Sunlight Shaped Like A Girl

“Are you trying to get us killed?” She bit out, her voice ragged, the sudden alarm making her sharp.

No, Willa. You are. Every time you breathe.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a while since I last drove,” I mutter. Truth? I have a driver. Always have. I drive maybe twice a year, and never in anything less than an armored truck.

“Where are we going anyway? If you think this resort has a Nordstrom, you clearly don't understand the geography of an isolated French Polynesian island.”

“To the repair shop that can fix you.”

She bursts into a laugh—full, real, belly-deep, a rich, uninhibited sound that bounced off the car windows. It hits me like a drug, instantly easing the tension in my shoulders. She’s every vacation people dream of. Fresh air in a world choking me to death.

“Did you just try to crack a joke?” she teases, eyebrows dancing up her forehead.

“No.” I kept my voice flat, refusing to give her the satisfaction of confirming the attempt. But my name in my head sounds like a warning, a self-issued memo of inevitable ruin. Icen Evren Knight, you’re in trouble.

Her smile fades a little. Her lips pout. “A meet-cute.”

“What?” I turned my head sharply to look at her, the sudden shift in topic throwing me off balance.

“We need a meet-cute, Ice.” The way she truncated my name—God, hearing her say my name? Unfair. It sounded like a claim.

My pants tighten, the sudden flood of lust so strong I had to physically adjust in my seat, trying not to groan.

“Your family and friends will ask how we met,” she says simply, recognizing the practical necessity of the lie.

Fair point. My entire family was a pack of circling sharks waiting for a drop of blood, and my brother was the great white.

“What did you have in mind, minx?” I asked, deliberately using the annoying name, trying to re-establish the distance.

She narrows her eyes. “Stop calling me that. It’s not cute. You need to act less cold and more… loving. You’re supposed to adore me.” She bats her lashes dramatically, hand on her chest.

That view alone is enough to melt icebergs. The theatrical flutter of her lashes. I’m not insulting her. I’m marking her, setting boundaries that will keep me from crossing a far more dangerous line.

“Let’s stay true to how we met. Lying isn’t my strong suit. We met on the flight. You were trying to escape me and failing.”

She nods, accepting the truth even if she doesn’t fully get the depth of the failure.

“Okay, then. Let’s say you saw me first, and it was love at first sight.” Her long hair dances with the wind whipping in through the open window, the strands catching the golden afternoon light, and I swear she’s sunlight shaped like a girl.

Love at first sniff, more like. Her scent hits deeper than her face ever could. Her presence was a sensory overload that bypassed my logic center entirely.

“It doesn’t matter. Tell them whatever you want. I’ll back it up.”

What matters to me is her—keeping her close for as long as she lets me, ensuring she stays within the parameters of the lie.

“Tell me about your brother and your ex,” she says suddenly, the shift in her tone jarringly serious. Her eyes were kind, attentive, instantly focusing on my pain.

The shift in mood is instant. The amusement vanished, replaced by a cold, hard knot of resentment and betrayal. Anger prickles under my skin, but I breathe through it, gripping the steering wheel until the leather creaked.

“Edward is my stepbrother—a child from wedlock, conceived while my father was still married to my mother.” The simple definition felt like a betrayal in itself, but the facts were necessary. And then Willa’s hand lands on my thigh.

I freeze. The contact was completely unexpected. Her palm was small and warm, settling right above my knee. It wasn't a sexual touch, but a purely grounding one, a physical anchor thrown to pull me back from the emotional precipice. Her touch is warm, grounding. Dangerous.

She’s watching me, brows knit with worry. She’s actually… concerned, the expression of pure, unadulterated sympathy on her face was almost shocking.

“And Andy was a childhood sweetheart,” I continue, my voice tight, the words suddenly tasting like ash. “Someone I loved for a long time. I was willing to give her everything."

“Loved,” she echoes, testing the past tense. “So you still love her?”

Wrong word choices. Wrong everything. I accelerated slightly, needing the rush of speed to clear my head. "The person I loved doesn't exist anymore. She was a fantasy, a carefully constructed image of loyalty and affection. I loved the idea of her."

“No. I moved on. Especially after I found out she wanted to marry me for my money. They were planning to bleed me dry and run off together.” The words were bitter, laced with years of suppressed humiliation.

Her smile is soft, sad, a profound moment of understanding passing between us. “Must be hard to be rich when you can’t tell the fakes from the real ones.”

I don’t answer. She doesn’t need the whole story, the whole ugly truth of how lonely the top of the financial ladder truly is.

“Sometimes,” I finally say, the admission heavy. “Edward sees me as a rival. Not a brother. He’s always resented the name, the legitimacy. Andy was his trophy, a way to stick a knife in me and take something that was 'mine.'”

She smacks my shoulder hard enough to knock a cough out of me, the impact surprisingly forceful.

“You don’t need someone who treats you like trash, Icen. Brother or not. You cut out the rot, you don’t stand there and wait for the tree to fall on you.”

Her tone shifts—serious, steady, warm. Her eyes lock onto mine, anchoring me in the present moment. Saving me. She squeezed my thigh, a silent reassurance.

“I got you,” she whispers.

And something inside me cracks open. The protective shell I’d maintained fractured, letting in the light and the pain in equal measure.

For the first time in a long time… I feel like I exist, not as the wealthy, stoic, untouchable Ice Knight, but simply as Icen, a man who just admitted to profound heartbreak.

Where was she all my life?

Why is her world so different from mine, so honest, so warm, so completely without artifice?

I look at her—really look—and something inside me shifts, like the ground tilting beneath my feet. I saw the kindness in her face, the fierce, unreserved loyalty in her eyes. It was a loyalty I hadn't even earned yet, and she was offering it freely.

I want to be transported into a life where she exists in every corner, every moment… where turning around means seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, feeling her warmth beside me.

A woman I barely know is filling gaps I’ve carried for years, slipping into the empty spaces like she was built for them.

I’m caging her, pulling her into my impossible, messy world, and there is no letting go. Not now. Not ever.