I’m hating the now because he’s back at it.When he looks at me now—eyes bright, knowing, unafraid—I feel it again.That old heat.That pull that doesn’t care about my rules or my carefully built life.The one that whispers that maybe I didn’t imagine it.That maybe it wasn’t just a summer or a mistake or a story I tell myself when I’m lonely.
Vesper watches us with narrowed eyes, too perceptive for her own good.She probably can feel the hum between us, the tension that refuses to stay buried.
This is going to be torture.I’ll survive the way I always do.Believing in denial, reminding myself who I need to be.Telling myself I don’t want him.
By pretending I don’t still remember how his mouth felt, how his hands moved, how close I came to choosing a life that would have burned everything I was working for to the ground.
And fuck—I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending.
Because the wanting never really left.
It just learned how to wait.
My strategy for survival is denial, but for how long?Can I turn this around?
ChapterThirteen
Alberto
I step back.
Not physically—there’s nowhere to go—but internally.I shut it down.Lock it up.Bury it under responsibility and logistics and the fact that her father is sick and this is not the time to implode my entire sense of self.
I clear my throat.“You need to sit down.”
She arches a brow.“Bossy.”
“You know it.”
Cally smirks.“You heard the boss, sunshine.”
I shoot him a look.His gaze catches mine, unapologetic and too fucking calm—like he enjoys this, like he’s waiting to see what it’ll take for me to lose the last thread of composure.
That smirk says,You can deny it all you want.
That smirk says,I see you.
And I hate him, just as much as I hate myself because some part of me wants to push back just to see what happens.Wants to feel him react.Wants to know if the heat I imagine is real or just another lie I tell myself when I’m tired and stretched thin and she’s standing between us like a wish we never learned how to make safely.
Vesper cuts the tension as she breathes through her nose and mutters, “I’m sorry you’re witnessing this.”
“Don’t,” I say at the same time Cally also says, “Don’t.”
“We’ll go to the doctor.”
She glares at both of us like we’re the ones misbehaving.
“Stop it,” she says, voice hoarse.“It’s just stress.”
“It’s not,” I answer.
“Until you show me your medical degree, you can’t guess what’s happening,” Cally adds.
“It is,” she insists.“It’s been two days of nausea.Two days.I’m running on no sleep, too much coffee, and the universe is trying to humble me.That’s all.”
Cally’s gaze meets mine and I’m guessing we both agree.She needs a doctor, now.
Vesper straightens her shoulders, squares up like she’s about to chirp a ref.“See?I’m fine.”
