Page 25 of His To Unravel
She adjusts her pen and straightens the spine of her notebook, her fingers brushing along the edges with quiet precision. Her focus, however slight, feels as familiar to me as my own pulse by now.
She’s tried so hard to evade me this past week, and I’ve felt every inch of that distance like a thread pulled too tight.
“I’ve missed us working together,” I say, keeping my voice low. But I know she hears the undertone.I’ve missed you.
She glances up, those wide eyes slightly wary, but there’s something else there too. Relief, maybe. Or even a trace of warmth.
“It has been a while, I guess.”
We exchange a few pleasantries, the thin veil of our project stretched between us. But it doesn’t take long before I let the conversation steer itself into deeper waters.
My voice softens, my tone more deliberate. “You know, I want to understand more…about what you mentioned earlier.”
Her gaze lifts, questioning, so I continue, careful and steady. “You said you don’t think what’s happening between us is…‘realistic’?”
She hesitates, her gaze dropping as her fingers twist herpen absently. “Maybe it’s a little silly,” she begins, her voice faltering. “But it’s hard not to feel… Well, to feel like I’m out of my depth with someone like you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice gentle, encouraging. I lean in slightly, watching her, letting her feel the warmth of my attention.
She exhales slowly, like she’s releasing something she’s been holding onto too tightly.
“Everyone keeps telling me to be careful because guys like you don’t end up with ordinary girls like me. I don’t come from a family like yours, and… Well, I don’t even look the part.” Her smile is self-deprecating, almost resigned. “It’s easy to feel…inadequate. Like I’m playing a role I’m not fit for.” The words slip out, tinged with frustration and an honest vulnerability she rarely lets anyone see.
Her words strike something deep within me, simmering beneath my skin, awakening a slow, sharp fury I barely contain.
Who, exactly, has filled her head with this archaic bullshit? The idea that anyone could presume to define what I want—especially when it concernsher—is infuriating. I make a mental note to find out exactly who is responsible and ensure they understand the cost of interfering.
But for now, I force the thought aside, focusing instead on the moment—on her vulnerability, laid bare just for me.
I draw a breath, measuring my response. “Olivia,” I say, letting her name hang in the quiet, “you’re anything but ordinary. Your resilience, your dedication—those aren’t things money can buy, or that status can fake.”
I let the words settle, watching her carefully. A faint blush rises to her cheeks. Her shoulders ease. Her gaze lifts. There’s a softness in her now, a quiet trust unfurling between us—and I savor it, aware of how carefully I’ve been setting this moment in motion.
My thumb drags slowly along the edge of my notebook,channeling the tension away as I lean forward, letting my gaze soften. She has to know, without question, that she matters more than any social opinion could dictate.
“There’s far more to you than you realize, Olivia. And I’d like to be the one to show you that.”
The quiet that settles between us is a wordless affirmation of the truth I hadn’t spoken aloud. She doesn’t know how far I’ve already gone for her—and that, more than anything, makes her uncertainty feel like the perfect victory.
The smallest flicker of a smile breaks through her wariness. “I didn’t think you would say something like that.”
“Why not?” I counter, leaning in just enough to close the space between us. “I see you, Olivia. And you don’t owe anyone an apology for being just as you are.”
Her wide eyes meet mine, the vulnerability there striking in its honesty. I feel the air shift, thick with everything we’re not saying.
I can see the weight of her insecurities in her gaze, the uncertainty that gnaws at her despite the walls she put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. She can’t imagine how badly I want to be one to dismantle those walls entirely.
I shift closer, my hand grazing hers as if by accident, though it is anything but. The tremor that runs through her fingers doesn’t escape me, nor does the hitch in her breath. She looks torn—caught between the instinct to retreat and the undeniable pull that keeps drawing her forward, inch by inch, right into me.
“You know,” I murmur, “you’re worth far more than you give yourself credit for, Olivia. More than anyone else here could appreciate.”
The sincerity in my tone stems from something I hadn’t anticipated feeling this strongly. And as she looks up at me, I watch the self-doubt in her expression flicker, momentarily replaced by something more trusting, something that hints at belief.
Her eyes drop briefly to my mouth before returningto meet my gaze, and in that moment, I feel the final barrier between us crumble.
She leans in, a soft, tentative brush of her lips against mine, light as a whisper, but it’s all I need.
My hand moves to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as I press my lips to hers, feeling the weight of her surrender. Her hands fist my shirt as she leans into me fully, her lips growing bolder, more certain. I shift, guiding her onto my lap, letting the intensity of the moment spiral higher.
