— I’m saying we’re two adults, in a bed, on the night of our wedding. And no one is watching to make sure we follow every clause of our contract.
My heart is pounding so loudly now I’m sure she can hear it.
— That would be a violation of our agreement, I point out weakly—more out of habit than conviction.
— Technically, yes, she concedes. But we already violated the spirit of the contract with those kisses.
Before I can stop myself—before I can think—I close the carefully maintained distance between us. My face is now inches from hers. I can make out her features in the faint light filtering through the curtains—her wide eyes, her parted lips.
— Yes, I breathe. And that’s exactly the problem.
And then I do the thing I’ve been wanting to do since we got into bed.
I kiss her.
Jane responds instantly, her hands sliding into my hair, her body pressing against mine.
Time seems to suspend as we explore this new territory—this intimacy we’d forbidden ourselves. Her fingers slip beneath my T-shirt, touching bare skin, and a shiver runs through me. I trail kisses along her jaw, down to her neck, savoring the soft sound that escapes her lips.
It’s as if a dam has broken, releasing weeks of tension and unspoken attraction. My hands move over her curves through the silk of her pajamas, memorizing every line. Her skin is warm beneath my touch, and I find myself wanting more—far more than our contract allows.
Jane murmurs my name against my mouth—part question, part invitation. Her hand drifts lower, brushing over my chest, my stomach… stopping at the edge of my waistband.
That brief moment of hesitation snaps me back to reality.
What the hell am I doing?
I pull away abruptly, breaking the embrace, leaving her breathless and confused.
— I… I can’t, I stammer. I’m sorry.
— Callum? What’s wrong?
There’s something in her voice—a mix of confusion, disappointment, maybe even hurt—that hits me straight in the chest.
How do I explain this? How do I put words to the storm of conflicting emotions tearing through me?
— It’s not… it’s not you, I say awkwardly, aware of the cliché. It’s me. It’s… complicated.
— Try anyway, she says softly. I think I deserve an explanation after that.
She’s right.
I sit up, turning my back to her.
— This wasn’t part of the plan. Our arrangement was clear. Clean. Defined. And now everything is… messy.
— Welcome to real life, Callum, she says, a blend of warmth and irony in her voice. Feelings are rarely neat and orderly.
— Mine always have been. Until now. I’ve always known exactly where I was going, what I wanted, how to get there.
— And now? she asks gently.
— Now I don’t know, I admit. If we cross this line, nothing will be the same. Our contract, our arrangement—everything changes.
— Would that be so terrible?
Her voice is barely above a whisper.
