Page 70 of Broken Blades

He lifted his coffee mug with maddening leisure, took a slow sip, then watched me over the rim with something dangerously close to amusement dancing in his eyes. Like my entire existence entertained him. Like I was performing some comedy routine specifically for his benefit.

"You're avoiding looking at me."

I forced my gaze to meet his. Held it. "I'm not."

"You are."

The certainty in his voice grated. I hated being so readable, hated that he could track my thoughts and defenses like some predator cataloging prey patterns. My fingers found the hem of my oversized sweater, twisted the fabric.

"Look, last night was… intense. And⁠—"

"You mean when you almost climbed into my lap because a camera clicked?"

Heat detonated across my face. Nuclear. Mortifying. "I did not⁠—!"

"Relax." He set the mug down, that infuriating calm never wavering. "It was instinct."

Instinct.

The word slammed into me like a truck, carrying implications I absolutely didn't want to examine. Instinct meant unconscious. Meant my body reacting before my brain could intervene. Meant some part of me had started recognizing him as safe when he was anything but.

I crossed my arms, armor reconstructing frantically. "Well, that can't happen again."

Wyatt set down his mug completely. The casual amusement evaporated from his expression, replaced by something harder. More serious. The shift made my pulse jump.

"It has to happen again."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"We have something planned Thursday." He leaned back against the counter, all controlled power and unfair certainty. "Cameras on us the entire time. Investors watching. Your father's business partners evaluating whether this relationship is real enough to stabilize the merger."

Each word landed like stones, building weight in my chest.

"If you flinch every time I touch you," he continued, voice dropping lower, "or spend the entire night maintaining three feet of distance like you're radioactive, everyone will know this is bullshit."

I swallowed hard. "I can act natural."

His eyebrow lifted. "Can you?"

The challenge hung there, sharp and pointed. Because we both knew the answer. Last night I'd been natural without trying—leaning into him, laughing at his observations, letting his proximity feel normal instead of threatening.

Today I could barely look at him without my defenses screaming warnings.

"What do we have?" The question came out shakier than I wanted.

Wyatt straightened, all controlled energy shifting into something purposeful. "We have a charity skate tomorrow."

I blinked. "A what?"

"Kids' fundraiser. Media. Fans." His tone stayed maddeningly neutral, like he was discussing weather instead of my next public humiliation. "We'll be photographed together the entire time."

He stepped closer. Not touching—yet. But the distance evaporated enough that I felt the shift, that pull of proximity that shouldn't have registered but absolutely did. My fingers tightened on the sweater hem.

"If we look stiff when I put my arm around you—" Another inch disappeared between us. My pulse kicked. "—or if you flinch when I touch your waist—" He stopped. Close enough now that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact, close enough that his presence filled my peripheral vision completely. "—everyone will know this is fake."

The words settled over me like verdict and challenge combined. My throat went dry. I wanted to step back, reclaim the safe distance I'd promised myself upstairs. But moving felt like admitting defeat, like proving his exact point about my inability to handle proximity without betraying discomfort.

So I stayed frozen. Caught between retreat and standing ground.