Chapter 40 #2
We stand there, sharing fries and onion rings in a comfortable quiet, the crunch of each bite punctuating the sounds of the desert night around us.
When the bag is empty, Nicholas takes it from my hands, giving me a small smile before walking around to toss it back into the car.
He returns, his movements unhurried, and leans against the front of the Porsche next to me, his shoulder close enough to brush mine.
I’ve never been one for silence. Usually, it unnerves me—I feel like it’s waiting to lay bare every truth I’d rather ignore. With him, the silence doesn’t feel threatening. It’s almost peaceful. Just a quiet that feels close to comfort.
“Oh, look. There’s Orion’s Belt.” I point out the three stars in a row, watching his gaze follow mine.
His lips curve up. “Are you into stars?”
I hesitate, knowing I should answer with something generic, something safe.
Keep it surface-level. But when I look at Nicholas’s open expression, the words that come out are real, unfiltered.
“I always wanted to study astronomy. I wanted to work with stars somehow, find my place among them,” I say, my voice softer with vulnerability than I mean it to be.
It catches me off guard, and I almost wish I could take it back.
Nicholas doesn’t look at me like I’m less for it. He simply smiles, and somehow, that smile loosens something tight in my chest.
Maybe it’s okay to let him see a little more. Just a little.
“So, why didn’t you?”
I shrug, hugging myself. “Life changed.”
We’re silent for another moment, and a shiver creeps up my spine as I look back up. A falling star streaks across the sky.
“Did you see that?” I exclaim, pointing it out while grabbing his biceps with my other hand, squeezing it as I turn to look at him. “Make a wish!”
I press my eyes shut and make one myself.
Wishing for a reality where this could be real, where we could be.
When I open my eyes to look at him, he’s already watching me, almost as if he’d rather look at me than the stars.
He chuckles, his gaze drifting to where my hand rests on his arm, his fingers inching over until they settle over mine, anchoring us there.
He turns fully toward me, our hands lingering together as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear with his other hand, his fingertips brushing my cheek before he cradles my face.
“Would you rather always wonder what if or regret if only?”
I don’t know who moves first. One second, we’re looking at each other, and the next, our lips meet—soft and warm, tasting faintly of salt from the fries and sweet from whatever’s just him.
He pulls me closer, his hand slipping from mine so his arm can circle my waist. I lean into him, but his kiss remains unhurried and deep like he’s savoring every second.
And butterflies go crazy in my chest.
Fuck.
The plan was to use him, not fall for him, Nova.
My hands find their way to his pecs, feeling the fast but steady thud of his heartbeat under my palms. The world fades away—no stars, no desert night, no plan, and no deception. It’s just us, the taste of him lingering on my lips, stealing every thought from my mind.
When he finally pulls back to rest his forehead against mine, he whispers, “Wishes do come true.”
A shiver runs through me, not only from the cold, and he notices.
“You’re cold,” he murmurs. “I could drive you home… or, if you want, we could go back to my place. Veronica’s out with her…
friends for their weekly poker night. You know, if you…
if you want to watch a movie or something.
Just hang out.” His words tumble out, and as he searches my eyes, uncertainty is clear in them.
“I mean, I get if you’re not comfortable, if it’s too soon… ”
I look up at him, and a pang of something sharp twists in my chest. This is my chance. Everything I need to do, everything I came here to accomplish, is right within my reach faster than I thought possible.
Except instead of feeling triumphant, there’s this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Why?
Why would I want to go back with him for any other reason than what I’m supposed to be doing?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I press my thumb to his lips, silencing him. Then, I lean in, brushing my mouth softly against his. “Only if I get to pick the movie.”
He smiles against my lips. “Deal.”
The hotel lobby gleams with polished marble floors, and I guide Rosie past the reception desk, where a young man in a sharp suit greets me with a professional but slightly nervous smile.
I never bother to learn their names.
All they want to do is kiss my ass in the hopes of a raise.
“Mr. Harrington, good evening.” He dips his head politely. His gaze flicks to Rosie briefly, curiosity in his eyes, but he’s too well-trained to let it linger.
“Evening,” I reply casually, though Rosie’s presence beside me makes it impossible to feel entirely composed. She’s quiet but alert, her eyes scanning the space, taking in every detail, every movement. But it’s not the awestruck gaze I’ve seen so many times before.
