He smiles down at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “All packed?” he asks, scanning the room over my shoulder.
“Mostly. I keep thinking of little things I should do or double-check before I go. I really, really don’t want to go,” I admit with a scrunch of my nose.
His responding hum is strangely noncommittal.
A tickle of disappointment dances up my spine, but I shove it down. What was I expecting him to say to that? We both know the reality of the situation.
Pushing the concern from my mind, I ask, “How was your meeting?”
He blows out a long breath and scans the bedroom once again.
I search his face, but he’s looking everywhere but at me. Another surge of apprehension floods my system.
“It wasn’t great,” he eventually replies, checking his watch like he has somewhere else to be.
My nose itches and the threat of tears prickles behind my eyes.
Hold your nerve, Evan.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?” I ask brightly. Too brightly. Oh god. Now I’m overcompensating. I don’t know what’s wrong. Alaric never acts this aloof toward me.
He just told you his meeting wasn’t great, I silently reprimand.The man’s allowed to have a bad day.His entire existence doesn’t revolve around you.
He glances down at me, only letting me catch his eye for a flash. “It’s nothing you need to be concerned with. It’s a team issue, really. I have some logistical matters to work out that weren’t on my radar for this week.”
Oh. Okay, then.
“I’m going to finish up and then head out soon,” I tell him. Unless he gives me a reason to delay. Unless he asks me to stay.
“All right. I’ve got to get on a call in my office.”
I shift from hip to hip, at a loss for how to act. Maybe he’s dreading the separation as much as I am. Maybe he’s hiding behind this cool façade to keep the pain from setting in. Or maybe he really is having atough day.
He mentioned lunch in the note he left me this morning. Should I ask about that? I’m not particularly hungry, but it would at least buy us a little more time. Although I don’t want him to feel like he has to cook for me, given the unexpected team issues he has to deal with.
“I’ll come say goodbye before I leave?” The statement comes out as a question, the lack of confidence seeping into me making me feel ridiculously small.
He exhales a shuddering breath, then gives me a small shake of his head. “I’m in meetings most of the afternoon, then have to head to an event tonight.”
His eyes meet mine then—finally—but there’s an unfamiliar iciness there. He’s almost unrecognizable in this moment. Standoffish. Detached. He’s holding my gaze, but he’s looking through me instead of really seeing me.
Pathetically, my eyes well with tears.
Something’s not right. He’s hurting. Or distracted. It’s on the tip of my tongue to press the issue, to insist he tell me what’s really wrong or to beg him to tell me what I can do to help.
Before I can, he leans in and kisses my forehead. “I’ll be seeing you,” he murmurs. And with that, he turns and stalks toward his home office.
I decided to wait, intent on saying a proper goodbye. Our interaction earlier was off: he was preoccupied, and I was too in my head. I didn’t even thank him for the amazing week.
I’ve spent the last few hours on the balcony, working on admin tasks for Granata and reflecting on this week. The last several days have been some of the best of my life.
Alaric makes me feel seen. Wanted. Important. Valued.
He’s proven to me that I don’t have to settle for tolerance or casual interest alone. I deserve passion and pleasure. I should ask for what I want and expect to receive it.
I want more: more time together, more opportunities to shut out the rest of the world and find sanctuary in each other’s arms. It’s that deep, unwavering desire that prolonged my afternoon and gave me the courage to do what I’m about to do.
“You’re still here.”
