“Then why not leave?”
She exhales.
I watch as she pulls her robe tighter around herself even though the room isn’t cold. “Because they trained me to stay,” she says, voice cracking like a glass under too much pressure. “Trained me to smile. Trained me to be perfect. Because they told me love is conditional, and legacy is not. Because if I run—”
“They lose a daughter.”
She laughs once. The sound through us is dry and humorless. “No, they lose an asset.”
My jaw clenches hard enough to ache. “That’s insane,” I bite out through my teeth.
“It’s normal here,” she whispers, staring down at the book like it's safer than looking at me.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
Her head snaps up, eyes flashing hot. “Then what does it have to be?” Her voice slices the air. “A runaway story? Ascandal? A headline? You don’t get it, Lorenzo. You weren’t born with a chain around your ankle.”
Her words hit me. It feels like a knife under my ribs. I flinch. I don’t mean to, but I do.
My mouth opens. Closes. Nothing comes out.
She sees the damage. Regret flashes across her face.
“I didn’t mean that,” she breathes, rubbing her temples, pulling her knees closer up to her chest. “I just . . . ”
She presses her palms to her eyes, shoulders shaking just once. “It’s suffocating.”
I nod slowly, letting the quiet settle thicker between us. The room feels smaller now. The space between us is hotter. More fragile.
“None of that matters to me,” she whispers suddenly, dropping her hands and looking at me. “Not when I’m with you. Not your job. Not my name. Not what anyone thinks. I don’t care.”
For some reason, one I can’t even understand, I believe her.
I lean closer. My movements are slow. I’m careful not to scare her off.
She doesn’t pull away.
“You shouldn’t care,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I’m glad you do.”
She tilts her head, leaning forward until her lips are only inches from mine. “I do,” her voice trembles. “More than I should.”
I kiss her. Because there’s nothing else left to do. Because if I don’t, I’ll lose my mind. Because she looks at me like I’m worth saving, and I’m selfish enough to want the lie.
The kiss starts quietly. Her lips part against mine, and I wrap my arms around her and pull her close to my body.
The kiss builds fast.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt.
Mine slip into her hair, tugging her closer until I’m not sure where she ends, and I begin.
The library disappears. The books. The names. The rules.
All gone.
Until it’s just her. And me. And a kiss that tastes like the beginning of something we’re not ready to name, but already can’t stop.
13
