𝗙𝗹𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗼:

It was almost funny how something so quiet could feel so loud.

Lake Lucille stretched out before them, calm and glassy under the night sky, stars reflected in its stillness like diamonds caught in black silk. The air held the kind of hush that demanded secrets be spoken, if only to make the silence less deafening.

Roman sat back in his chair, letting his eyes stay on Leila longer than he should’ve. Candlelight painted soft shadows across her skin, her curls pulled into a loose bun that revealed the elegant slope of her neck. She was wearing an oversized gray sweater tucked into jeans, as if she'd dressed to blend in with the night. But she never could.

Not to him.

"You’re staring again," she murmured, her voice laced with nervous amusement as she pushed at her untouched plate.

"I’m admiring,” he corrected, leaning forward. “You make it hard not to.”

She gave a small shake of her head, lips curving into a half-smile she didn’t quite mean. “You’re trouble, Roman Vance. You say all the right things at all the wrong times.”

“I’m starting to think I only say them because they’re true.”

Leila sighed, reaching for her wine. He noticed how her hands trembled slightly as she brought the glass to her lips. Roman didn’t miss much, not the way her eyes flicked over her shoulder like she was expecting someone, or how she hadn’t looked him in the eye for more than a few seconds all night.

“Talia’s asking questions,” she said eventually, voice low. “She saw us talking last week. She says I’ve been acting different.”

He stilled. “And what did you say?”

“That you’re just some rich guy who stops by the bakery and flirts with anything in a skirt.” A pause. “She believed it.”

The knot in Roman’s chest tightened.

He got up slowly, circling around the table until he stood beside her. “You hate lying.”

“I do,” she admitted, still not looking up. “But I hate hurting her more.”

Roman crouched down so they were eye-level. “I’m not the villain here, Leila.”

“No. But to her… you might be.”

There it was again, that impossible weight she carried, like she was responsible for everyone’s heart but her own. He reached out, cupping her jaw gently until she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“I’m not here for Talia.”

“I know.”

“I’m here for you.”

She blinked, eyes glassy with unshed emotion. “Don’t say things you can’t promise.”

Roman’s jaw ticked. “You think I’m playing? You think I’d risk everything for a game?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Then stop treating me like I’m a mistake you can’t afford.”

He stood, offering his hand. “Come on.”

She hesitated, eyes searching his, before sliding her fingers into his. He led her down the narrow wooden dock toward the water, away from the soft music and candlelight, away from the pretend world they'd built over dinner.

The wind picked up slightly, lifting strands of her hair as he turned to face her. The lake shimmered behind them, silent witness to what they both refused to name.

“I hate hiding this,” Roman said quietly. “I hate pretending like you’re not the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Leila’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

“I want to walk down the street with you,” he continued. “Hold your hand. Show people you’re mine. Not sneak glances across a bakery counter or pretend I don’t feel something every time you say my name.”

Her voice was barely audible. “We’re not ready.”

“I am.”

“But I’m not,” she admitted. “Talia will hate me. She’ll never forgive me.”

Roman stepped closer. “I don’t care about her forgiveness. I care about you. And if you feel even half of what I feel—”

“I do,” she cut in, voice cracking. “I do feel it, Roman.”

His eyes softened. “Then let it be real.”

Her hands clutched the hem of her sweater like she was anchoring herself. “I don’t know how.”

So he showed her.

Roman leaned in, brushing his lips over hers with aching slowness. The first kiss was gentle, an invitation, not a demand. But when she leaned in, breath catching, fingers slipping into his jacket, he deepened it.

Their mouths molded with heat and history, lips parting as desire cracked open between them. His hands slid around her waist, pulling her into him, bodies fitting like puzzle pieces they’d both been too scared to finish. She moaned softly against his lips, and it lit something reckless inside him.

They kissed like the world was ending and their bodies were the last place left to worship in.

Roman pressed her gently against the railing, his mouth trailing down her jaw, his hands finding her waist, her hips, the bare skin beneath her sweater. She gasped, half surprise, half surrender and clung to him like she didn’t know how to let go.

But just when he thought she might let him all the way in, she pulled back.

Breathing hard. Eyes wide. Fear and want at war on her face.

“I can’t… not yet,” she said. “I need to keep this mine. Just for a little while longer.”

Roman pressed a kiss to her forehead, trying to calm the hunger in his chest.

“Okay,” he whispered. “But I’m not going anywhere.”