Chapter 8 #3
The fabric skimmed her figure, soft and bridal, the kind of thing someone might expect a newlywed to wear. It wasn’t what she’d planned to sleep in—not by a long shot—but her other things hadn’t been brought to the room.
“They forgot my bags,” she said quietly, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but it carried an edge of frustration. “This was all I had to change into.”
James turned, his gaze catching on her as the words seemed to stick in his throat. His sharp response, something about speaking to Lauren in the morning, evaporated the moment he saw her.
The firelight illuminated her dark skin, making the satin of her night slip gleam like liquid moonlight. The lace detailing along the hem and neckline was impossibly delicate, and the way the fabric clung to her…
He swallowed hard, his pulse quickening as he fought to keep his expression neutral. She looked so damn bridal. So effortlessly beautiful. It wasn’t fair.
James cleared his throat, his voice low and rough as he broke the silence.
“You’re making this very hard wearing that dress,” he said, his tone carrying more weight than he intended.
His gaze lingered on her for a fraction too long before he turned slightly, gesturing toward the door. “Maybe I should go find your bags.”
“Hard to what?” she asked as if she’d only registered half his sentence.
James froze, his hand halfway to his pocket as he processed her question. He turned back to face her fully, his jaw tightening as her gaze locked onto his, refusing to let him look away. For a moment, he didn’t answer; the words caught somewhere between his thoughts and his throat.
“To remember this is an act,” he finally admitted, his voice softer but no less charged. His hands dropped to his sides, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “To remember that this… you and me… isn’t supposed to feel real.”
Evie’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes blazing as his words hung in the air. Her voice came sharp, cutting through the tension.
“Well, last time I checked, that’s all this was. An act. You’ve done a damn good job of reminding me at every turn.”
James recoiled slightly, her words hitting harder than he expected. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling through clenched teeth.
“I know,” he admitted, his voice low, almost bitter. “And maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I was trying to remind myself, too.”
“Remind yourself of what?” Evie demanded, stepping closer now, her arms falling to her sides, fists clenched. “That this is all fake? That I’m just here to play a part in your perfect little story? Because trust me, James, I haven’t forgotten.”
“That’s not what I—” he started, his voice strained, but she cut him off.
“Then what, James? What are you even trying to say right now?” His eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, he was silent, as if wrestling with the words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. Finally, he spoke, his tone quieter but no less intense.
“That this wasn’t supposed to happen. That it wasn’t supposed to feel like this.”
“Feel like what?” Evie’s voice cracked, her chest tightening with frustration, confusion, and something she couldn’t name.
James’s jaw tightened as he stared at her, the weight of his own admission pressing heavily on his chest. “Feel like I want to kiss you again,” he said, his voice rough, raw. “And make it feel real… and make it…”
He stopped himself abruptly, the words catching in his throat. He turned away from her, running a hand through his already tousled hair. The frustration in his movements was palpable, his emotions teetering on the edge of control.
“No,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.
“James,” Evie said, her voice softer now, uncertain, as she took a hesitant step toward him.
He spun back to face her, his expression conflicted, the firelight casting shadows across the sharp lines of his face.
“This is all wrong,” he said, his voice tight as if he were holding something back. “I can’t… we can’t cross this line.”
Her chest tightened at his words, and she opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She could feel the tension radiating off him, the way his shoulders were stiff with restraint, the way his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as if he were battling himself.
Without another word, James grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and strode toward the door, his movements brisk and deliberate.
“Where are you going?” Evie asked, her voice trembling slightly, the butterflies in her stomach now replaced by a knot of uncertainty.
He paused with his hand on the doorknob but didn’t look back. “Out,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “Before I do something stupid.”
And then he was gone, the heavy door closing behind him with a quiet thud that seemed to echo through the room.
Evie stood there, staring at the door, her mind a whirlwind of emotions she couldn’t untangle. She wrapped her arms around herself, the weight of his words and the tension he left behind lingering in the empty room.