“I didn’t.” His eyes held hers. “But then you came down that staircase—quite determined to confront me—and I found myself reconsidering.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m standing in a room I haven’t entered in twenty years, with the one woman who consistently disarms me—and I’m thinking about kissing her despite every sensible argument to the contrary.”
Celine’s pulse fluttered. “That is the most romantic thing you have said since our wedding.”
“It is the most truthful.”
“I had thought truth was romantic.”
“Is it?” He stepped a fraction closer, as if drawn, then stopped himself. “Then perhaps I should admit more than is prudent.” His voice softened. “You occupy my thoughts far more than is comfortable. I imagine what it might be like to hold you… to feel you near…” He exhaled, a quiet, unsteady sound. “And I fear I reveal too much.”
“Stop.” Her voice trembled.
“Why? I thought you wanted honesty.”
“I want…” She gathered herself, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “I want you to kiss me without performance or pretence. Not because circumstance presses us, or because you think it expected. Only because you wish to.”
His breath caught. “Because I wish to?”
“Unless I misinterpret.”
“I do not know,” he admitted, stepping into her space. “I have never felt anything quite like this. It is… highly inconvenient.”
“Most feelings are.”
“Which is why I avoid them.”
“And yet?”
“And yet.” His hand rose, cupping her cheek. “You make me consider the merits of inconvenience.”
His lips touched hers—or perhapsfoundhers—for the kiss unfolded with deliberate care. She felt the moment he chose restraint, even as desire simmered beneath every measured movement. He kissed her deeply but unhurriedly, as though memorising her. Reverent. Controlled—though she sensed how narrowly.
Her knees weakened. His fingers slipped into her hair, holding her with a tenderness that steadied more than it claimed. Time thinned, then simply ceased.
When he at last drew back, they were both unsteady, breath mingling between them.
“That was...” she began.
“Ill-advised,” he supplied, though his voice was rough with anything but regret.
“I was going to say perfect.”
“It can be both.” He stepped back, putting distance between them that felt like continents. “We have twenty-six more days.”
“Of locked doors,” she said softly. “Not of avoiding each other.”
“The locked door exists for a reason.”
“To give me time to adjust. I am adjusting rather quickly.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Then tell me.”
“I consummate a marriage with a woman who barely knows me. Who agreed under duress. Who deserves more than being bedded by a man still learning how to be human.”
