Page 143 of Sunrise & Serenity

“What else am I supposed to get out of it?” I hold her gaze. “You’ve been offered a year-long residency halfway across the world and didn’t tell me about it.”

“Because I didn’t know what I wanted yet.”

Frustration cracks her voice at the edges, and that almost makes it worse. Because I believe her. I believe she’s torn. I also know what an opportunity like this must mean to her.

She wraps her arms around her middle, as if she’s holding herself together. “You’re acting like I already left.”

“That’s where this is headed, right?”

Her lips flatten. “See? This is why I didn’t tell you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve decided what this is before I’ve even had a chance to figure it out myself.”

The accusation stings. Probably because there’s truth sitting right there inside it.

I drag a hand down my jaw. “You should have trusted me enough to tell me.”

Expression faltering, she looks away. And that hurts worse than if she’d fought me on it. The wind catches her dark hair, tossing it around her shoulders. She pushes it back and meets my eyes again.

“You know what being with Graham was like?” she asks quietly. “Every decision turned into this thing I had to defend. Every opportunity became another chance for him to explain why he knew what was best for me.”

Dread sweeps in. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t it? You’ve known about Milan for five minutes, and you’re already acting like the decision has been made.”

I laugh once under my breath, tired more than amused. “Yeah, well. Hard not to when your ex-boyfriend shows up knowing more about your future plans than I do.”

Sage flinches, and regret hits me instantly. I scrub a hand over the back of my neck and look away again before I make the situation worse.

She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her shampoo beneath the dust and heat.

“Holden.” The way she says my name nearly cracks my chest open.

My eyes drop to her mouth before I can stop them. Bad idea. Really bad idea. Because all I can think about is kissing her instead of having this conversation.

Her breath catches, like she’s noticed, like she’s just as affected. And for one dangerous second, neither of us says anything.

Then I shake my head once, hard enough to clear it. “While you were trying to figure out where you want to go next, I was trying to figure out how to ask you to stay.” The words come out low, hoarse.

The second they leave my mouth, I regret them. Not because they aren’t true, but because now she knows.

Eyes widening, she swallows audibly. Like she didn’t realize I was in so deep. Hell, maybe I never gave her reason to consider it.

A harsh laugh escapes me, and I look down at the dirt between us. “Guess I got stupid enough to start thinking maybe you belong here.”

Silence again. This time it’s heavy. Suffocating. I can practically hear her heartbeat from where she’s standing.

“Holden…” The way her voice softens makes the pain in my chest sharper. “That’s not—You’re not stupid.”

“I feel stupid.”

She shakes her head. “I didn’t plan this. I didn’t even think I had a chance.”

“But you wanted it.”

She exhales sharply. “Yes. At one point, I did.”