And why do I feel like I did something wrong?
Sebastian is alive. I shouldnotbe upset that Oliver is suddenly ignoring me. Except…we fell into a routine that got me through the days and made the grief tolerable. Now that he’s taken that crutch away, I don’t know what to do with myself at bedtime.
This man, with his manipulative kinks and vulnerable chestnut eyes, has me all tangled up.
Something changed in Portland, and it wasn’t just me.
The elevator chimes at the ground floor, doors sliding open to let us out. Oliver falls into step beside me, and his silence is so loud it drowns out my heels on the marble.
I have only a few minutes left with him.
I’m not wasting them on silence.
The second we round the corner, I stop, plant my hands on my hips, and glare at him, days of hurt and confusion boiling over. “What is wrong with you?”
His steps falter. Slowly, he turns to face me, one hand dragging through his hair as ifhe’sthe one with reason to be agitated. “Nothing.”
I bite my lip and breathe through the sting building behind my eyes. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a liar.”
He shakes his head. “If you wanted to argue, you should’ve started it when we had more time.”
I scoff. “When? At breakfast? Dinner? Should I have barged into your office and interrupted your work to ask why you went cold on me? You haven’t been yourself since we got back. Did I do something to upset you?”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not—” He cuts himself off, lets out a breath, and starts down the hall.
“Oliver!” I call after him. “Will you just talk to me?”
“There’s nothing to say. Our time is up.”
The words land like a slap, and the ache I’ve carried for days turns to lead.
“Well, I guess we shouldn’t keep Hugo waiting, then.” I pick up my pace and blow past him, the library door in my sight, the threshold into a new month acting as my safety net.
I hate leaving things unresolved, and yet it won’t be the first time I’ve been pushed into the next house with my questions unanswered and the coming days unknown, forced to walk in behind a show of bravado.
Now is no different.
I’m blinking back my frustration when he grabs my wrist, whirls me around, and yanks me close.
The air goes still.
“This is what’s wrong,” he says, right before he kisses me.
It’s the kind of kiss one doesn’t just fall into. No, it’s the kind that builds up, then tears free like a repressed thought. Oliver shoves me against the wall, and his lips devour mine, both hands tangled in my hair.
And hewhimpers.
Not a moan or a growl—the sound he makes borders on painful.
Then, as fast as he grabbed me, he pulls away.
I tug him back by his tie. “Why did you kiss me…like that? Why now?”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “I couldn’t let you go without you knowing…” He holds me by the nape, jaw clenched, as if he’s stopping himself from doing it again. “Thisis how I feel about you, and it’s driving me mad. One night a year will never be enough.”