Chapter Eleven
AMIRA
T he door clicks shut behind Noah, and the static hum of tension-laced silence fills the room. We stand, side by side at the foot of the bed. Unmoving. Unspeaking. Barely breathing.
My queen-sized bed suddenly looks tiny. I still remember the day I bought it. I’d just signed the lease for this place and was out shopping for the cheapest yet nicest furniture I could find. Prepared with measurements of every room, I scoured furniture outlets for the best bargain.
“Tell you what,” the salesman had said with a cheesy grin. “I’ll give you the King for the size of the Queen. That would be a bargain.”
He’d seen me eyeing off the wood-framed bed with hearts in my eyes. Thick rounded legs and an eccentric but classy headboard covered in floral carvings. I was in love, but the bed was almost twice as much as I’d been planning to spend. I knew if I got it, I would have to get the cheapest mattress on the market and spend less on every remaining piece of furniture. But for this bed, it was worth it.
I’d nearly taken him up on his offer, but after double-checking the measurements of the room decided it would be too much of a squeeze. Even considering this is the master bedroom of the apartment, it’s small. So, I’d resigned to not getting the bargain he was offering, but still splurging on the bed of my dreams.
Looking back, I’m wondering why I thought a little extra space around the bed was so important. Why did I think I’d need room for a dresser when I’m about to be fighting for room in the bed.
Without a word, I move to the head of the bed and begin rearranging the pillows. I keep my favourite but fluff up the second-best one for Noah. In the middle of the bed, I lay the spare two pillows down the length of the bed.
“Are you building a wall?”
“Yes.” I don’t add it’s because I don’t trust myself not to gravitate towards him in my sleep. We spoke about where the line was with our physical contact, and waking up with my head pressed against his chest and my leg over his thigh is way past it.
Noah huffs, running a hand through his ever messy hair. “There will be no pillow wall Amira, we aren’t children.”
“Yes but—” I don’t know what I was going to rebut with, but Noah cuts me off before I have a chance to figure it out.
“No buts. Honestly, we’re both adults. We can share a bed without needing a fucking wall in between us. Plus, your bed is small enough as it is, I’m not letting a pillow take half the real estate on the mattress.” In two large steps he’s across the bed from me, pulling my barrier to the floor.
Crossing my arms over my chest I glare at Noah. “Are you always this bossy in the bedroom?”
I freeze, realising what I’ve said at the same time Noah does. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows and looks down at the mattress. With a sharp inhale, he plants his hands on the bed and looks up at me. “I can be. Go get changed.”
The words ‘yes’ and ‘sir’ are right there, on the tip of my tongue, but I manage to hold them in. I do as he says though, pausing at the dresser to pull out my baggiest tracksuit, and an old jumper.
I huff as I get changed in the tiny ensuite bathroom. My clothes feel heavy and warm, but I’m not ready to wear my usual pyjamas. The thin satin fabric does little to hide my figure. The shorts are … well, short. And the top leaves nothing to the imagination with its lacy straps. Considering Noah hasn’t seen me in anything other than long tops and pants or skirts that fall to my ankles, I can’t imagine walking out there in any of my tiny matching sets.
Again, it’s the weird moral ground holding me in place. Because if we were about to get naked, I’d have no issues. But we aren’t, so it’s weird. I stare at myself in the mirror for longer than needed, before shaking my head at my crossed wires and exiting the bathroom.
Noah has changed into a loose pair of boxers and sits on what has been dubbed his side of the bed with no shirt on.
And holy fuck.
Anyone with eyes could have guessed Noah is ripped. It’s clear in how he holds himself, how his shirts always cling to his back and shoulders, and how his sleeves are tight around his arms. But this, seeing it in the flesh …
I double take in the doorway, my mouth falling open.
I have to sleep next to him . And he refused a pillow wall. This is … fuck . It’s okay, it’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.
He chuckles to himself. “I can put a shirt on?”
I shake my head, still not trusting words. Pressing my lips together, I get into my side of the bed and wait for Noah to do the same before turning off the lamp.
Darkness consumes the room, but electricity still crackles between us. Briefly, I wonder if I left the heater on high even though I know it was too pleasant today for me to have turned it on in the first place. I’m tossing and turning, trying to alleviate the steady heat from my extra layers.
When I kick the blankets off in a huff, the cheap mattress dips as Noah rolls to face me.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, and I can feel his breath on my neck. We’re so close and even though I knew it, feeling it leaves my cheeks hot and my core heavy.
“I don’t normally wear so many layers to bed.”
“Do you want to take some off?”
“I can’t. I mean, I shouldn’t. I mean, I think it would be weird?”
Noah laughs a little, the movement in his chest jostling the bed.
“Why?”
