Chapter 18 Olivia #2
He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to choose his next words carefully. “I believe he wants what’s mine. And if he tries to use this as an excuse to make another move on you, I’ll won’t let it slide.”
The knot in my chest pulls tight.
“I told you,” I say, “because I didn’t want to keep it from you. Not because I was asking permission.”
He doesn’t answer, but his grip on my hand tightens.
I’m surprised by how desperately he still holds on to me. By how even now, after everything, my reassurances never seem to reach the part of him that still fears losing me.
But I also understand. Because his obsession has always mirrored something inside me too—some deep, unspoken desire to be chosen, to be wanted beyond reason.
Still, I need to do this. Even if Nathaniel can’t understand it yet.
I turn my gaze to the city and let my decision settle quietly between us.
Every time Nathaniel touches me now, it feels like he’s trying to write himself into my skin.
As if wanting me isn’t enough anymore—he needs evidence. Something he can point to and say, There. That’s mine.
He has been more—everything. More attentive, more composed, more consuming.
He kisses me like he’s sealing a pact, like the press of his mouth might ward off anything that dares to come between us.
His hands roam with purpose, but also reverence, as though he’s mapping me again and again to ensure nothing has changed.
Sex has become a liturgy of devotion and control.
There are nights when he moves with aching slowness, each breath drawn out between touches, like he’s savoring the ceremony of loving me.
And then there are nights when he takes me without restraint, with something darker threading through the softness—an edge of desperation he doesn’t speak aloud.
But always, no matter how he touches me, he makes me say it: I’m yours.
And yet, even when he’s pressed against me, body to body, I can feel the restlessness within him. The way his eyes track me more often.
He hasn’t said a word about Landon. But I know him too well not to notice the stillness that’s begun to curdle. There’s something he suspects—something he’s waiting for.
My phone buzzes softly beside me, snapping me out of the thought.
LANDON
Still good to meet at 4? I’ll grab a table.
It takes me a moment to respond as I try to convince myself that this isn’t betrayal—just unfinished business. I type back:
See you then.
And, after a moment, delete the thread.
I hear the low clink of glass behind me and turn. Nathaniel is standing by the sink, rinsing out his coffee cup. His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, shirt open at the collar. The image strikes me—how utterly domestic he looks, how fully we’ve woven our lives together. He feels like home. And yet.
My pulse stutters. I’ve been rehearsing what to say all morning, but the lie by omission sits uneasily on my tongue.
“I’ll be back around dinner,” I say lightly. “After my shift with Professor de Vries, I’m catching up with Sophie and Carolyn.”
His movements still. Not for long—just the span of a breath—but it’s enough. He turns slowly to face me, drying his hands on a dish towel with deliberate care.
“Sounds good.” His tone is mild, but the words are careful.
Suddenly, I’m hyper-aware of every inch of space between us, of the way he’s looking at me now—too perceptive, like he knows there’s more beneath the surface.
There’s a stretch of silence between us, taut and fine as a wire. I force a smile, hoping it masks the nerves fluttering through me.
Then, he crosses the kitchen in a few long strides and cups my face in his hands. The kiss he gives me is deep, possessive. I exhale into it before I even realize I’m holding my breath.
When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to mine. “Keep me in mind,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes my cheek once, almost absentmindedly. “And it’ll just be Sophie and Carolyn there later?”
The question is innocent on the surface—nothing he hasn’t asked before—but it lands too precisely. My heartbeat skitters. He doesn’t know. How would he? I must be imagining it.
I nod, unable to find the words to explain why I suddenly feel like I’m stepping into something irreversible.
The session with Professor de Vries is brief—routine updates, a few edits to a research summary, and a new task to tackle over the weekend.
I check the time as I leave her office, then walk the longer way around campus.
Not because I need the air, but because the weight of what I’m doing sits heavy on my chest.
Still, I tell myself this is the only way. Nathaniel wouldn’t have let me go if I had told him the truth. And some things, I think, are better done gently, if not openly.
The café is tucked between a florist and an antique bookstore, half-hidden by a wrought-iron gate blooming with ivy. It’s the kind of place where time feels slowed, where the clatter of the world dulls to something manageable.
Landon is already there, seated at a corner table by the window. He looks up when the door chimes and stands as I walk in.
There’s a flicker of something in his expression when he sees me. Simply recognition, maybe. Or relief?
