Page 99 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

No. From before that. It’s what I’ve been trying to do always, forever. Never miss a beat, stay in control. Don’t admit that everything is bad. Don’t admit that it’s hard. Don’t admit that I’m spiraling out of control. While I am.

I am.

It was that kiss. I wanted to be the one in charge of the game then, and I thought my past ambivalence about men would help with that but I’m not ambivalent about his mouth, his hands, his body…

I fling open the bedroom door, and I make my way down the stairs. I need to find him. This is such a new experience for me. All of these mixed-up emotions tangling in my chest. All of these conflicting ideas. Normally, I’m laser-focused. The one thing that matters is that I get out, and make myself better. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones. Maybe it’s just finally reaching the end of my tolerance for life.

For life being so ridiculous. Because haven’t I been through enough? Hasn’t he?

He didn’t ask for this, and I can’t say that I feel pity for him but…

I don’t know what I feel. Because I’m actually feeling. I’m not just scrapping my way toward survival on a prayer; I’m coping with complexity, and I really don’t like it.

When I find him I don’t know if I’m going to try to talk to him or fling myself at him. My willingness to seek him out anyway, with no plan, no control, is terrifying.

And freeing.

For some reason, I have a feeling I’ll find him in the library. If I don’t, then I’m going to head back to my room. I’m going to call all of this stupid. My worry about him, my desire to fix the situation, this foolish notion that maybe there’s a little bit of a connection between us.

Do I even want a connection? The last one I had was with his sister, and that ended badly.

I take a deep breath, and I go into the library. There he is, sitting right by the fire, his glass of whiskey resting on the armrest, his face turned to the side, aquiline profile set off by the firelight. He takes a drink of the whiskey, and I’m powerless to do anything but watch. Even the way his throat moves when he swallows is captivating.

And I’m a fool.

Or maybe just a girl.

I’ve never been anything of the kind. I’ve always been strong, brave, immune. Tough, dangerous. I’ve never been soft. I’ve never been needy.

He makes me both of those things.

I’m completely out of my depth with him. And I can’t decide if there’s something interesting in that, or if it just terrifies me. Leaves me feeling weak.

Maybe it’s both.

And there’s something completely terrifying about that. But fascinating all at the same time.

Addict behavior, I tell myself. This deep desire to surrender myself completely to a sensation. To a moment. To something I know isn’t good for me.

I am at the mercy of things that I don’t fully understand.

Is this inevitable? Has it always been?

I’ve avoided substances, but maybe my personal brand of heroin has been out there in a custom suit all this time, waiting for me to take my first hit.

I’m not sure that I want to understand intellectually. I’m tired. That’s the problem. And being here has allowed me to rest in a strange way, which I feel guilty about, afraid of. And yet I’m so desperate for it. Because even while I’ve been here I’ve been thinking so much about what’s going to happen to the baby. And I’m torn in two different directions. The one that wants to lie around on the soft, plush bed, and the one that feels like a captive to all of this.

To the way that I’ve been pushed into this, to the way that he’s locked me up here, all of it.

“You’re upset,” I say, breaking the silence with perhaps the stupidest introductory phrase of all time. Because obviously he’s upset. It’s clear to anyone looking at him. And certainly anyone who’s spoken to him in the last couple of hours.

“I’m not in the mood for games.”

“I’m not playing games.”

I did this. And I want to do something about it. I don’t know what’s driving me. It’s not a desire to manipulate him. There’s not even really a goal. But I feel something for him, and in addition to that, the ache of attraction is this beautiful, unfamiliar sensation inside of me. A melody that I’ve heard before, but don’t know by heart, winding through me, soaring high notes and bass notes laden with heaviness and a keen sort of reverberation that sends a chill down my spine, and an ache between my thighs.

I’m just feeling now.