The world holds still. My heart hammers against its cage.
He leans in. Close enough that I feel the heat of him, the want. I tilt my chin, waiting, almost afraid he’ll close the distance between us. But instead, he pulls back. Just an inch. Just enough to make the ache bloom wide and sharp.
The silence between us trembles.
“Marcel, I’m–” I stumble on my words. Knowing I need to set a boundary but fearing that if I do that my chance will be gone.
“I know. I know what the future holds for you. But still, I don’t know what it is about you, Clara, but I can’t hold my tongue like a gentleman should around you.”
I struggle for a moment. I don’t want him to stop with his words, with his eyes, his closeness, even though I know I should mark a clear line. The war in my mind, in my heart, in my skin is consuming me.
“Then don’t.”
He exhales with my words. Nodding, he gives me space. “You’re a confusing creature, Clara Albright.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I lower my eyes to the ground.
He returns to my space, placing a hand on my jaw, tilting my eyes to his. “Do not ever apologize for who you are. Ever. Besides, figuring you out might become my favorite pastime.”
I lean into his touch. I’ve never felt my head spin from the touch of a man. My thoughts race, my heart pounds, my eyes bore into his, wishing he would dare to put his lips to mine.
“Clara, I have another wish.” His thumb sweeps over my cheek. “That I would be the luckiest man alive if I could have just one day with you. A day where the world doesn’t get a say, and you could be mine.”
The words steal the air from my lungs. One day. One selfish, stolen day. The thought is wild, impossible—and yet my chest aches with the wanting of it. I can almost see it in my mind. There’s no ring, no vows, no expectations shackled tight around my throat. Just Marcel. Just me.
My heart thrashes like it’s trying to break free from its cage. This is dangerous. Foolish. If I let myself step closer, I may never stop. But the fire in his eyes pulls me in, erases every warning I’ve clung to.
One day.
I can’t help myself.
I reach up, gently placing my hand on the rough fabric of his shirt, and before reason can drag me back, I bring my lips to his.
The feeling of his lips on mine is like standing in a field while a storm breaks after years of drought. His breath catches, then he groans low in his chest as his arms wrap around me, pulling me in like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. His lips claim mine with both desperation and reverence, tasting me like I’m something he’s been starving for.
I gasp into him, my body ignited, every part of me leaning into the madness of this moment. His hand cradles the back of my head, the other grips my waist, holding me firm as I press closer, reckless, breathless, and undone.
It’s wrong. God help me, it’s wrong. And yet—it feels truer than anything I’ve ever known.
When I finally break away, I stay close, my forehead resting against his chest, both of us panting, trembling, wrecked.
My voice is shaky, but sure. “I want that too. Just one day.”
His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in ragged, uneven pulls. His thumb strokes my cheek. I move my lips closer to his again.
“Clara…” His voice is rough, frayed at the edges. “If you kiss me again, I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper, my hand still on his chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath like a war drum. My body feels like it’s moving on its own, closing the sliver of space between us. The scent of him, sun-warmed cotton and sweat, wraps around me like a tide pulling me under.
His hand slides to my jaw, tilting my face toward his. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to my mouth as if caught in a struggle he’s already lost.
“Tell me, show me.” I say. My voice shakes, but the truth in it stands steady.
He inhales sharply, his grip at my waist tightening, his thumb brushing slow circles over my hip as if trying to ground himself. The tremor in him matches the tremor in me. For a moment, neither of us moves, suspended between what’s forbidden and what’s inevitable.
Then, slowly, he leans in, his lips finding mine again, softer this time, sweeter. My knees go weak, my heart hammering against his chest, and still, I pull him closer, wanting every ounce of it, every impossible piece of him.
His lips linger on mine, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of the kiss. When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His breath brushes against my mouth, his forehead still pressed to mine. For a long moment we just stand there, suspended in a fragile hush where everything feels possible.
