Chapter 23
VIVIENNE
I’m starving, my stomach has rumbled approximately four times in the past minute, and I can’t move to devour the overpriced chocolates on the hotel dresser because I’m stuck.
Not in my head, or in my thoughts, like I usually find myself. The equivalent of a huge boulder weighs me down, and the large hand wrapped around my waist holds me close to his chest.
There’s no way out. Not without waking him up.
I make another attempt at getting this caveman off me when he buries his face into the crook of my neck and tightens his already firm grip.
“What did I say about leaving?”
Nate’s raspy voice is laced with sadness, and the thought just about breaks my heart. He was serious yesterday when he said he didn’t want me running from him—and judging by my actions, it’s probably coming off that way.
It’s the post-road-trip hunger, I swear, but now that I can clearly think about what we did, I’m not all too sure if staying is the right move.
This thing between us has an expiration date. To fall would be to inevitably hurt myself—that’s what my brain is telling me. But my heart, who may or may not have feelings for the man I once hated, wants to see where this goes. No matter what the outcome is. So, I settle for the truth.
“I was hungry,” I confess, and like a paid actor, my stomach rumbles.
Nate loosens his grip on me, though hesitantly, and I seize the opportunity to turn around. I land on my side, looking at the sleepy man. His eyelids flutter open and close, but from the slight downturn of his lips, I’m not sure he fully believes me.
“What would get you to turn that frown upside down?” I ask, an index finger probing at the corner to push it up. His half smile drops when I retract.
Note taken: Nate isn’t a happy camper when first waking up. But I can’t help but want to see him smile. To see the version of the man I’ve gotten so used to. The past few weeks between us have been tense, and I’m ready to put it all behind us.
“If you smile, just a little, I’ll do you the favor of making up for yesterday,” I try to convince him with my honeyed voice.
He grumbles in response. “Making up how?”
“I’ll suck you off.”
“Goddammit, woman.” Nate’s hands fly toward his face, rubbing the tiredness away from his eyes before dragging themselves down his clean-shaven skin. “That’s the last thing I needed to hear.”
I crack a smile at his response, one that widens when the shake of his head is accompanied by a special appearance from his pearly whites.
Gotcha.
“Good morning,” he whispers, green eyes boring into mine. The deep lines that were once around the corners of his mouth now find themselves around his eyes.
I probe at the dimple I’ve come to enjoy looking at. “Good morning,” I whisper back.
We stay like this, looking at each other for however long, but deep down, I know it’s so much more than that.
Nate isn’t looking at me. He’s looking into me—the deepest parts of me I haven’t shared with anyone, the insecurities I try to hide from the light, the stories and experiences that bind us together.
Images of the blood running down his neck come back to me. I grasp the lower half of his face, turning it to the side to reveal the dried dark-red streak along his jaw. My fingers trace along the cut while Nate sucks in a breath.
“Does it hurt?” I ask as I pass over the scab.
“I’m not sure it ever did,” he admits quietly, his confession from yesterday still at the forefront of my mind.
“You know, I always thought your jaw was sharp enough to cut a razor. I never imagined it would be the other way around.”
Nate chokes up a laugh at that one, and I can’t help but smile.
This is easy. Nice. And for some reason, he seems to be dismantling all the misconceptions I once had about relationships. Romantic. Platonic. I’d been hurt in the past—it’s the reason I was so closed off—but there’s something about Nate that makes me want to open up.
“You know I hate blood,” I say without thinking.
Nate nods. “I know.”
This takes me aback. “How do you?”
“Remember that day we were sitting in the janitor’s closet? You mentioned it while explaining why you didn’t want to become a doctor.”
My mouth gapes in shock at the confession because I don’t ever recall myself telling him that. But it all vanishes on a loud gasp when my body is flung on top of his. I squeal as he wraps his arms around my waist.
“Let me go.” I try to squirm out of his grasp.
“Is that such a way to greet your fiancé?”
Again, I try to wiggle away. “My fiancé is holding me captive. I fear there’s no real way to greet him.”
“You can start with a kiss.”
I roll my eyes with a smile. This man is unbelievable.
“I’m on the verge of dying from famine. Are you not feeling remotely the same?”
Despite the added weight on top of him, he still manages to shrug. “That’s a you problem. I have breakfast right here.” He palms my ass and squeezes hard.