I step toward him. Not quite ready, but willing.
“Hey,” he says, smoothing one hand over his thigh as I approach. “You found it okay?”
“Yeah.” I slide into the seat across from him, setting my phone facedown beside the salt shaker. “Google Maps is forgiving when you’re ten minutes late.”
A crooked grin tugs at his mouth. “You used to be worse.”
“And you used to drag me out of the library when I forgot to eat,” I reply, a small smirk rising unbidden. “Different era.”
He nods once, chuckling softly. “Yeah.”
The pause that settles between us doesn’t feel tense so much as unfamiliar. Like returning to a city you once called home, only to find the streets narrower, the buildings repainted. Different, but still recognizable in places.
“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Landon says after a moment, his voice quieter now. Less rehearsed.
I meet his eyes across the table. “You know me better than that,” I say gently. “I wouldn’t bail on you.”
His gaze softens, and some of the hesitation in his shoulders eases. We begin to talk—about classes, mutual professors, the job hunt, how Sophie’s sense of humor has sharpened over the years while Carolyn’s taste in men still hasn’t.
It’s cautious, almost choreographed, but not unpleasant.
There’s something soothing about speaking in half-remembered rhythms, the kind we used to share without effort. I’m aware of what we don’t talk about—the night things splintered, the long stretch of silence after—but for now, the spaces between words feel like safety, not evasion.
I sip my tea. He jokes about the overly academic playlist playing through the café speakers—Gregorian chants mashed up with Bon Iver—and I laugh, real and easy.
For a moment, I forget the weight of Nathaniel’s parting kiss, forget the phantom sensation of his hand ghosting down my spine before I left.
And then Landon’s expression shifts.
His features tighten, mouth flattening as his gaze fixes on something behind me—no, someone.
The air between us contracts. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and whatever warmth was there drains, leaving behind something brittle.
My breath stills in my chest as I turn my head, slow and unwilling.
Of course it’s him.
He doesn’t rush. He never does. He moves through the café like the space was built to accommodate him—shoulders squared, eyes steady, coat already undone like he hadn’t planned to stay long but knew he’d be welcomed all the same. His gaze is locked on me, unreadable, unwavering.
I turn back to Landon, who’s now glaring at me across the table.
“Did you invite him?” he asks, low and taut.
I shake my head. “No—I don’t—”
“Afternoon,” Nathaniel says, his voice smooth as silk pressed to skin. He doesn’t spare Landon a glance. His full attention is on me. “There you are.”
Landon exhales a sharp breath. “Unbelievable.” He turns to me, eyes tight with disbelief. “You said you wanted to talk. Didn’t realize you needed a chaperone.”
“But I didn’t—Nathaniel, how did you—”
“You’re not that hard to find when I need to.” His tone is light, even affectionate, but I feel it coil beneath my skin.
“Right. Of course,” Landon mutters. “What, he can’t let you out of his sight now?”
Nathaniel finally shifts his attention, unhurried. “Funny,” he says mildly, “coming from someone who lost the right to proximity long ago.”
Landon laughs, short and incredulous. “And you think you earned it? You think stalking her is romantic?”
Nathaniel’s expression is placid. He could be discussing the weather. “She came here to tie a loose end. I came to remind you she’s no longer yours to untangle.”
“That’s enough,” I say, my voice too soft to cut through the tension, but he hears me. He always does.
His eyes return to mine. “Of course, baby.” A pause. Then, as if to twist the knife, “Sorry to interrupt. Please, take your time.”
Landon’s gaze burns into me. “If this was your idea of closure, you should’ve just stayed away.”
“Landon—” I reach across the table, but he’s already grabbing his jacket. “I didn’t know he’d come. I wasn’t trying to ambush you—”
“It doesn’t matter.” He doesn’t yell, doesn’t cause a scene. But the weight in his voice is worse. “You two deserve each other.”
He’s gone before I can say another word.
I’m still staring at the door when Nathaniel breaks the silence.
“That went well.”
I turn to him slowly. “How did you even know where—”
He steps closer, fingers brushing my chin as he tilts my face to his. His eyes are gentle, but they gleam with satisfaction.
“Don’t lie to me next time,” he murmurs, his tone indulgent, as if he’s chastising a child. “It’s time to go home now.”
The nerve.