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It should feel like a way to escape the trap I keep willingly walking into.

Instead, with just the two of us standing there, it feels impossibly small. Quiet. Heavy.

And suddenly, the distance between us feels much more dangerous than being close.

“I’m…going to go change,” Matilda says uncertainly. The light overnight bag she packed earlier, and that I carried around the city all day hanging from a loose grip.

I don’t trust myself to answer, so I just nod instead. The tension finally eases when we disappear into separate bedrooms.

In mine, I close the door behind me, staring at the king bed. The oatmeal duvet, heavy stone lamps. A thick rug that would feel amazing under bare feet if I could bring myself to relax.

But I can’t; all I can think about is her. Less than eight hundred feet away, wrapping those fingers around the hem of her blouse, lifting it, revealing her athletic figure and the path between her breasts.

That’s all it takes for me to get hard. “Blyat’,” I curse, glowering at the opaque window that lets in golden evening light, but none of the city’s business.

If I don’t get this under control, Matilda Pierce is going to destroy me. Whether she intends to or not.

* * *

When we meet again in the living room, Matilda looks more composed, and I can’t resist teasing her.

“So,” I say, dropping onto the sofa. “Our pretend relationship seems to be going well.”

She gives me a look. “Don’t start.” But then her expression shifts. “Isla and Mike breaking up caught me off guard.”

The change in topic makes me skittish for some reason. I want to return to teasing her, to point out that she’s the one who told Isla I was a man she was seeing. Instead, the furrow in her brow and the way she paces the room in sweatpants and a loose tank have me asking: “Why?”

She looks toward the windows. These show the city twenty-eight floors below, still buzzing despite Central Park across the street and the late hour.

“I don’t really believe in love.”

That admission surprises me.

“But you wanted it for her?”

“If anyone deserves it.” She shrugs. “I kept hoping Mike would learn to give her that.” Matilda sits down on the couch, a full cushion away from me, but I swear I can feel her warmth from here. She fills me in on the details: “They met when Isla was going through veterinary school and dated for a while after. About eight years. Then Mike proposed last year. I wasn’t thrilled because I thought the way he did it was thoughtless. Very public, which Isla hates, and at this fancy hotel. I just thought that if anyone was going to have love figured out, it was her.”

I study her. “And now?”

“Now I’m not sure it exists at all.”

I almost laugh, but there’s nothing funny about it. It’s ludicrous how juxtaposed we are when it comes to love.

“I believe in it.”

Her blue eyes snap to mine.

“You do?”

“Completely.”

“Then why don’t you have it?” The question knocks the air from my lungs, and when I stare at her a moment too long without answering, Matilda cringes and murmurs, “Sorry.”

I wave the apology off, turning to stare at the empty propane fireplace. Trying to grasp a concept that I normally very actively work at not thinking about.

“Believing something exists doesn’t mean it’s meant for you.”

Matty studies me quietly.