I don’t lean into it, but God, I want to. I miss the way this version of him feels. The one who pretends he cares.
“I’d love to come,” he says. “Really. Meeting your family could be… cool.”
Cool?
That’s the last word I’d use to describe subjecting someone to my cousin’s nasal voice and her husband’s unsolicited crypto advice.
Theo wouldn’t have called it cool.
He would’ve said, If it gets too bad, I’ll fake a medical emergency and carry you out bridal style.
Theo would’ve brought snacks.
The thought makes me smile before I can stop it.
Lyle must take it as something it’s not, because his thumb strokes over my cheek like he’s trying to memorise me. “Text me the details, yeah?”
And here’s the thing-
I know what this is.
I know I’m not the girl he’ll cancel plans for. Not the girl he chooses when no one’s watching.
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But I’m also not clueless.
This isn’t some fairytale fall. This is love with disclaimers. Love with warning signs flashing like Vegas. It’s me knowing exactly what I’m doing walking headfirst into a heartbreak I’ll write a hundred sad songs about, and doing it anyway.
—
I almost tell him not to come. That it’s fine. That I get it.
But then I remember my mother’s voice and her threat about Dimitri, and I swallow the protest.
“Sure,” I say instead.
He leaves. I wait a beat, then turn toward the exit too.
Except… I can feel the stare.
Aaron.
He’s burning holes into my back with that annoyingly intense gaze he always reserves just for me, like I’ve offended his ancestors by existing.
I whirl around, annoyed. “If you’ve got something to say, say it. Don’t just stand there like the sight of me ruins your day.”
His eyes widen slightly. “I’m not-”
I roll my eyes before he can finish, pull out my phone, and walk away like I’m not shaking a little.
Outside, I text Theo. Somehow, he’s the only man in my life with some silver of common sense,
EMILIA
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“You should dress warmer. It’s getting colder.”
“Okay, Mum.”
Liam gives me a look that could melt a glacier. “I’m serious,”
“I know, Mum.”
He pulls the scarf tighter around my neck until I feel like a bundled–up potato. A slightly overpriced potato, I don’t even mind. He’s right – autumn’s creeping in, October’s coming, and Zane and Becca’s wedding is around the corner.
Speaking of Becca… she’s the reason I’m currently being layered in designer clothes like a mannequin in a winter fashion ad,
“Will you be taking the scarf?” the boutique attendant asks, smiling like her life depends on it.
Can’t blame her. I saw the price tag before Liam threw it on me. If I were her, I’d be grinning for the rest of the year.
Liam looks over at me – really looks – and there’s something soft and smug in his eyes that makes my face heat up. I glance away before I start giggling like a lunatic.
“Yes,” he says. “And the boots. And jacket. And that skirt too.”
There goes Tessa’s rent for the next two years.
While I change back into my regular clothes, the attendant. wheels in another rack, still babbling about how this neckline or that colour will “bring out my collarbone.” Okay?
I try to stay quiet, but the guilt is starting to poke me in the ribs.
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“Um, Liam?”
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He’s flipping through hangers, pulling out outfits like he’s
building an actual wardrobe for a royal, but he pauses and turns to me with this ridiculously gentle smile.
“Yes, love?”
Love. I might actually die.
“You really don’t have to spend this much,” I say, trying not to sound too awkward. “Like- thank you, really, but we could’ve gone to a thrift store or literally anywhere else that doesn’t cost the equivalent of a small car per item.”
He steps closer, still smiling. “But I want to.”
“Yeah, but-”
He cuts me off, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear in the most casual, heart–stopping way possible.
“Emilia,” he says quietly, “you make me happy. I like seeing you warm, comfortable, dressed in things that make you feel good. Let me do this.”
And just like that, my brain short–circuits.
I stare up at him, all words gone, and he leans down to kiss my forehead. It’s soft, simple, perfect.
And now I’m officially useless for the rest of the day.
I mumble, “How am I supposed to pay you back for this?”
What I want to do is lean in- press my face into his chest,
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close my eyes, and breathe in that stupidly addictive scent of
warm cotton and something darker, sharper, uniquely him.
his
–
