Page 215 of Tessa and Nash

I laugh, leaning back in my chair, watching her carefully. “Yeah, well, I think we’ve both had enough of pretending. I meant what I said in there. No more half steps. No more games.”

She sets her glass down, her fingers gently tracing the rim as she stares at me. “And no more pretending about how you feel?”

“Especially not that,” I say. “I didn’t clear the air at that meeting for me. I did it for you. So you wouldn’t have to hide anymore. You deserve more than that.”

She doesn’t say anything. She just looks at me, as if weighing my words, and then finally, she gives me that soft smile. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”

I nod, my heart pounding a little faster. “Absolutely. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

She lets out a breath, as though she’s exhaling a heaviness. “I guess that makes two of us.”

I watch as her smile turns a little softer, the tension melting away between us. There’s no sarcasm now, no teasing edge.

I stand and walk to the fire pit, starting to stoke it. The flames crackle and hiss, and Tessa watches me before standing up to join me.

“I’m starting to think you’re more than just the guy who’s full of charm and terrible ideas,” she says softly.

I laugh, stepping closer to her. “Maybe I’m the guy who’s finally figured out what he wants.”

She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. “And what’s that?”

“Tonight,” I say, “I want this. I want you.”

She stares at me, her breath catching just slightly before she nods, a softness to her expression that makes my heart skip a beat.

I step closer, my fingers brushing against hers. “Tessa, this is real.”

She looks up at me, eyes wide with disbelief, and then she takes my hand. “I know.”

And finally, we’re both on the same page.

I lean down, brushing my lips against hers. She wraps her arms around my neck and deepens the kiss.

The world fades out around us, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Tessa

March 2nd

By the time I step through the front door, I know something is wrong.

The grandfather clock in the hallway ticks into the silence like a threat. I hear the scrape of a chair from the study.

Then Thomas appears in the doorway.

He doesn’t greet me.

He just stands there, broad shoulders rigid, jaw clenched, eyes bright with the sort of fury that has long since burned past anger and become colder. More dangerous.

“Well,” he says.

One word. Flat. Precise. Controlled in the way people are right before they stop being controlled at all.

I close the front door carefully behind me and set my bag down on the hall table. “Good evening to you too.”

His mouth twists. “Don’t.”