Page 9 of Charmingly Obsessed
“No,” I say firmly. “It’s decided. It’s done. And this has nothing to do with… jokes.”
“Jokes?” He repeats the word slowly, carefully, like tasting something foreign and unpleasant.
“Yes,” I echo. “Jokes about the… kisses. This isn’t about that.”
“Jokes?What the hell are you talking about, Diana?”
“I don’t want to remember any of it. Just consider it—”
“Jokes?” he breathes, the word thick with incredulity and something else… something raw. “Kisses?” His gaze sweeps over me erratically.
“Let’s clear this up,” he says, his tone suddenly sharp, strained, like he’s forcing himself through immense resistance. “Right now. So there isn’t a shadow of a misunderstanding. Not ahint. There was nothing—nothing—remotely funny about me kissing you that night in the kitchen. Not the slightest thing, Diana.” His voice cracks on my name. “That was the furthest goddamn thing from a joke. It’s… absurd. What joke? I know how pathetic this sounds, but I kissed you because I couldn’tstopmyself.”
Not… a joke?Anger flares, a weak shield against the sudden, disorienting hurt.
“Everyonelaughed!” I snap, the word exploding out of me, louder than I intended. “The whole kitchen laughed atme! Ian even high-fived you! They were cheering! And now you’re telling me it wasn’t a joke?”
“Whatare you saying?” He looks physically ill.Good.Let him feel sick.
Three years ago I stood there, frozen, humiliated, watching them celebrate my mortification.
I try to turn away, to escape past and present, but he grabs my shoulder, his fingers digging in, halting me.
“They weren’t laughingatyou! They were laughing… at me! At the sheer audacity! Some of them didn’t even process what happened! Albina came right over to you! They couldn’t believe anyone would be that idiotic—thatIwould be!”
The pieces slam into place, rearranging the narrative I’ve held onto for three years. It feels like the ground is tilting beneath my feet. If… if it wasn’t a joke, not a bet, not a prank… thenwhy?
“That’s not how it looked,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Not at all. Besides… everyone knows you love jokes, pranks. Why… why did you kiss me then?”
“Albina came to you. And then she dragged me aside. You saw that. Youhadto see it. She filed an official complaint against me, forbade me from approaching you.”
“A complaint?” I echo, stunned. “I never filed any complaint!”
“Iknow,” Frez grits out, frustration tightening his jaw. “But youshouldhave, Diana. I abused my position. I can only imagine how…physicallyunwelcome… it must have been. How unacceptable.”
Unwelcome?Physically unwelcome?I nearly melted when his mouth claimed mine. I didn’t exactly participate in that kiss like a normal person, paralyzed by shock and years of repression, but my body responded. Heat, need, a terrifying jolt of connection.
“Youownthe company! What complaint? And don’t tell me you ignored me for three years just because Albina ‘forbade’ you!” The words are out before I can stop them, revealing too much. That I noticed his absence. That I waited. That I expected… something. If Mykola Frez wants something, he gets it. HR complaints are gnats to be swatted away.
I take a shaky step back, overwhelmed, but his grip on my shoulder tightens, pulling me closer instead.
His face is inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin.
“I didn’t ignore you, Diana,” he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. “I tried. God, I tried. But I can’t even forbidmyself. Look at today. Look what I did.”
My face burns under his intense scrutiny. The raw emotion rolling off him is suffocating. Without thinking, my free hand comes up, clutching the sleeve of his linen shirt, fingers curling into the fabric covering the hard muscle of his arm. Anchoring myself.
“Are you saying,” I struggle, the words feeling monumental, like pushing boulders uphill, “that when you kissed me… it wasn’t a joke? Not for them? How… why did it happen?”
“Because only a complete fucking idiot would do that,” Frez says, his voice rising, fierce and ragged. “And it turns out… I am that idiot.”
Silence falls, heavy and crushing.
I stare at him, trying to reconcile this new reality with the old one. His fingers are still clamped on my shoulder, but his thumb begins a slow, almost absentminded stroke near my collarbone, sending sparks across my skin.
“I… I…”
“Are you telling me,” he cuts in, his voice laced with raw, angry disbelief, “that forthree years—three goddamn years!—you thought I wasjoking? That that kiss was ajoke?!”
