Page 92 of His To Unravel
Nathaniel watches me, the weight of his focus palpable. He isn’t convinced, but he doesn’t press, although his expression conveys a fear of rejection that he is desperately trying to mask.
I should ask him about the photos, about how long he’s been watching me, wanting me, planning all of this. But I don’t. Because I know once I pry open that door, I won’t be able to unsee whatever’s behind it.
My thoughts wander back to the closet, to the rows of elegant dresses, silk blouses, tailored coats in the perfect sizes, styles, and colors. All waiting. He prepared this long before I even considered coming here.
I tell myself this isn’t control; this is Nathaniel’s version of love.
He doesn’t understand restraint—his love comes in waves that swallow everything whole. But if he were dangerous to me, I would know by now…wouldn’t I?
His intensity is undeniable, but it has never hurt me. His actions are overwhelming, but they are always wrapped in tenderness. He’s relentless, yes, but he’smine. And I’m his. That is how I have to think of it, because I can’t let myself waver. Not when he looks at me like I’m the center of his entire world.
Yet, doubt flickers beneath that rationalization, quiet but persistent.
I exhale slowly, hoping that releasing some tension will make it easier to accept the overwhelming devotion in his gaze. And somehow, it does.
I lean forward, curling my fingers around his.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, letting my voice lighten as I glance up at him.
Nathaniel’s face softens, relief washing over his features as if those three words untangle something inside him.
“I’ll make you whatever you want,” he says, too quickly. “Or we can go out. Anywhere you like. You name it.”
His eagerness feels disarming in a way that knocks me slightly off balance. This isNathaniel Caldwell, a man who practically lives in calculated restraint, yet the way he looks at me now seems almost boyish.
I smile, squeezing his hand gently. “How about pizza?”
Nathaniel tilts his head, considering it for a moment before nodding. “Done.”
I laugh, the weight in my chest beginning to lift. The warmth in his eyes steadies me, and for now, that is enough.
“We should pick up something for your parents,” I add as the thought crosses my mind. “I don’t want to show up empty-handed.”
Nathaniel’s brows lift slightly, surprised but pleased by my suggestion. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he assures me, but I insist.
“I’d rather not risk it.” The thought of meeting his parents tightens the knot of nerves settling low in my stomach. “I’m already nervous enough as it is.”
Nathaniel’s gaze softens as he leans closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’ll be perfect.”
As we rise from the bed, his hand finds its familiar place against the small of my back—guiding me with that familiar, quiet possessiveness. And I let him. Because right now, it feels easier to move forward than to look too closely at what’s been laid out behind me.
The interiorof the Rolls-Royce is cloaked in a comfortable silence. Nathaniel’s hand rests lightly on my thigh.His thumb traces idle patterns against the fabric of my dress. It’s a tender gesture that both soothes and unsettles me.
I lean back in the seat, my head resting against the cool leather. The weight of the last few hours still clings to the corners of my mind.
He hasn’t offered explanations, but I haven’t asked for them either.
It’s strange how easily I justify the way he weaves himself into my life as if it has always been inevitable. I tell myself that I don’t need to unpack it right now. There are more pressing things to worry about.
Like the fact that I’m about to meet his parents.
After we left the apartment, I insisted on picking up gifts. Nathaniel had teased me for overthinking it, but I refused to back down.
“What kind of flowers does your mother like?” I had asked between bites of pizza, my phone open to a floral boutique’s website.
“Is your father more of a wine or whiskey kind of person?”
Nathaniel had leaned back in his chair, watching me with a hint of amusement that made my cheeks warm. He answered each question patiently, indulging me as I mentally cataloged the possibilities.
