Page 64 of The Cuddle Clause
Chapter 16
Roman
The next day,I found Maggie in the kitchen.
Her hair was up in one of those loopy buns that made her look infuriatingly pretty. Hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows. Same mug she always used. It said: “Not Before Coffee” in pastel purple script and was chipped at the rim.
We both reached for the coffee pot at the same time. Her fingers brushed mine.
I stuttered. “Oh—uh—you go ahead.”
She nodded and poured her coffee without looking at me.
The silence stretched, and it was our usual comfortable silence where she doodled, and I read in the same space. Nope, this silence buzzed with everything we weren’t saying. Last night hung between us like fog, thick and heavy.
She still wasn’t looking at me.
God, did she regret it? Of course she did. I’d kissed her like it meant something. Like we weren’t fake dating to keep Lucien off my back. Like I hadn’t spent weeks telling myself she was off-limits.
I cleared my throat. “About last night,” I started. My voice cracked, so I tried again, steadier. “I’m sorry. I crossed a line.That was... the wine. And me being an idiot. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. It was a stupid mistake.”
Something flickered across her face. It wasn’t anger. Surprise? Disappointment?
She finally looked at me, then nodded as she stirred creamer into her mug. “I haven’t forgotten about today,” she said, finally. “The pack lunch thing. I blocked off a long break for it.”
I swallowed, grateful and gutted all at once. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
She shrugged. “No problem.”
Then she turned and walked back toward her room without a teasing comment or sly smirk. She just retreated like it cost her something to stand there with me. I exhaled slowly and filled my own mug, letting the heat center me.
I’d fucked up. Whatever rhythm we’d found, whatever fragile thing we’d been building since the first fake date… I’d broken it with one impulsive kiss. One second of leaning into something I wasn’t allowed to want.
She was hurting and still in love with her ex. And too good for the mess I’d become. And I… I was just a disaster with decent abs and a habit of mistaking proximity for permission.
I leaned back against the counter and rubbed a hand down my face.
Maggie was the first person in a really long time who reallysawme. She noticed when I was spiraling and met me there without demanding an explanation. She’d kept to my ridiculous roommate agreement like it was scripture. She made me laugh when I didn’t want to. She sat on the bathroom floor with me when I was nonverbal and humming like a malfunctioning power line.
And I repaid that by pinning her to the door and kissing her like she was mine.
I took a sip of coffee and winced. Bitter.
Perfect.
Lucien would be thrilled today. Bonded couples, he’d called it. As if proximity and a matching wardrobe were the same thing as partnership. As if Maggie and I weren’t faking our way through this whole thing just to keep my alpha off my back.
Except last night hadn’t felt fake. And that was the real problem.
By the timewe arrived at Lucien’s sprawling estate, the late-morning sun had baked the front steps to a dull gold, and the scent of manicured roses and money hung in the air like designer cologne.
We walked in together, arms brushing. Maggie’s scent—citrus and pine—wrapped around me like a tether, and I hated how easily it calmed me.
Lucien’s staff led us to a long table draped in white cloth that was set up on the back terrace. Crystal glasses. Fresh-cut floral centerpieces. Because of course.
Seraphina was already seated at our assigned table, which should have been my first clue that the universe was actively working against me. She looked perfect. I didn’t mean subjectively—like, Roman you’re still bitter and angry. I meant objectively. She was professionally airbrushed perfect. And she wasn’t alone.
A shifter I didn’t recognize was beside her. Young. Smug. The kind of guy who wore loafers with no socks and called himself an entrepreneur.
