“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispers, voice trembling.
“Like what?” I lean down without thinking, drawn like a magnet, despite knowing I shouldn’t.
“Like I’m . . . something,” she breathes, eyes flicking to my mouth. “Like this matters.”
“It does.” The words slip out of me before I can stop them.
Raw. Unfiltered. Stupid.
Her breath stumbles. She leans in.
Just enough that her nose brushes mine.
Just enough that if either of us moves an inch, it's happening.
Her lips part. My heart does something violent. And then, she freezes.
She pulls back fast like she burned her fingers on the moment. Clutches the book to her chest, like a shield. As if that will save either of us.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispers, stepping away, eyes shining with something I don’t dare name. “I shouldn’t.”
It breaks something in me. Quietly, efficiently.
I force a smirk, armor sliding back into place. “Relax, princess. I wasn’t going to kiss you.”
She flinches, most likely from my comment and what I just called her. Or maybe she knows I’m lying.
“You don’t have to pretend.” Her fingers tremble around the book’s spine. “Not with me.”
She sees me.
All of me.
No matter how hard I try.
And that . . . that destroys me more than the retreat.
I look away, jaw clenching.
Words slip out before I can cage them.
“You’re the only thing in this damn house that feels real.”
Her lips part. Her eyes soften. Too much. Too close. I want to swallow the words back down.
“Forget it,” I shove a hand through my hair.
“Lorenzo . . .” she whispers, stepping forward again.
I lift a hand between us. Not touching her, just holding distance. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” she breathes.
Because if you touch me, I’ll never let you go. Because if you ask one more time, I’ll ruin everything. Because you’re leaving, and I’m not good enough for you.
I give her the safe version. The lie she can live with.
“Because your world doesn’t have room for someone like me,” I rasp, swallowing hard. “And because I can’t afford to want something I can’t keep.”
