Chapter Fourteen
MIREYA
We ended up on the bed eventually, lying atop the heavy white duvet with our shoes discarded on the carpet.
Riven's arm rested beneath my head while my hand settled on his chest. I could feel the rhythmic beating of his heart under my palm—still racing from the intensity of what had just passed between us.
“We should probably have a real talk,” he suggested quietly.
“We probably should,” I agreed, though I didn’t want to move.
“We need to decide what this means for us and what happens next.”
“Mmm,” I hummed, keeping my eyes closed for a moment.
Neither of us made a move to create distance between our bodies. The hotel room was remarkably quiet except for the muffled sounds of late-night traffic passing below us.
“I honestly don't know how to do this,” I admitted into the silence.
“Do what exactly?” he asked, his voice low and vibrating against my ear.
“This. Us. Whatever we're calling this.”
His fingers began to trace absent patterns on my shoulder in a way that felt incredibly soothing. “We don't have to put a specific label on anything yet.”
“Don’t we?” I asked, finally opening my eyes to meet his. “We work in the same department, and I still live in your house. Emma is going to have a lot of difficult questions for us.”
“Emma already has plenty of questions for me.” He huffed out a soft laugh. “She has been asking me things for several weeks now.”
I lifted my head slightly to look at his face. “What kind of questions?”
“She asks why we're both pretending that we don't like each other.” He smiled. “She's not a very subtle teenager.”
"She's fifteen," I reminded him with a chuckle. "Subtle isn't in her vocabulary."
“That’s true,” he conceded.
I placed my head back down on his chest, listening as his heartbeat began to steady into a slower rhythm. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her that I'm emotionally unavailable and generally terrible at handling feelings.”
“Well, that’s a pretty accurate description.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” he replied dryly.
I smiled against his shirt. "What did she say?"
"She told me I should try being less terrible at it." His hand moved to my hair, playing with the dark ends. "Said you're good for my soul. That I smile more when you're around. That I should stop being such an idiot."
"Emma is very wise."
“She really is,” he whispered.
We lay there for a long time in a silence that felt surprisingly comfortable. His fingers continued to move through my hair while my hand remained over his heart. I had expected a wave of awkwardness or uncertainty to hit us, but this felt natural.
It felt right.
"Can I ask you something personal?" I whispered.
"Anything."
"When did you know?"
"Know what?"
"That you love me?"
He was quiet for a long moment, clearly searching his memories for the right answer. “Do you remember that difficult surgery with Jenna Price?”
“Yes, I remember every second of it.”
“You handed me that specific suture before I even had the chance to ask for it. The thread was perfect and already prepared because you knew exactly what I needed.” His voice turned softer as he continued.
“I looked at you across that surgical table and realized this is what a partnership is supposed to feel like. I was working with someone who just knew my mind.”
My chest tightened. “That was the moment you knew?”
“That was the moment I started to understand,” he corrected. “I began noticing small things about you that I probably should’ve ignored.”
I smirked. “Like what?”
“I noticed how you tuck hair behind your ear when you're concentrating. How you bite your lower lip when you're worried about a patient. How your eyes have amber flecks that catch the light." He paused. "How you made my apartment feel less empty just by existing in it."
I lifted my head again to look at him properly. His dark hair was messy from my fingers, and his gray eyes were softer than I had ever seen them. His mouth looked slightly swollen from our kisses earlier, making him look more human. More approachable.
“Can I tell you something embarrassing?” I asked.
“Please do.” His lips curved.
“I thought you were incredibly handsome the very first day I started working at Obsidian.”
His eyebrows rose. "Did you?"
"Don't look so smug."
"I'm not smug. I'm intrigued."
“You were this brilliant, cold, and intimidating surgeon who never smiled at anyone. You never spoke unless it was absolutely necessary for the case.” I traced the line of his collar with my finger. “But you were also objectively attractive in a very scary, unapproachable way.”
“Scary?”
"Terrifying to the nursing staff."
"And you found that attractive?"
“Only for about five seconds,” I admitted with a grin. “Then you were mean to me during a surgery, and my crush disappeared very quickly.”