Hotel guests mill about, their laughter and chatter blending into the ambient hum of the space. A few staff members nod politely as we pass, their greetings directed at me, but their eyes inevitably drifting to Rosie.
It seems she has that effect on people.
We approach the elevator, which has a small card reader embedded into the side panel. “The penthouse is restricted access,” I explain.
I retrieve the slim black card from my pocket and swipe it across the reader. There’s a chime, and the elevator hums to life. This will bring us straight to the penthouse. No stops. No detours.
“Fancy,” Rosie mutters under her breath as we step onto the moving platform. Her fingers brush the railing, her gaze darting to the metal walls that reflect the two of us in distorted fragments. “Is this thing really only for you?”
“Us,” I correct with a small grin. “For now.”
The escalator glides upward, the noise of the lobby fading behind us. The silence stretches as the private corridor above comes into view—a short hallway lined with more marble, soft carpets, and a pair of oversized double doors that lead directly to the penthouse.
I place my hand lightly on Rosie’s lower back as I guide her toward the doors, then open them. It’s quiet at first, only the sound of our footsteps on the marble as we step inside. The air here is cooler, crisper, scented faintly with something clean and expensive.
Anticipation has been buzzing under my skin all night, winding up nerves I didn’t know I still had. Bringing her here doesn’t help either.
And kissing her?
Hell, I’ve never felt so nervous, but it was probably the best decision I’ve ever made.
There’s something about her that makes me want to leave an impression beyond all the glossy, empty parts of my life. I wanted tonight to feel casual, but our penthouse, with its perfectly arranged furniture and pristine surfaces, is about as casual as a museum exhibit.
As soon as I come to a stop, she takes a slow look around, her mouth slightly open. “Whoa, this is…”
Of course. It’s a reaction I’ve seen plenty of times.
The rare visitors, staff, my mother’s friends, and her constant parade of acquaintances all wear the same look of awe and envy, like this penthouse is the pinnacle of what money can buy.
And sure, it’s a marvel. To me, it’s a beautifully polished cage.
I sigh, feeling the familiar tension creep in. “Yeah, I know. It’s—”
“Clinical,” she finishes, giving the place a skeptical once-over.
I laugh, a real laugh that catches me off guard. Her blunt honesty is a breath of fresh air. “You don’t like it?”
She glances around some more, then back at me, raising her brows. “Well, I’m a messy person, and stuff looking like this gives me the creeps. Like I can’t touch anything without leaving fingerprints on some shiny, perfect surface. Or some housemaid glaring at me for it.”
“That’s exactly how it feels to me.” I sigh dramatically. “We could go to the movie room if you want, but… honestly, I’d rather go to my room if you’re okay with that?”
“You aren’t clinically clean in there, too, are you?” She smirks, a playful glint in her eye.
“Well, I did tidy up, in case you wanted to come back here with me,” I admit as I usher her down the hallway. “But I promise, it’s not clinical.”
She throws a sideways look at me. “Oh, so you were sure I’d come back to yours?”
“Nope. Just hopeful.” I toss her a grin, though my mind is already jumping ahead to how much time I might actually get with her tonight.
With any luck, we’ll get through two movies before my mother even thinks of coming home.
She’s always out late on Tuesdays. Early morning hours, every time.
Gives us all the space Rosie and I need.
Not that Veronica would actually care.
I just don’t want to make Rosie uncomfortable.
She walks in, glancing around. “This looks and smells way more like you.”
I cross my arms, half-amused and half-curious. “That’s a good thing?”
“A very good thing.” She moves toward the workout equipment, eyeing it with curiosity. “You work out at home too?”
“Sometimes,” I answer, feeling a bit on display but liking the attention.
She turns to me. “What else do you do?”
What else do I do?
That’s a loaded question. I search for a way to answer that without sounding lame.
“Well,” I start, shrugging. “When my mother doesn’t drag me to some business meeting or gathering, I work out or binge series and movies.
And the parkour thing. I don’t do much besides hanging around this goddamn penthouse.
” She looks at me, waiting, and I know she’s going to call me out on it, so I brace myself.
“Why don’t you get your own place, then? If you’re such a homebody, you could at least relax somewhere that feels comfortable, you know?”