Chapter thirty-two
Antonia
No one has ever said that to me before.
Risk. That I’m worth it. That I’m worth taking a risk for.
It’s so unexpected, it feels wrong. Like he’s talking to the wrong woman. I’m usually the one taking the risk for everyone else.
Our hands are locked together. His warm, mine still a little cold. And I don’t let go. Not of him.
Normally, I always do. I pull back the moment someone gets too close. Self-preservation taking over.
But not this time.
This time, I stay where I am.
We sit there, staring at each other. I think he wants me to say something, but I have no idea how to respond. Nothing seems enough, but laying myself on the line feels like too much. So, I stay quiet. And just let the moment handle the silence.
My breath is unsettled, out of sync with his.
He smiles then, his eyes kind, waiting patiently. His thumb brushes across the back of my hand, gentle but deliberate. I don’t catch the whisper.
“What did you say?”
“Talk to me.”
His thumb presses more as if trying to squeeze a word from my lips. I’m nervous. Not frightened-nervous. Just scared of what this could mean. No. Not scared. Cautious.
“It would be good to know if you like me too,” he says, chuckling softly.
I kiss his cheek. He smells of warm spice and skin. I breathe in, needing something I didn’t know I missed. “Is it not obvious?”
We lean a little closer, and our knees brush. Both of us glance down at the contact, then back up at each other, and giggle.
“I feel like a schoolgirl.”
“And I feel like the boy who’s been staring at you across the playground for months,” he says.
I pause.
This is it. The terrifying moment where I have to choose myself and not what I can control. If I meet him halfway, then we’re really doing this. And there’s no hiding behind work anymore.
Every wall I’ve built, every boundary I’ve placed between myself and moving forward will need to crumble. I don’t do things in half measures, whether personal or professional. I’d rather not try at all.
But I lean further.
Our lips touch… barely. His breath brushes against my skin. Warm. One of his hands leaves mine. His fingers slide along my arm, moving slowly from my wrist to my elbow, then higher to my shoulder. They leave a tingling sensation where he touches me. Heating my blood as they move. Unsettling part of me I’ve kept hidden for years.
Finally, his thumb grazes my cheek before his hand settles at the back of my head, guiding me closer. My lips part a little wider, though my eyes are still open.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs against my lips. “You’re safe.”
I do.
I believe him.
So, I close my eyes.