Chapter 9 #2
“And bring Olivia,” she adds. “It’s one thing to meet the family. It’s another to be presented to the world.”
After we hang up, I sit there for a moment, her words circling back like a tide. Presented to the world.
Not just acknowledgment—but declaration. A public claiming.
I wonder if Olivia will realize how much it means, how satisfied it will make me. That the world will see her and know she’s mine.
And maybe—if I do this right—they won’t just see my partner. They’ll see my fiancée.
I return to the design. My fingers trail over the sketch—ruby in the center, brilliant diamonds on either side. Classic. Enduring. Undeniable.
I picture it on Olivia’s hand. Her fingers curled around mine. Her saying yes.
And for a moment, the quiet doesn’t feel so unbearable.
The sun hits the quad perfectly at this hour—everything dipped in warm gold. Olivia and I step out of the seminar hall and onto the wide stone steps, voices and movement scattering around us—students fanning out across the lawn, books cracked open, laughter drifting on the breeze.
She pauses beside me, her hair catching the sun like molten copper as she tilts her face toward the sky.
“It’s so nice out,” she says, her voice easy. Then she turns to me. “Want to sit on the lawn with me for a bit?”
My heart trips. She wants me close today.
I keep my voice steady. “Of course,” I say, offering my hand. “Anywhere you are.”
We walk in silence, the kind that feels full rather than empty. Her hand in mine is warm and comforting. I brush my thumb along hers as we pass the edge of the main lawn and find a quieter patch beneath the sprawling oak.
Olivia sinks down onto the grass, bracing her palms behind her and stretching out her legs. Her head tips back, face tilted toward the sun.
And I just…watch her.
After a long moment, she glances back at me. “I missed you.” Her voice is soft.
Then stop leaving, my mind snaps. But I bite the words back. Instead, I settle beside her and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yeah?”
Her eyes meet mine, cautious. “Yeah.”
She shifts closer and rests her head lightly on my shoulder. I exhale for what feels like the first time in days. I press a kiss to the crown of her head, letting the moment settle between us.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I murmur.
She doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, we just sit—close, silent—like we’re both catching our breath.
Then, quietly, “I know it hasn’t been easy…” She hesitates. “I just… Thank you, Nate. For trying.”
No. It’s not easy at all. It’s been torture. But if this is what it takes to keep her—
“You never have to thank me for giving you what you need, baby.”
She lifts her head and searches my face. “Still. I see it.”
I lean in and her lips meet mine.
It’s slow. It’s sweet. It’s everything I’ve been craving.
She smiles into it, her fingers curling into the sleeve of my sweater. When she pulls back, she nestles herself between my legs, back against my chest. I wrap my arms around her and press a kiss to her shoulder for good measure.
We sit there for a while, talking about everything and nothing.
It’s the kind of conversation that lingers more in feeling than in memory.
At some point, she giggles, and the sound is music I’d memorize if I could.
I wish I remembered what I had said to make her laugh like that, so I could keep giving it back to her.
When she’s like this, I’m helpless to do anything but fall deeper.
She steals the last bite of the almond croissant I picked up before class, smirking because she knows I’ll let her get away with anything.
“Hey,” I say in mock protest, brushing a flake of pastry from her lips. “That was mine.”
She simply kisses the inside of my wrist as a peace offering before sighing in contentment. “We haven’t had a day like this in a while,” she remarks, her voice dreamy.
She’s right. The last few weeks have been a blur of work and tension. Although she’s started staying over again—thank god—it’s felt…tenuous. Like we’ve both been afraid to breathe too deeply. But this? This feels different…almost like before.
“We should have more of these days,” I decide.
She looks up at me, eyes shining. “Yeah. We should.”
I hesitate, but the moment feels right. “Spring break’s coming up.”
She hums.
“I was thinking maybe we could go away. Just the two of us. Somewhere warm. Somewhere quiet.” I keep my voice light. Like I’m offering a gift, not holding out my heart.
After all, she agreed to winter break. She let me have that. Maybe she’ll say yes again.
But then I feel her still. Her smile doesn’t drop completely, but it falters—the corners less sure, her lashes lowering.
“Maybe…” she begins. “Or…we could stay local? I haven’t really thought much about it.”
She has. I know she has. And whatever she thought about…doesn’t include me.
I nod like I’m unaffected. “Of course,” I reply, voice easy. “Whatever you want.”
It’s a knife in the chest when all I want is to put her on a plane, keep her pressed against me for seven uninterrupted days and mend whatever is still clearly broken between us.
I don’t trust myself to say anything else. Instead, I take her hand and kiss the inside of her wrist, then I guide it to my chest, hoping she can feel what I don’t dare to speak aloud.
Though she says nothing, she must sense the shift in me, because the next thing I know, she’s climbing into my lap. Her legs settle around me, and her hands cup my face.
Then, she kisses me—deep and full of intention.
Her lips part mine, and I kiss her back—my tongue sliding into her mouth as my hands grip her waist too tightly. But she doesn’t pull away. She moans against me and presses her body closer, molding herself to me like she needs it just as much.
She gives and gives, and I take more than I should.
Sometimes I wonder if this is the only language we still speak fluently. When we touch, we understand each other perfectly. In these moments, everything makes sense.
When we finally part, her forehead rests against mine.
“I love you, Nathaniel,” she whispers.
She’s the wound and the balm. The ailment and the cure.
“I love you too, Olivia.”
And I do. In every way a man can love. In ways I don’t know how to say without terrifying her.
She curls back into me, her cheek pressed against my chest once again. I stroke along the length of her spine, watching the way the sunlight catches her lashes.
But even in the golden hush, I feel it—the now-familiar ache of all the things I haven’t dared to press her for.