Her breath trembles. She nods, barely. Pain flickers across her face like she’s trying to hide it.
She backs away slowly, steps soft, careful.Deliberate. She slips out the boathouse door, sunlight wrapping around her.
When she’s gone, the quiet caves in around me. I let my guard fall, punching the wall.
I would’ve kissed her. Should have . . .
Fuck the consequences.
9
Victoria
It happens in passing.The way most dangerous things do.
A hallway. A breath. A brush of fingers.
One second, I’m walking through the east wing with a book in one hand and an iced tea in the other, pretending I’m not already bored enough to consider flinging myself out a window, and the next,he’sthere.
Moving through the corridor as if he belongs, even though we both know he doesn’t. Toolbox in hand, smelling faintly of cedar, sweat, and something else. Something warm and masculine. It should be criminal how good he always smells.
We pass each other like strangers. Except we’re not.Not anymore.
Our hands touch. Just barely.
His fingers graze the back of mine like a secret being slipped under a door. Like a signature he shouldn’t be leaving on me at all.
My breath stutters, and my heart races at a clip that can’t be healthy.
It’s not thumping in my chest because I’m surprised, but because I’m not. Because some traitorous part of me has been waiting for something to happen.Anything.Even this. It’s not a lot, but at this moment, when I’m so desperate to be with him, this is enough.
I look up. He’s already looking at me.
Eyes dark.
Intent. Like he’s reading the thoughts I pretend I don’t have.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.
His lips move in silent words. “Meet me later.”
The iced tea nearly slips from my hand.
I nod, but barely. But he sees it. He sees everything.
He keeps walking. And so do I. Even though my pulse stays with him.
Hours later, I can’t stop thinking about him. I wish he were here with me right now.
He’s not, of course, and I swear because of that, the house feels heavier.
There are too many voices. Too much pretending.
My father talks about business like it’s a war strategy, and people are pawns he can afford to sacrifice. My mother smiles through casualties, as if she’s practicing for the next charity gala.
I eat half a peach. Taste nothing.
“I have a headache.” I touch my temple. No one acknowledges me.Perfect.
