Page 90 of His To Unravel
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I let the silence stretch, making sure she feels the weight of my gaze. When I finally speak, my voice holds clear intent. “You should keep that one.”
Her lips curve slightly, but I see the flush that creeps along her neck as she turns back toward the fitting room.
I stay close as she changes, listening to every rustle of fabric behind the curtain.
“You’re hovering,” she teases lightly from the other side.
“I like knowing you’re close,” I reply without hesitation. “You disappear behind this curtain, and I start counting the seconds until I see you again.”
She doesn’t respond, but I catch the quiet laugh under her breath.
Apart from gowns, the stylists gently guide her toward blouses, skirts, and tailored pants. Olivia runs her fingers along the seams but eventually shakes her head, insisting she doesn’t need more. I catch the flicker of reluctance in her eyes as she steps back, but while she speaks to one of the stylists, I lean in and discreetly instruct them to curate a full wardrobe for her. Whatever they think will suit her best, I want it waiting with the rest of the purchases.
As we walk toward the elevator, Olivia’s hand slips into mine. “Thank you for this. Even if it’s excessive.”
“Get used to it,” I say, brushing my lips against her knuckles. “I’m not finished spoiling you.”
The next morning comes quietly,marked only by the faint rustle of luggage and the soft hush of our departure from the hotel. The time has come to leave the Aman behind, and with it, the delicate cocoon of isolation I have wrapped us in. But this isn’t an ending—it’s the next step. I am ready to bring Olivia deeper into my life, into the spaces I never share with anyone else.
On the ride to Central Park Tower, Olivia sits beside me, watching the city roll past through the tinted glass. Her hand rests lightly in mine, and occasionally she tightens her hold, anchoring herself.
When the car pulls into the private entrance, the doorman greets us with a nod, and I lead Olivia inside. The elevator sweeps us up, past floors that are homes to others I don’t care to know.
She glances at me, curious. “You’ve never mentioned this place before.”
“I haven’t brought anyone here before,” I say simply. That part doesn’t need embellishment.
The doors slide open, revealing the expanse of the apartment. Sunlight floods in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the minimalist decor. Cool gray tones stretch throughout the space—sleek, masculine, and intentionally restrained. But even with all the restraint, she is there.Everywhere.
Olivia steps forward hesitantly, her gaze trailing across the room. Her reflection shimmers faintly against the glass overlooking the park, but her attention shifts when she catches sight of the pictures along the far wall.
I remain still, watching her as she approaches them.
Her fingertips brush over the corner of one frame—a candid shot, taken on a day she probably doesn’t remember. She is laughing, mid-conversation, sunlight tangling in her hair. The photo is cropped carefully, but it is unmistakably her. There are others too, placed discreetly but deliberately.
Her voice is soft when she finally speaks. “When did you take these?”
“Here and there.” I cross the room, standing just behind her.
Her brow furrows slightly, and I can feel the unspoken question hovering in the air. I choose not to answer it.
Instead, I take her hand, drawing her away from the frames. “Let me show you the rest.”
The bedroom is next. The door opens to reveal a space just as refined, but with softer touches—blankets folded neatly at the edge of the bed, fresh flowers on the dresser. More peonies, just for her.
I walk to the far side, opening one of the drawers. “I cleared space for you here,” I say, watching her carefully.
She stands in the doorway, hesitant, but I see the flicker of something unspoken in her expression—like a door left slightly open.
“Nathaniel…” she begins, her tone laced with uncertainty.
I smile faintly, closing the drawer. “It’s just space, Olivia.Our space.”
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning I don’t clarify. But I know she understands.
She crosses the room and her hand finds mine again. Satisfaction hums low in my chest. She is already here, woven into every corner of my life. I just need her to accept it.
I lead her into the walk-in closet, a cavernous extension of the bedroom. Rows of tailored suits line one side, dark fabrics perfectly arranged.
