not rushing, learning her through heat and breath. She shifts, closer, knees braced on either side of mine. Her fingers hook into my shirt, tug once, then stay there as if to anchor herself.
I kiss her neck. She tilts her head, offering more, a soft sound leaving her throat. Her body answers before her mind interferes. She moves against me, deliberate, unafraid. I hold her there, palms firm, claiming the moment without words.
For tonight, belief feels solid enough to sit on my lap and breathe me in.
We don’t even know when Sunset Boulevard finishes, as we continue kissing. She finally pulls away from me.
"I should go," she says around one AM, but she doesn't move.
"You should," I agree, also not moving.
