I can’t leave it at this. I can’t let this uncertainty fester between us—can’t give her the space to let doubt creep in. If she’s not ready for marriage...fine.But I need something concrete to hold on to.
“If you need time,” I add quickly, reaching for her hand, “then take it. But move in with me when we get back to Boston. For our last semester. Stay with me.”
She stills. Her expression is indecipherable, but I tell myself that her silence means she’s considering it.
As we lie together, her warmth still pressed against me, I try to force myself to settle down, but my mind refuses to quiet. Instead, the fear festers, gnawing at the edges of my mind, whispering insidious possibilities.
What if she’s already decided, but is just prolonging the inevitable?
I wake to warmth.
The familiar weight of Olivia presses against me, her breath slow and steady, her body still tucked into mine beneath the sheets. Relief hits me first—visceral, all-consuming.
She’s still here.
For a long moment, I don’t move. I just breathe her in, letting the scent of her calm the rough edges of my mind.
It’s a miracle I managed to sleep at all last night. Even with Olivia wrapped around me, my thoughts circled like vultures, restless and relentless, clawing at every doubt, every insecurity that had taken root in the aftermath of my proposal.
I tighten my hold on her instinctively, my arm curling around her waist, my fingers flexing against the bare skin of her hip. I need her tethered to me, need to feel her heartbeat against my own.
Olivia stirs against me, shifting slightly. Her lashes flutter, then her eyes open, still hazy with sleep as they land on me. She blinks once, then again, and then she smiles—soft, affectionate, open.
The tightness in my chest eases just a fraction.
“Morning,” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep.
I swallow, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Morning, baby.”
I press my lips against her shoulder, trailing kisses up the delicate curve of her collarbone. My fingers trace the slope of her spine, the dip of her waist, the warm skin beneath the sheets. I don’t even realize how tightly I’m holding her until she exhales softly, shifting beneath my touch.
She knows.Of course, she does. Olivia always notices everything.
Her fingers slip into my hair, her nails scraping lightly against my scalp in a slow, soothing motion. I close my eyes at the sensation, exhaling deeply, my grip on her tightening.
“I love you,” she whispers, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
I will never tire of hearing it. I never want to stop feeling that sharp, aching pull in my chest whenever she says it.
"I love you too.”
I want to say more.Be mine in every way. Marry me.But I keep it to myself. For now.
Olivia shifts, moving the blankets aside as she makes to leave the bed.
Before I can think, I reach out, wrapping my fingers around her wrist, my hold firm but not forceful.
She stills, glancing down at where I hold her, then back at my face. Her expression softens, her lips parting slightly—not in surprise, but in understanding.
She understands.Of course she does. Olivia is probably the only person who has ever truly known me.
She opens her mouth to say something, but just then, my phone buzzes.
I ignore it, but it immediately buzzes again, the persistent vibration grating against my already frayed nerves.
Olivia’s gaze flicks toward the nightstand, and I follow her eyes, watching as my phone lights up with another incoming call.
Mother.