He let out a genuine laugh that made something warm bloom in my chest. “Mean to you? When was I ever mean to you, Mireya?”
“It was during my second week in a bypass surgery. You asked for retraction, and I gave you a slightly wrong angle. You looked at me like I had committed a crime and said that remedial anatomy might be beneficial for me.”
He winced. "I said that to you?"
"Word for word."
"That was horrible."
“It was. I went home that night and cried.”
He cupped my cheek tenderly. "I'm so sorry."
“It's fine now. I got over it.” I offered him a playful smile. “I just decided you were an arrogant surgeon with nice cheekbones and a terrible personality.”
He chuckled. “I deserved that.”
Riven pulled me closer until our bodies were touching from shoulder to hip. “For what it’s worth, I'm truly sorry for my behavior. I was awful to everyone then.”
“You’re still kind of awful to most people,” I pointed out.
“But am I at least less awful to you now?”
“Only marginally,” I joked.
He smiled against my hair and held me tight. “I’ll take it.”
We lay there quietly while his hand moved in slow strokes down my back. “Emma asked me once if I thought you were handsome,” I mentioned.
“When did she ask you that?”
“It was a few weeks ago, right after you came back from your morning run. You were all sweaty and out of breath.”
"What did you say?"
"Nothing. I changed the subject very quickly."
"Why?"
"Because admitting you were attractive felt dangerous. If I said it out loud, I'd have to acknowledge I'd been noticing you." I looked up at him. "Why are you smiling like that?"
“Because I like the idea of you finding me attractive when I’m sweaty from a run.”
“You’re impossible!” I sighed.
“You like me anyway.”
"The jury's still out."
He laughed again, and I realized I was becoming addicted to that sound. “I always appreciated the quality of your work,” he said. “Even when I was being terrible and pushing you away, you were exceptional.”
The words settled somewhere deep. “Thank you.”
"I mean it. You're the most talented RNFA I've ever worked with. I should’ve told you months ago."
"You were too busy being emotionally unavailable to give compliments."
"Fair point."
I shifted to look at him properly. "So what do we do now?"
"What do you mean?"
"We can't pretend tonight never happened."
His eyes narrowed. "I have no desire to pretend."
“Neither do I, but we have to figure out the logistics.”
He sighed and ran his hand through my hair. “Right.”
“About the resignation letter...”
“I want you to rescind it immediately,” he said firmly.
“Riven, are you sure?”
“Please don't resign yet. Don't leave because of this.” He laced his fingers through mine. “We will figure this out together as a team.”
“What about the offer from August?”
“Do you really want to take that job?”
“No. I want to stay at Obsidian with you.”
“Then you should stay exactly where you are.”
“It's not that simple. There are hospital policies about staff relationships. We work together on almost every single case.”
“Then we will simply follow the established rules. We will disclose the situation to HR and do whatever is necessary to make this work properly.”
“You make it sound much easier than it will be.”
"It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it." He cupped my face. "You're worth it, Mireya."
My throat tightened. “What if we mess this up?”
“Then we’ll find a way to fix it.”
"What if working together complicates our personal life?"
"Our lives are already complicated. We'll manage."
"What if Emma gets too attached and we don't work out?"
"Emma's already deeply attached to you. She'll survive whatever happens." He stroked my cheek with his thumb. "Stop searching for reasons this can't work."
"I'm not trying to—"
"You are. You're scared. I understand that because I'm scared too." He traced my lower lip. "But I'm more afraid of not trying at all."
I leaned in and kissed him softly. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
"Okay, we'll try. We'll figure it out."
He smiled. "That's all I'm asking."
"You're asking for a lot."
“Am I?”
“You’re asking me to trust you and stay. You’re asking me to risk everything on something that might fail.”
“Yes, I am,” he admitted.
“That’s terrifying.”
“I know it is.”
"You're supposed to make me feel better about this."
“I'm still emotionally unavailable, remember? I told you I'm terrible at handling feelings.”
I laughed at his self-deprecation. “You really are.”
“But I'm trying for you. I'm truly trying.”
