Chapter Fifteen
I know this is a mistake the second we step inside.
Not because of the dress, even though it fits like it was made for me. Or because of the room either, all warm lighting and polished floors and people who look like they belong here in a way I very clearly do not.
It's the feeling.
That subtle shift the moment we cross the threshold, like I've stepped into a version of the world that expects something from me I'm not sure I have the energy to give anymore.
Julian's hand settles at my lower back, warm and steady, not possessive so much as present, like he's anchoring himself as much as he's guiding me. The bond stirs at the contact, low and quiet, and I immediately try to ignore it.
"Are you okay?" he murmurs.
I glance up at him, caught off guard by the question and the tone behind it.
"I'm fine," I say, because that's easier.
He doesn't look convinced, but he nods anyway and doesn't push. He just keeps his hand light as he guides me further into the room.
I notice that.
I'm not sure what to do with it.
The conversations blur together almost immediately.
Polite smiles. Introductions. Topics I don't care about stacked one on top of the other until they all start to sound the same. I try to stay engaged, try to follow along, but it doesn't take long before my attention starts drifting, my responses becoming more automatic than intentional.
The food doesn't help.
It looks beautiful, arranged in careful little portions that probably take far too long to assemble, but the first bite tells me everything I need to know. It isn't bad, exactly. But it's not good.
And there's no dessert. In my book, that's a crime, and you should be arrested on federal charges.
I set the plate down after a few minutes, already over it.
When I look up, Julian is watching me.
"How is it?" he asks quietly.
I lean in slightly, lowering my voice. "Do you want the polite answer or the honest one?"
His mouth curves faintly. "Honest."
"It tastes like effort and disappointment."
He exhales something that might be a laugh, quickly hidden, but the bond flickers with it, warm and unexpectedly gentle.
"Noted," he says.
A few minutes later, his fingers brush mine.
"Give me a minute," he murmurs. "And then we're leaving."
I blink. "We just got here."
"I know."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. And you want to."
Simple, non performative.
Through the bond, I feel it.
Truth.
That does something to me that I'm not quite prepared for.
"Okay," I say quietly.
We only make it 8 minutes before we're running down the steps like we're chasing freedom.
The second we step outside, the air feels different, cooler, easier, like I can finally breathe again.
"Oh my God," I mutter. "Thank you."
"That bad?" he asks.
"I would have rather been at home grading papers."
His eyebrows rise, "That is devastating."
"I'm serious."
"I can tell." There's a brief pause before he looks at me again, more focused this time.
"What do you actually want to eat?"
I blink. "What?"
"You didn't like the food," he says simply. "So what do you want instead?"
No one ever asks me that like it matters.
"Something normal," I say after a second. "Pizza. Tacos. Something that doesn't come in one bite."
He nods once. "Okay."
The taco place is small and a little too bright, and I'm very aware of how ridiculous we look sitting there in formal wear with plastic baskets of food between us.
I don't care.
"This is already better," I say after the first bite, closing my eyes briefly. "Oh my God. Real food."
He watches me, something quieter settling into his expression.
"I'm glad."
We eat for a few minutes in comfortable silence, the kind that doesn't feel forced. Just easy.
Until it isn't.
I set my taco down slowly, wiping my hands on a napkin I don't really need, my attention shifting fully to him.
"Can I ask you something?"
His gaze sharpens immediately, all of his focus settling on me. "Anything."
"Why did you say those things about me?"
There's no confusion.
He knows exactly what I mean.
His shoulders tense slightly, the change subtle but immediate, like something in him braces.
"I didn't plan it," he says after a second, voice lower now. "And I didn't think it through. It just... came out."
I frown. "That's not exactly reassuring."
"I know."
He drags a hand across the back of his neck, something restless in the movement.
"He was asking about you," he continues. "Not casually. He was pushing. Trying to figure out why I'm paying attention, who you are to me."
Something in my chest tightens.
"And instead of shutting it down," I say slowly, "you decide to insult me."
"Yes."
The answer comes immediately.
No excuse or softening.
Just—
yes.
I hold his gaze, waiting. My heart twists.
"I didn't like it," he says, quieter now. "The way he was talking about you. The way he was trying to turn you into something... transactional. Like you were something to evaluate."
I blink, caught off guard.
"And you handle that by doing it first?" I ask.
His jaw tightens. "By saying something stupid. And cruel. Yes."
The word lands heavy between us.
Cruel.
"I was thoughtless," he adds, the words coming faster now. "It just—came out wrong, and by the time I realized what I'd said, it was already—"
"Out there," I finish.
"Yes."
A beat of silence.
"I regretted it immediately," he says, more quietly now. "The second it left my mouth."
I study him, feeling through the bond, searching for anything rehearsed.
There's nothing.
Just frustration.
And something deeper that feels like regret.
"I can't take it back," he continues. "And I know what it sounds like. What it means to you."
I don't interrupt.
"I'm aware I probably lost your trust," he says. "And maybe you. Completely. Even with..." he gestures faintly between us, not naming it, "this."
The bond stirs, but he doesn't lean on it or hide behind it.
"I said something cruel about you in a room full of people," he finishes. "That doesn't just disappear."
I lean back slightly, letting out a slow breath.
"And now?" I ask quietly.
He holds my gaze.
"Now I deal with the fact that I might have ruined us before it had a chance to be anything."
The words hit low in my stomach, harder than anything else. Because it isn't dramatic.
It just... is.
I nod once.
"Okay."
I'm not forgiving him.
But maybe with some time I could.
The drive back is quieter.
By the time we pull into the driveway, the night has softened, the edges of everything worn down just enough to make it feel manageable.
He walks me to my bedroom door, his presence steady beside me, close enough that the bond hums again, low and constant.
I turn when we reach it, my hand still on the knob.
"Thank you," I say.
"For what?"
"For leaving. For the tacos. For... being honest."
Something shifts in his expression.
"You're welcome."
I can feel some nerves in his chest through the bond before he whispers.
"Can I kiss you?"
The question catches me off guard.
Because he asked.
The bond stirs, warm and insistent, that quiet pull tightening just enough to make it hard to think clearly.
I should say no. I know I should.
But...I want to try it. With the bond between us. I want to see what it feels like.
"Yes," I say softly.
He steps closer slowly, one hand settling lightly at my waist, like he's still giving me time to change my mind.
I don't.
His mouth finds mine, warm and steady at first, the contact sending a sharp pulse through the bond that makes my breath catch.
It starts soft.
Careful.
And then it isn't.
Because the bond responds, brightening, tightening, feeding into every small shift between us until it builds too quickly, too intensely, like neither of us knows how to slow it down.
My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking, and he makes a low sound against my mouth that sends another sharp wave through me.
Too much.
Too fast.
I pull back suddenly, breath uneven, my hand pressing against his chest.
He stops immediately. His chest rises and falls as he tries to steady his breathing.
"Too fast," he pants, voice rough. "Way too fast."
I nod quickly. "Yeah."
For a second, neither of us moves, the bond still humming too loudly between us, still trying to pull us back together.
I grab the door handle before I can change my mind.
"Goodnight," I say quickly.
And then I slip inside and slam the door, just a little too hard, before I can go back.
There's a soft thud on the other side, like he steps forward at the same time.
And then, a quiet voice.
"Goodnight, Claire."
I press my back to the door, eyes closing, heart still racing as the bond slowly settles from something overwhelming into something quieter.
Still there.
Still him.
Just a little easier to breathe around.