He didn’t interrupt. Just stood there, watching me like I was both a car crash and a sunrise.
“I hate the way you say my name.Lillian,Lillian,Lillian. Do you hear yourself? The only person who calls meLillianis my mother, which is why I hateLillian. But then you come along and say it, and suddenly I don’t hate it anymore, which is deeply upsetting because I have spentyearscultivating that hatred. And now you’ve just...ruined it. Completely derailed one of my core personality stances. Do you understand how destabilizing that is? Does that make any sense at all?” When he didn’t answer, I snapped, “Speak!”
“Oh, yeah. Absolutely,” he said quickly, fighting a smirk like it physically pained him to keep it in.
“I hate that you pretend not to be a nice guy even though you are,” I said, calmer now. “I hate that you cook for me every night, and care if I skip meals, and that you take off my shoes when I fall asleep on the couch. I hate that you wipe my mascara when I’m too tired to. I hate that you make it impossible not to like you.” By now, my voice was trembling. “Honestly, Khalifa? I hate that I told you not to fall in love with me and then I went ahead and fell in love with you instead.”
The silence that followed pressed against my ribs. The candles flickered, throwing shadows that looked suspiciously like hope.
“I hate you, too,” he said finally. His mouth cracked into the smallest, gentlest smile. “And also...I love you, Lillian.”
It was a quiet confession—quiet in the way most devastating truths usually were. It didn’t need a violin swell, or a perfectly timed thunderstorm, or any of the cinematic theatrics people seemed to think were supposed to accompany a moment like this. It landed softly, and somehow that softness hit harder, in all the sweet, tender places I’d assumed were untouchable.
Those three words weren’t something I heard often. Or ever, really. From anyone. I never would’ve imagined that Khalifa, of all people, would be the first to give them to me. Yet here wewere, half-lit by melting candles, half-destroyed by each other, and his quiet confession felt louder than anything I’d ever heard.
“You loveme?” I asked dubiously.
“Yes.”
“But...I’m rude.”
“I prefer the term delightfully blunt.”
“And arrogant.”
“Veryarrogant,” he corrected. “Might’ve been a deal breaker if it wasn’t so immensely attractive.”
“And I’m a slob.”
“Yes, but you’remyslob.”
“I’m impulsive,” I insisted, unsure whether I was trying to convince him that he couldn’t love me, or myself that I couldn’t be loved. “I say all the wrong things.”
He didn’t hesitate. “You don’t say the wrong things,” he said. “You say the honest ones. They’re only wrong to the wrong people.”
I rolled my eyes and grumbled, “I’m kind of a brat.”
“The biggest brat,” he confirmed, but with a tone so full of affection it thawed every defense I’d ever built.
My pulse stuttered, and something inside me—something I’d spent years trying to tame—rose to the surface. “I’m too tall,” I whispered, the words catching. “Too loud. Too much.”
“It’s true,” he breathed. “You’re too tall, too loud, too much. But that’s the thing, Lillian—you were never meant to fit quietly into anyone’s life. You were meant to wreck me beautifully. And if this is whattoo muchlooks like, then I’ll happily spend forever drowning in it.” His voice roughened as he added, “I’m sorry that your mother made you believe you were hard to love. Because falling for you?” His eyes locked onto mine like the words were sacred truth. “It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. The mostinevitablething I’ve ever done.”
For one suspended, traitorous heartbeat, I almost let myself feel it.
Then I shook my head. “No.”
His forehead creased. “No?”
“Yes,no,” I said. “How am I supposed to believe you? I ripped myself open for you—more than once—and instead of helping me stitch myself back together, you just left me there, exposed and bleeding and trying to pretend I wasn’t.”
He looked like I’d just kicked the air out of him.
“And then we have sex,” I barrelled on, “and suddenly you’re in love with me? How do I know this isn’t just a side effect of a really good orgasm?”
He raised a brow, amused. “Really good? Someone’s cocky.”
Heat flared up my neck. I folded my arms, attempting dignity. “You said that was attractive.”
