16. Soren
Chapter 16
Soren
E verything’s different now.
I feel it in the way she avoids my gaze at breakfast. The way her shoulders stiffen when I reach past her for the sugar. The way she clears her throat every time silence stretches between us—as though the quiet might say what neither of us is willing to admit.
Marigold chatters beside us, a spoonful of cereal dancing in her hand as she tells Talia about a dream she had involving a purple tiger and a rainbow slide. It amazes me how well she’s taken to this. How she simply accepts Talia being here—happy that she’s here.
What will I tell her if Talia leaves?
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to eat like it’s any other day. Like I didn’t kiss her in front of two hundred people three nights ago. Like I don’t still feel the ghost of her lips on mine. Like I didn’t see her trembling afterward, pupils blown wide with something that looked too much like want .
Marigold skips off to the living room, and as soon as her footsteps disappear, the air shifts. Talia clears her throat. Her fingers curl tightly around her mug.
“We need to talk,” she says.
The four words that never mean anything good.
I nod. “Okay.” “I think we should… go back to how things were before,” she says without looking at me.
My hand freezes halfway to my coffee. I set it down, slow and deliberate. “Before?”
Her lips tighten. “Professional. Clear boundaries. Just for Marigold.”
Something punches me low in the gut, sharp and unexpected. I stare at her. Wait for her to laugh. To say she’s kidding. That she’s still shaken up by everything and needs a second to recalibrate.
But she’s not joking. Her face is calm. Controlled. And fake.
I exhale through my nose, jaw tightening. “You want to pretend nothing happened?”
Talia flinches. Subtle. But I see it.
“I think it’s for the best,” she says softly.
“The kiss didn’t feel very professional.”
Her cheeks flush, and I catch it before she hides behind her mug again.
“You kissed me, remember?” she snaps.
“You didn’t stop me.”
She doesn’t respond.
“Talia…” Her name sits strange on my tongue this morning. Heavier. Hungrier.
She stands. Rinses her cup. Her back is straight, every movement calculated.
“Talia,” I say again, firmer. “Talk to me.”
“I am talking,” she says, turning around. “And I’m telling you that it’s getting confusing. For me. For us. For Marigold. We said this would be an arrangement. That’s it.”
I rise to my feet, slow and measured. “Then why did you defend me to Patrick and Camille at the gala? Why did you admit your feelings?
That catches her.
Her brows knit together. “What?”
“Why did you defend me in front of them, and then tell me this feels real to you if you felt nothing?”
She looks away. Guilty. Flustered.
“That didn’t sound very professional to me either,” I add.
She crosses her arms. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
“Wrong answer.”
Her eyes flash. “Excuse me?”
“You did it because you care,” I say, voice low. “Whether you like it or not.”
She opens her mouth. Shuts it again.
I close the distance between us. “I know this is messy. I know it wasn’t supposed to go this far. But don’t insult both of us by pretending it’s not real. ”
She swallows. “You don’t know what’s real for me.”
“I know what that kiss was.”
Her breath catches.
“And I know what I felt,” I say, softer now. “Still feel.”
Her eyes gloss over, and for a second, I think she might say something. Anything.
But instead, she whispers, “We can’t afford this.”
“Why?”
“Because if it goes wrong, Marigold loses both of us.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I step back. Her hands drop to her sides, and she looks wrecked. I want to reach for her. I don’t.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
She nods once. A lie of agreement. Then, she turns and walks out of the kitchen. And I stay there, hands clenched, teeth gritted, trying to breathe past the ache in my chest.
Whatever this thing is between us—it’s real.
But maybe she’s right. Maybe real doesn’t mean safe.
Her footsteps are retreating when I call out, “Say it.”
Talia stops. Back still to me. Shoulders stiff.
“Say you lied. That you don’t feel anything. Say it to my face.”
Slowly, she turns. I wish she looked angry. Defensive. I could handle that. But she doesn’t.
Talia looks… terrified.
Like I’ve reached in and touched the most fragile, hidden part of her—and now she doesn’t know what to do with it.
Her mouth opens, then closes. Her fingers twitch. Her gaze flickers over my face—my eyes, my lips, my chest—and then falls to the floor.
“Talia,” I say, quieter now. “Say it.”
Still nothing. The silence between us tightens, stretches, then snaps like a wire pulled too thin. And just like that, I know. She never lied. She feels it. But… she’s scared and So am I.
My jaw locks. I look away, throat thick. Every instinct in me wants to close the gap again, pull her in and kiss the truth out of her. Make her admit it. Make her stay.
Instead, I just nod. Once.
“Okay,” I say.
She blinks, startled. “Okay?”
“We’ll keep it professional. If that’s what you want.”
Something in her eyes flickers—relief, maybe. Or regret. I can’t tell anymore.
She turns and walks away, quiet as a ghost. And I let her go. But my hands won’t stop shaking. Because now I know the truth—he’s just as lost in this as I am.
And sooner or later, one of us is going to break.