Her hand comes up to cup my face, her thumb gliding over my cheekbone.
“Nate,” she whispers. “I promise that I will come back, my love.”
My throat constricts. I want to believe her. But she doesn’t understand—to think of her slipping out of reach…It’s unbearable.
My fingers weave into her hair, tightening just slightly. “Tell me you love me.”
Her lips part, and I can see the apprehension—the recognition of my growing need for control—but then she relents.
She always gives me what I need.
“I love you, Nathaniel.”
A rush of breath leaves me, something inside my chest momentarily unclenching.
Then I kiss her.
It isn’t gentle. It’s fierce, desperate, consuming. I need her to feel it—to know that I’mhers, just as much as she’s mine.
When I finally, reluctantly, pull away, her lips are parted, her breath unsteady, her eyes dazed. My hands are still on her, my heartbeat still erratic.
She steps away.
And this time, I let her.
I listen to the soft click of the lock as she leaves. And immediately, the hollowness rushes in to take her place.
I last two minutes before I reach for my phone.
Text me when you get there.
I stare at the screen, waiting.
A few moments later, she replies.
OLIVIA
I will. Have a nice lunch with your father.
I exhale, momentarily soothed. But it isn’t enough. It’s never enough.
Ten minutes pass. I tap out another message.
What car did my mother send for you?
Five minutes later, her response comes.
OLIVIA
A Bentley. Why?
I don’t answer. I just need to know.
Another ten minutes.
Who else will be there?
This time, she takes longer to reply. Too long.
