Chapter 6 – Ariane – Midnight Water
Sleep refuses to come. I toss and turn. I flip my pillow to the cool side, but my body is restless. By the time the clock ticks past midnight, I know I’m done pretending. I’m not going to sleep, not in this house, not with tomorrow pressing down on me.
So, I slip out of bed.
I didn’t pack any of my usual swimsuits for this trip. Instead, I brought along skimpy little bikinis that Julian loves, a matching bra and thong set, meant to titillate my fiancé who is… not here. It isn’t ideal to be dragged through cold water under the stars. Still, it’s all I have.
Avoiding my reflection in the mirror above my vanity, I tug the set on, smoothing the straps over my shoulders.
The top props my breasts up high with all the support the underwire affords me, but it doesn’t cover much.
The thong-style bottoms are even worse, though—held up by nothing but thin little straps tied at either side of my hips. They leave nothing to the imagination.
A single look down on my body has me hesitating for half a second. But I grab a towel and shrug it off. No one else has a hankering for a swim at night. I swam in a t-shirt the other night, safe in the cover of darkness. Tonight, I can risk it. Maybe it’ll feel liberating.
The night air is cool against my bare skin as I slip out the back doors.
The lake glows faintly in the dark, lantern lights flickering along the edge, water shimmering like liquid glass.
I drop my towel on the dock as I make my way towards the water, take a breath, and before I can think about how cold the water is going to be, I dive.
The shock of the water jolts the sluggish melancholia right out of my body. Rejuvenated, I propel myself forward with zeal, arms slicing through the surface, hair fanning out behind me in dark ribbons.
When I come up for air, the world feels striking and much more bearable.
I swim slow laps, the water catching the moonlight in shifting silver patterns. My body remembers what it feels like to move without thinking, without performance or pretending. Stroke, kick, breathe. Stroke, kick, breathe.
My thoughts wander with every lap.
I can’t wait to get enough time to find a new job.
I’m running low on money, which has forced me to stay here for much longer than I wanted to.
I love my mom, but she is exhausting. Every word out of her mouth comes with a script attached, every gesture cultivated for an audience.
I know she means well, she always has, but living under her expectations feels like living in a dress two sizes too tight.
You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can only smile until your cheeks ache.
I flip onto my back and float, arms spread, staring at the stars. Water curls around me like a second skin, cool and heavy. I close my eyes and whisper to myself, Just a few more weeks hopefully. Then, off to a new start. A new life.
I hear footsteps. Heavy and slow.
My eyes snap open. My body freezes in the water, only my heartbeat moving. I turn toward the sound, hair plastered wet against my cheek.
Finn. God! What is he doing here?
He steps onto the dock like he belongs there, barefoot, bare-chested, wearing only black swim shorts that hang low on his hips.
The moonlight hits his skin, painting muscle in shadow and silver.
His shoulders are broad, chest cut with hard lines, stomach tight and ridged, the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts.
Holy shit.
I forget how to breathe for a second.
He doesn’t look surprised to see me. His eyes land on me and linger, searing through my skin. They sweep down to the waterline where the straps of my bikini top peek through, where the low-cut black fabric clings to skin that the water does not hide, then back to my face.
“What?” he says, voice low, dry, rough, “Can’t sleep either?”
I force my arms to move, pushing water away from me, pretending to be casual. “Guess not. Thought a swim might help.”
“Hell of a choice,” he mutters, gaze flicking toward the towel on the dock, then back at me. His eyes stir, and the corner of his mouth tilts like he already knows. “That doesn’t look like it’ll keep you warm.”
Heat flashes up my neck, but I lift my chin anyway. “I’m fine.”
His mouth pulls into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Figures.”
I tilt my head, keeping myself afloat in slow circles. “Why weren’t you at dinner?”
“Because I had better things to do,” he says flatly, like it’s obvious.
“Like what? Staring at your laptop until it dies of boredom?”
“Exactly that.” His smirk is dazzling this time, humor twisted at the edges. “At least my laptop doesn’t ask me to make polite conversation with people I don’t give a damn about.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re impossible,” I tell him, aware it’s not for the first time.