I punch his side in disbelief, earning me one of the richest laughs I’ve heard in a while.
“Give me a kiss, and I’ll forget you ever did that,” he says.
“No food. No kiss.” I lift my head to look into his eyes.
“No kiss. No food.”
I let out a sigh, caving in and pressing my lips on his.
What was supposed to be a peck turns more passionate.
His hand drifts down the curve of my waist, grabbing my hip. The other cradles my face with such reverence that it’s hard not to melt into his touch. Eventually, we resurface for air, panting so harshly I feel like the world is spinning.
“That didn’t count.” He leans back in to kiss me, and I let him, willingly.
No thoughts of growly stomachs cross my mind because I’ve come to realize one thing—I’m hungry for Nate. His touch. His sweetness. His care for me. I’ve never done drugs, but the all-consuming effect he has on me may as well be equivalent.
The inevitable crash after the dopamine rush? That's a problem for later.
“Did that one count?” I whisper against his lips, so far out of my mind that I don’t give him the chance to answer before I’m leaning back. It’s just a peck. Something small. Light. Airy. But with the lazy smile on his face, I already know his answer.
“I don’t think it did. Might have to try again.”
I give him one last kiss before rolling off the bed and checking my phone.
There is a slew of unread messages—some from my two favorite elders asking me how I’m doing, others from Evelyn and Sutton, asking similar questions as if they hadn’t sabotaged my wardrobe to push me toward my fake fiancé.
I mean, it worked—but I won’t be admitting that to them anytime soon.
“I’m ordering room service. Do you want anything in particular?” Nate yells from somewhere across the hotel room. I yell back with a quick "No," before wrapping myself in a hotel robe.
Within thirty minutes, the room smells of waffles, eggs, and bacon, overpowering the poor fruit that also sits on the white-cloth-dressed table.
“You know, you never told me what that talk of yours is about—or what we’re doing today.”
Nate, who’s midway through cutting a piece of his waffle, stills. “You don’t have to come down with me if you’re not comfortable.”
My brows furrow at the admission.
It was my sole purpose for being here—to sell the engagement as best as I could, but it’s then that it hits me. Nate knows my history and my fear of planes, so his reluctance obviously comes from a place of worry.
Yes, my parents died on a plane. And yes, I have no idea how the incident happened.
But that shouldn’t paralyze me from living life.
I hid in the shadows for too long—avoided people and experiences because of the uncertainty.
But no one ever grows by staying in place. We all have to start somewhere.
“I want to know.” I smile in assurance, wiping the tear at the rim of my lashes at the thought of them.
Nate doesn’t look convinced, but with some prodding, he caves, pulls out his laptop, and goes on to present his slide deck.
There’s this light, excitement, and wonder that glows in his eyes as he goes into the details of his invention. I nod along, acting like I understand everything he’s saying when all I’m really doing is admiring how handsome and intelligent Nate Archer is.
———
The notifications come in quick succession, buzzing up a party in the pocket of my trousers.
While I usually complain about my friends pressing the notify anyway button when I’m on do not disturb, this interruption is welcomed.
I wouldn’t mind a little entertainment while Nate finishes listening to that student’s poster presentation.
Sutton: Make sure to attend Carter Crawford’s talk on my behalf. I want live updates.
I roll my eyes at the command. This girl has not dropped this since we arrived in Chicago. Even in the midst of my yelling and her denying that she had tampered with my suitcase, his name came up.
Evelyn: And don’t forget to take a picture of him for me.
Evelyn: I want to know whether he’s good-looking because they’re picking the best images of him, or if he’s actually photogenic.
Another eye roll. I really don’t know where Evelyn’s fascination comes from. The girl has a long-term boyfriend. She should not be drooling over this man.
Vivienne: Go back to Tom, Evelyn. And Sutton, I’ll have to double-check with Nate. We were thinking of calling it a night.
My text is met with a string of eggplant emojis.
Sutton: Sounds like something went right this weekend. Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. You’ll have to tell me all about it and thank me for my charity work AFTER Carter’s talk.
Vivienne: Whatever you say, Sutton.
I slip the phone away in time to see Nate highly engaged in a conversation with the grad student.
While many industry professionals are presenting at this conference, there are also institutional researchers and graduate students with their own projects. They’re arranged in rows throughout this large room, posters after posters pinned on cork boards by the hundreds.