Rolling over I turn the light back on and sit up. With my back against the headboard I pull my knees to my chest. “I don’t show off my body to people unless I’m … you know … showing off . I’d never wear shorts and a tiny singlet in front of friends, it feels weird to start now.”
Noah gulps audibly. I still haven’t looked at him, but feel the mattress shift again as he sits up.
“Do you want to put the pillow wall back up?”
A traitorous tear spills down my cheek. I don’t know if I’m thankful for his offer, or upset it has come to this, or maybe both. He doesn’t hesitate to support me, even when I don’t know what’s going on in my brain so I can’t expect him to understand.
“No, it’s fine. This is a me problem, you shouldn’t have to suffer with limited bed space because of my oppressive upbringing and inability to leave my father’s views completely in the past.”
“Is that why? Because of your parents.”
I drop my head between my knees and sob. “Yes. Growing up, he would always nitpick my clothing, disapproving of anything that dared show off my developing figure or anything more than a tiny hint of skin. I was raised to hide my body, and once I was old enough, I rebelled in truly spectacular fashion.”
The knees of my tracksuit become damp from my tears. Using my sleeve, I wipe my face dry. I’ve cried enough tears over it, there’s no need for more. With a long inhale, I roll my shoulders up and back, and tip my head up against the bedhead. Noah places a hand on my knee. With his thumb tracing tiny circles on the wet patch of my pants, his touch calms my irrational distress. Without saying a word, he makes me feel heard and understood.
“I wore the skimpiest outfits for a while, but every time I stepped out of the house I felt like a million disappointed eyes followed me everywhere. Eventually, I went back to covering up.”
“Amira, I say this with no judgement, I just want to understand, okay?” His voice is deep and timber and warm.
“What?”
“What do you mean when you say, ‘unless you’re showing off’?”
A laugh catches in my throat, and I snort. “Unless I’m about to fuck someone?”
Noah’s hand freezes and he tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Is it because they’re getting naked too?”
I shrug. “I think so. I feel less exposed when they have just as few layers on.”
“Does it help I have no shirt on?”
Meekly, I nod. He has far less clothes on than me. Even if I did strip down into my pyjama shorts and singlet.
“Would it help if I rolled over? I won’t face you?”
“Is that what you want?”
With a groan, Noah leans away from me. “I want the opposite, Amira. I’d love to feel how soft your skin is and find out if that gorgeous blush of yours spreads further down your neck. I’d love to see who you are under all those layers. Not just your clothes, but you . I want to get to know you and learn all your secrets. But your comfort is more important. So, if that means rolling to the side and keeping my back to you all night, I will.”
Another tear spills over, only this one is definitely because of his words, not my internal voice. I want to see him too. And I want him to see me.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
Before I can change my mind, I stand from the bed. Noah watches me so intently I don’t think he blinks. In front of the dresser, I pull my tracksuit pants down, inch by inch, keeping my eyes locked on Noah’s. To his credit, he doesn’t drop his gaze from mine. I step out of my pants and into the tiny pair of satin shorts, so short they end up hidden under the hem of my oversized jumper. Noah’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. His hands are gripping the blanket underneath him.
My heart races as I pull my jumper over my head, cautious not to bring the lacey singlet up with it. I turn before taking it off completely, needing a minute to get my shit together before I turn back to Noah. I feel exposed and scared and awkward and … maybe a little wanted.
And I feel a lot of wanting. But … we can’t. Right?
I’m trying to convince myself as I fold up my jumper and drop it into the top drawer. My eyes are wide and my brow a little furrowed, and in the mirror I catch Noah’s gaze. His eyes are soft, his mouth slightly parted.
“Come back to bed, Cupcake,” he says with a smirk.
The nickname breaks through the tension and for the first time since I stripped off half my layers, I feel like I can breathe. I race to the bed, flicking the lamp off and scooping myself under the blankets.
“You okay?” Noah asks.
My chest still heaves with anticipation, but I nod. “Mmhhmm.”
Noah settles back into the bed and finds my hand with his own. He squeezes it, twice, then holds it as his breaths begin to slow.
“Noah?” I whisper when I’m almost certain he’s already asleep. I hate having to ask him for more when he’s doing so much already.
He hums in response, and I hear the ruffle of his pillow like maybe he turned his head.
I keep my voice low, unsure how far away from mine his face is. “Another cousin is getting married.”
“You need me to keep being your boyfriend, Cupcake?” he mumbles, half asleep.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” It’s barely a word, more a yawn, and I’ll have to ask him again when he’s actually awake, but knowing I have him by my side makes everything feel a little lighter.
“Thanks,” I whisper before snuggling my head against my pillow.
Noah takes a deep breath, settling back into sleep.
My own dreams take an age to come, but I realise, right before I doze off, that I never pulled my hand away.