The words settled in my chest, warm and real. We lay in the dim room as the city glowed outside the window.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked quietly.
“I spent three years being sure about nothing. I was sure that being numb was the only safe way to live. I was sure that distance was the only way to survive.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I'm not sure about many things in this world, but I'm absolutely sure about you.”
My eyes burned with unshed tear. “That’s the most romantic thing you have ever said to me.”
"Don't get used to it," he joked.
"Too late."
He kissed the top of my head gently. “What about you? Are you sure?”
“I'm terrified, but yes, I'm sure about us.”
“Even though I'm emotionally unavailable?”
“Yes.”
“Even though I’ll probably make mistakes?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you take that risk?”
I lifted my head to look into his eyes. “Because when I think about leaving you, my chest hurts. When I think about not seeing you or hearing your voice every day, my entire soul rebels against the idea.” I touched his face softly.
“I’ve been falling for you for a while, and I'm tired of fighting it.”
Without warning, he caught my lips in a slow, deep kiss that felt like we had all the time in the world. When we finally broke apart, we were breathing hard.
“We should probably try to get some sleep,” he suggested.
“Probably,” I agreed.
“We have a big day tomorrow with conference sessions and networking.”
“Right. We have professional obligations to maintain.”
Neither of us made a move to separate. His hand slid into my hair and cupped the back of my head. “Mireya, I don't want to sleep.”
“Neither do I,” I whispered.
He kissed me again, hungrier this time, and I felt the restraint he'd been holding finally begin to unravel.
His hands began to map my body as if he had been waiting years for this—across my shoulders, down the curve of my waist, settling at my hip where his fingers pressed into me with a quiet desperation.
Clothes came off slowly between our kisses and soft laughter. He fumbled with a button and I helped him, our foreheads pressed together as we smiled at each other in the dim light.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered against my skin, his lips trailing from my shoulder to the hollow of my throat. I felt the words more than heard them, vibrating against my pulse point.
"Riven—"
"I've wanted to tell you for months." His mouth found mine again. "I notice everything about you."
My heart felt too full, pressing against my ribs. I pulled him closer to me, eliminating the last breath of space between us. "Then show me everything."
And he did.
He spun me around with impossible gentleness, as though I were something precious he was afraid to break.
The sheets were cool against my back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body hovering over mine.
He paused, drinking me in, and I watched his eyes darken as they traveled slowly down my body and back up again.
"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough.
I reached for him, pulling him down until his weight pressed me into the mattress. "You. Just you."
His mouth found the curve of my neck and I arched into him, closing my eyes and gasping when his teeth grazed my pulse point. He kissed his way down. His hands followed the path his lips made, learning every dip and curve, every place that made me shiver.
When I opened my eyes, he was watching me with wonder.
"Come here," I breathed, pulling him up to me.
Our bodies aligned, his forehead pressed to mine. "Are you sure?"
In answer, I wrapped my legs around him and drew him in.
"I've wanted this—wanted you—for so long,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.
I pulled his mouth down to mine, swallowing his words with a hungry kiss. We moved together faster now, more urgent, chasing something just out of reach.
We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard. He pressed soft kisses to my cheeks, my eyelids, the corner of my mouth.
"That was..." He trailed off, seemingly unable to find the words.
I understood. There were no words for what had just passed between us.
It was more than just physical. There was something healing in the way he had held me, in the way I had held him back—as though we were two broken things finally finding where our jagged edges fit together.
He had touched me like I truly mattered to him, like I was the only real thing in his world, and I realized with startling clarity that I felt the same.
When he finally rolled onto his back, he immediately pulled me against him, as if even a few inches of distance was too much.
We continued to lie tangled together under the cool sheets. The room felt smaller and more intimate with his arm draped around me.
I kissed his chest, right over his heart. “Please don't let me regret this.”
“I’ll try my best every day.”
“That’s all I'm asking.”
Eventually, my own eyes grew heavy, and I let sleep pull me under. I felt safe in his arms, warmer than I had been in years. The last thing I felt was his arm tightening around me, holding me close as if he were afraid I might disappear.
I wouldn’t. I was exactly where I was meant to be.