“I don’t know how to do that,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
“You do,” he says simply. “I’ve seen it. When you laugh without checking who’s listening. When you breathe easy out here, like the world belongs to you.”
His words press the air from my lungs, leaving me shaken. My fingers tighten around the folds of my skirt, holding myself still because if I don’t, I’ll reach for him without a second thought.
“I’ll have to leave soon,” I murmur. “And when I do, it will be like none of this ever happened. Like I dreamed it.”
He straightens, his jaw working, voice roughening. “Then don’t treat it like it isn’t real while you’re here.”
The intensity in his gaze roots me in place, my chest aching with a truth I dare not speak. He doesn’t touch me, yet I feel the heat of him, steady and consuming, as if the space between us is already on fire.
The silence hums, thick and dangerous, and I know—irrevocably—that I don’t want to forget a single moment of this.
I feel unsteady, my heart pressing against my ribs until the words spill out before I can stop them. “Maybe I’m just… confused. Maybe it’s only the novelty of being here. Hawthorn, the ranch, you…” My voice cracks. “Perhaps it’s easier to imagine feelings than to admit what I really am. Engaged. Promised. Already chosen.”
The confession burns my tongue, ugly and hollow. I grip my skirt tighter, twisting the fabric until my knuckles ache.
Marcel doesn’t flinch. He sits there steady, elbows braced on his knees, his gaze fixed on me with such unwavering warmth it almost hurts. “Don’t do that, Clara.”
I blink, startled. “Do what?”
“Dismiss what’s between us.” His voice is quiet but resolute, like he’s laying down a truth he won’t let me bury. “Don’t try to call it a fancy or imagination just to make it easier to walk away.”
My throat tightens. “You make it sound so simple.”
“Itissimple,” he says, his jaw setting. “You feel it. I feel it. It’s real. Maybe it’s inconvenient. Maybe it came at the wrong time. But that doesn't make it any less true.”
I shake my head, hot tears blurring the edges of the pasture. “And what good does truth do me? It won’t break an engagement. It won’t undo years of expectation.”
His eyes soften then, that steel giving way to something gentler. “It gives you something to hold onto. So that no matter what happens, you don’t go on believing you never knew love.”
The words land deep, deeper than I want them to. My hands fall limp in my lap, trembling. He doesn’t reach for me, but the ache in his gaze makes me feel touched all the same.
“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that,” I whisper.
“Like what?”
“Like I belong to you.”
His lips curve, not quite a smile, more a confession he can’t contain. “Maybe because in this very moment, you do. Until you leave this place, until you have to head south, you’re mine. If I can’t have you forever, I’ll always know I had you for one small moment in time.”
The world tilts, a shiver running through me. My heart pounds like it’s trying to leap free of my chest. I want to argue, to remind him of rings and vows and families who’d never allow this, but the words die on my tongue.
My hands twist in my lap, nails digging into the fabric, and when I finally look at him, my breath shivers free.
“I don’t want to leave,” I confess, the words tumbling out raw and reckless. “God help me, Marcel, I wish I could stay.”
His head lifts sharply, eyes locking on mine. For a moment, he doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move, as though the whole world’s gone still around us.
“I don’t want to marry Phillip,” I rush on, voice trembling. “I don’t want Cheyenne, or the house my parents promised, or the life planned down to every last minute. I want…” My throat tightens, my heart pounding hard enough to shake the truth loose. “I want you.”
The last words leave me on a whisper, so fragile I almost wish I could snatch them back. But the relief that floods me the moment they’re free—like air filling my lungs after drowning—nearly brings me to tears.
Marcel exhales, ragged, his hand gripping the rail so tightly his knuckles blanch. “Clara…” My name breaks in his mouth. “Say it again.”
“I wantyou,” I repeat, stronger this time. My lips tremble, but I don’t look away. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
His jaw works, torn between restraint and the wild hope burning in his eyes. “You don’t know what that does to me,” he murmurs.
