from the inevitable.
“I want to talk to you.” He’d said that earlier—that he had something to tell her. And ever since, anxiety had been bubbling up inside her like something in a witch’s cauldron.
“About what?”
“Nothing bad.” He kissed her neck. “It’s a surprise.”
The words made her relax, which just stressed Hannah out even more. She didn’t want to trust him like this. She didn’t want this urge to melt into his touch. She didn’t want this feeling of calm and safety to fall over her like a warm blanket whenever he was around.
She didn’t want to love him.
But it was becoming painfully clear that she did. She loved Nate. She was secretly fucking the man who paid her wages, and she’d managed to fall in love with him on top of it all. Her mother had been right, in the end. Hannah wasn’t strong enough for this.
She wasn’t strong at all. Because when he took her hand, she let him. When he pulled her out into the dark heat of the garden, she let him. When he pressed her against the house’s rough cobblestones and ran a finger over her cheek, she let him.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured, a smile softening his features.
“Thanks,” Hannah managed. It was hard to concentrate on a conversation when her brain was kind of collapsing. She’d decided that, whatever he had to say, it couldn’t possibly be good. Yes, he’d claimed it was a ‘surprise’, but what did that even mean? Hannah hated surprises. What if it was something terrible, but he didn’t want her to make a fuss? What if he was just letting her down gently?
The ticking in the back of her mind was louder than ever, every obnoxious little click reminding her that this was the real world and happy endings did not exist. Or, if they did, they simply weren’t for her.
And yet… she didn’t say anything. Not a damned thing. She should be demanding answers, but she just stared up at him like a love-sick cow. Hannah was considering putting up posters around town. Clearly, she had misplaced her backbone. Perhaps some kindly older person had come across it on a morning walk?
“Are you okay?” he asked. “You seem down.”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just panicking about… party stuff.”
“Don’t worry about all that, love. Everything’s perfect.” He tipped up her chin and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Just like you. Listen, I meant to save this until later, but—”
“Wait,” she said, the word leaping out of her mouth without permission. Now, why had she said that? There must be a reason—a reason other than the unexplainable fear running icily through her veins, the fear that had stalked her like a predator ever since that talk with Mum on Sunday. Right?
Nope. There was no logical reason for her to cut him off. Just the fear.
She looked up and found Nate’s brow furrowed, his eyes cautious. He was worried about her. Like he didn’t have enough to worry about. She was fucking around, letting all her Ominous Despair overflow willy-nilly, and he was paying the price. Which was reason number 763 why Romance Was Not for Hannah.
Not that she’d been counting.
“Kiss me,” she said finally. She didn’t even know why. Maybe because her mind was sinking into a mire of stormy, indescribable feelings and kissing Nate felt like the only way out.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. For heaven’s sake. Why couldn’t he be like other men and slobber all over her without a moment’s consideration?
Before either of them could think too hard about it, Hannah grabbed his face with both hands and dragged him down to her level.
He held her tight. Their lips met. It felt like drinking down devotion.
Flames ripped through her body, trying their best to burn away the thick, rubbery dread that squatted heavy in her chest. And still, it wasn’t enough. It should be—she wanted it to be—but it wasn’t enough. Because no matter how good this felt, how much she needed him, how much she loved him, that edgy, formless, almost-terror refused to fade.
And then a familiar voice cut into the moment, sharp and horrified. “What the fuck is going on here?”
Hannah jerked away from Nate so hard, she hit her head against the wall. It was more of a glancing blow than anything else, but a second later she felt Nate’s hands in her hair, pulling her close, running over scalp. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low. “Look at me.”
“I’m fine.”
“Just look