“And you’re nosy,” he fires back, his voice threaded with amusement that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Maybe I was just curious,” I counter, biting back a smile. “Not everything’s a battle with you, you know.”
“You’d be surprised,” he mutters, almost to himself, before his gaze dips again to the waterline. “So, regretting your choice of swimming attire yet?”
The words slice through the night like a match struck. I don’t give him the satisfaction of answering.
His smirk deepens, slow and deliberate. “Is that a yes?”
I glare at him, keeping my shoulders just above the surface. “It’s none of your business.”
He huffs out a laugh that sounds more like a growl. “The water’s cold. You should get out.”
“I’m fine,” I repeat, shaking my head.
“You’re not. You’re turning blue.” His eyes rake over me again, fiery and unflinching. “Don’t be stubborn.”
“I’m not…”
A shiver runs through me, betraying me. My lips part to argue again, but the truth hangs there between us. I am cold. Too cold, now that I’m not swimming laps to keep my body moving and warm anymore.
Grudgingly, I swim to the edge, press my palms to the wood and hoist myself out of the water. I won’t feel self-conscious. What the hell do I have to feel weird about? He’s the one who’s being weird.
The air slaps against me, colder than the water, goosebumps racing across my arms and thighs.
My bikini clings like a second skin, black turning nearly translucent where it stretches wet across my breasts and hips.
My hair drips down my back, droplets sliding over my collarbone, tracing the hollow of my stomach.
I don’t look at him until I have to.
Finn hasn’t moved. He stands at the edge of the lake, the lantern light cutting across his bare chest, his arms loose at his sides now, hands flexing as though he’s restraining himself. His eyes are on me. He lacks the decency of looking away—or even pretending to look away.
I step closer, and the cold bites harder until I’m nearly trembling.
He notices. Of course he notices. He steps forward, closing the distance, the heat rolling off his body before he even touches me.
And then, he does.
His hand rises, rough and warm, fingers brushing over my chilled arm. The contrast is jarring, his skin hot against mine, his touch steady while I’m shivering. He drags his palm up, over my damp shoulder, lingering there. The warmth sinks into me, spreading like fire under the ice.
“You’re freezing,” he murmurs, voice coming out gruff.
I breathe out, shaky. “You’re warm,” I return.
His eyes catch mine, and for a long beat neither of us looks away. It’s not playful teasing. My pulse hammers, loud in my ears, louder than the water lapping at the pool’s edge.
His hand slides higher, up from my shoulder to my neck.
His palm is hot against my chilled skin, fingers wrapping lightly around the column of my throat.
Not tight but somehow possessive, enough to make every nerve ending in my body spark awake.
The claim of his hand there makes it hard to swallow, harder to breathe.
The other hand finds my waist, rough fingertips brushing the thin strap clinging to my hip before skimming up my spine.
His palm presses to my damp back, dragging slowly up and then down again, tracing the line of my body like he’s trying to will warmth into me.
Each pass leaves fire where the water left ice, a slow burn spreading under my skin.
My body leans into the heat before my brain can stop it. His chest is close enough now that I feel the rise and fall of his breathing, steady and deep.
Every touch is slow and thoughtful, like he’s memorizing me. Neck. Waist. Back.
His hand trails lower, down the line of my spine, until it rests at the small of my back. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin lace holding me there. He doesn’t stop there. His fingers slide further, lower, brushing past the edge of the fabric that barely counts as coverage.
My breath hitches, raspy and unsteady, as his hand closes over me. His grip is firm and rough, claiming the curve of my ass where the thong leaves me bare. The contrast is startling, his hand hot, sure, and unrelenting against skin that shouldn’t be his to touch.
A low gasp escapes before I can swallow it down. Too soft to be a protest, too raw to be anything but the truth.
Move. You should move. The thought slams into me with Julian’s name attached, his ring still snug on my finger, the promise I made echoing like a warning bell. I should shove him back, tell him to stop, remind myself who I’m supposed to belong to.
But I don’t.
I don’t move.
I can’t.
