Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I clear my throat softly. “How was the class today?”
She looks up, green eyes bright even in the low light, and a small smile curves her lips. “It was good. Every time I go, I love it more,” she admits huskily.
I nod, letting the silence stretch for a second, savoring the way she’s opening up without me having to pull it out of her. “Do you want a studio? In here. We could make one. Whatever you need.”
She hesitates, fingers tracing the rim of her mug. “Not yet,” she says quietly. “Being around other people who love art is good, and I like background noise. It helps me think and grounds me.”
I laugh under my breath. “People and noise help you think?”
She tilts her head, studying me with that quiet intensity that always undoes me a little. “Yes. Do you prefer solitude?”
I think about it for a moment. “For the most part, yes, but I do like being with you.”
The words slip out simple and honest, and I watch the blush rise on her cheeks, gentle pink spreading across her skin. She looks down into her tea, but I catch the way her lips press together like she’s trying not to show me how pleased she is. It does something dangerous to my chest.
We drink our tea in comfortable silence after that. When our mugs are empty, we head back upstairs together. At her bedroom door she stops, turning to face me.
“Thank you for keeping me company,” she says, voice soft. “Goodnight.”
I nod, throat tight. “Okay.” I lean in and kiss her on the cheek, lingering just a second longer than I should, breathing her in. I want to ask her. Right now. I want to say come sleep with me or stay in my bed tonight, or I sleep better when you’re next to me. But the words stick in my throat. I get nervous in a way I haven’t since I was a kid, and I’m so shocked by how much I want it that I just… stand there.
She stares at me.
I stare back.
For a long second, neither of us speaks. The air between us feels thick, charged, like the whole penthouse is holding its breath. I compose myself quickly, straightening up, but I can feel the heat crawling up my neck. She doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me with those green eyes, waiting, like she knows there’s something I want to ask but can’t quite get the words out.
I swallow hard.
I only know one thing. I don’t want to walk away. Not tonight.
Chapter Fifty-Two
VIOLA
Ifeel like he saw straight through me, like he knows I didn’t want to say goodnight and go to my bed alone. My mind is spinning, words tangling before they can even form, and the silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
I swallow hard. “I still can’t sleep,” I admit, fingers twisting in the hem of my t-shirt. “Maybe I’ll go down for some more tea.”
Go down for some more tea. I can’t believe I said something that stupid. Ricci doesn’t move away from the doorframe. He stays right there, looking at me with those golden eyes that always see too much. Then he speaks, and his voice is a rough rumble, like the words have been waiting on his tongue for a while.
“Can’t sleep? How about we try sleeping together?”
My breath catches. Heat rushes up my neck and across my cheeks, but it’s not embarrassment. It’s gratitude. He said the words I didn’t have the guts to utter.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He steps forward, but I lift a hand, just a little, stopping him. “Can we… sleep in your bed instead?” I bite my lip. “Just for a change.”
He smiles. “Alright.”
We walk down the hallway together. His bedroom door is already open, the room dark except for the faint city glow filtering through the windows. The bed is huge, the sheets dark and crisp, and the faint scent of him lingers everywhere — cedar, warm skin, the faint trace of his cologne. My pulse flutters as we both climb in.
We settle on either side, a careful space between us under the heavy blanket. I lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling, hyper-aware of every inch of distance. He’s on his back. Neither of us attempts to move closer. The silence is so charged I can hear my own heartbeat. I shift once, trying to get comfortable, but his bed feels too big. I can’t relax. My mind keeps racing, thinking up all kinds of crazy scenarios… the way his body felt against mine in the kitchen earlier. Sleep feels impossible.
He turns toward me, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His voice is low, a little hesitant, but honest.
“I guess this might not work then,” he says.
“What do you mean?” I reply.
“Do you want to fuck instead?”