His fingers flex against me, one hand lightly squeezing my ass while the other cradles my neck, his thumb brushing over my lips in a slow, teasing stroke, warmth radiating through me like fire. My heart pounds, my body betrays me, and for one suspended moment, I let it.
Then…
A buzz. Low and insistent. The jarring vibration of a phone against skin.
The sound shatters the connection between us. He stiffens like he’s been brought back to earth. I blink, reality slamming back into place, my lungs finally pulling in a full breath.
He lets go. Both of his hands dropping away from me simultaneously, as if the contact burned him.
The phone keeps buzzing, piercing and persistent, until Finn curses under his breath and digs it out of his pocket. He doesn’t look at me when he checks the screen, doesn’t explain or say a word.
And that just makes me feel worse because it leaves me standing there, dripping, bare, every inch of me still burning where his hands were.
My body moves before my brain does. I snatch my towel off the ground, fumbling as I yank it around me, covering as much of myself as I can. My hands shake as I tie tightly around myself, my breaths short and uneven.
I can’t look at him. I walk away from him fast, then faster, my wet feet slapping against the tile as I put distance between us.
By the time I reach the doors, I’m almost running, my pulse wild in my ears.
What the hell were we doing?
I grip my towel tighter, heart pounding as I hurry through the quiet halls. My head is a storm, my body traitorous. What is wrong with me? I have a fiancé. I love Julian. I know I do.
Yet my skin still hums with Finn’s touch, my throat still tight where his hand lingered, my body still betraying me with every shiver that wasn’t from the cold.
By the time I slam my bedroom door shut, my heart hasn’t slowed.
My towel sticks to my body, soaked through, filled with the cold and regret.
I yank it off and let it drop in a damp heap on the floor.
My skin is still prickling, goosebumps stubborn across my arms, not from the cold anymore but from him.
What the hell is happening to me?
I tug at the bikini top, fingers fumbling with the clasp.
It peels off my skin with a wet squelch, cups so transparent now they may as well be invisible.
I toss it into the sink, half tempted to light it on fire.
The thong is even worse. Thin strips of fabric clinging to me, stretched and useless.
I peel it down, cursing under my breath as it sticks to my thighs, and fling it into the laundry basket like it personally betrayed me.
The shower hisses to life, steam fogging the mirror instantly. I step in, let the hot water crash over me, and brace my palms against the tile. My forehead presses forward, and I close my eyes, letting the heat wash down my spine, the ache between my legs. I’m trying to burn away the memory.
But it won’t go.
Everywhere he touched still is still electrified. My neck, my shoulder, the small of my back, lower… God. The sound of my gasp when his hand closed over me echoes in my ears.
“What the hell, Ariane,” I mutter, water pounding over me. “You’re engaged. To a good man. Who sends you flowers and remembers your students’ names. Not… whatever that was.”
I scrub shampoo into my hair harder than necessary, like I can scrub him out of my head. Spoiler: it doesn’t work. By the time I’m rinsing off, my mind is still looping back, replaying the way his hand felt on my skin, warm and rough, the heat of his body when he stepped close.
By the time I step out, a fresh towel wrapped around me, my reflection in the mirror looks like a guilty stranger. Flushed cheeks, damp hair, wide eyes. I point at myself. “You’re pathetic. And possibly insane.”
Back in bed, my phone is glowing on the nightstand. I didn’t take it with me to the lake, and it feels like it knows. One missed call. A text waiting.
Julian: Goodnight, love. Call me if you’re awake. I wanted to hear your voice.
The guilt builds pressure in my chest. I clutch the phone tighter, thumbs flying.
Me: Sorry, baby - missed your call. Was tired. Goodnight. I love you.
I hit send, toss the phone down, and bury myself under the covers.
My body feels heavy now, the kind of exhaustion that seeps in after adrenaline fades.
The shower’s heat has left me limp, my limbs boneless against the mattress, eyelids tugging down no matter how hard I fight them.
I tell myself I’ll think straight in the morning, that everything will make sense after sleep.
But the last thing I see before it drags me under isn’t Julian’s name. It’s Finn’s face in the dim light.