Chapter Four:

I cannot sleep. Again. It is becoming a pattern, and I do not know how to break it. Midnight comes, and I am wide awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Derek and the gallery and the way Alexander held his hand at my back like he was holding me in place. Like he wanted me there. Not because the contract required it. Because he chose it.

I get out of bed. Pull on the grey cashmere robe. Go downstairs to the kitchen because maybe tea will help. Maybe anything will help. The kitchen is dark except for the under-cabinet lighting. I find the kettle. Fill it with water. Set it on the stove, turn on the burner, and try to quiet my mind.

I do not hear him come in. I just feel the shift in the air, and then Alexander is standing in the doorway in dark pants and a white T-shirt and bare feet. His hair is messed. He looks human. Real.

"I am sorry," I say. "I did not mean to wake you."

"You did not. I do not sleep much."

He crosses the kitchen. Stands beside me at the counter. Close enough that I can feel the heat coming off his body. The kettle starts to whistle. I pour water over a tea bag and watch the steam rise. He does not say anything. Just stands there, waiting. "I cannot stop thinking about tonight," I say. "What about it?"

"Derek. The way he looked at me." "He looked at you like he expected you to break." "Yes." "And you did not." I wrap my hands around the mug. The heat seeps into my palms. "Only because you were there." "No. Because you chose not to." I look up at him. His eyes are pale in the dim light. Steady. "I do not know if I can keep doing this." "Doing what?"

"Living here. Being what you need me to be. Performing for people who are trying to figure out who I am and why I am with you. I do not know what you want from me." He turns to face me fully. "I want you to stop performing." "You keep saying that." "Because you keep not hearing it." "I hear it. I just do not know what it means."

He reaches out. Tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger at my temple. Warm. Deliberate. "It means you can stop trying to be perfect. Stop trying to disappear. Stop folding yourself smaller so you fit into spaces that were never going to have room for you anyway. You are here now. With me. You do not have to perform anymore."

The words hit me harder than they should. I open my mouth to argue. To tell him I am not performing. But the denial dies in my throat because he is right. I have been performing since I walked through the door. Polite. Careful. Saying the right things and making myself as small as possible so he does not regret bringing me here.

"I do not know how to stop," I say quietly.

"Then practice here. With me. Where it is safe to get it wrong."

His hand is still at my face. His thumb brushes my cheekbone. The touch is so gentle it makes my throat tight. I look up at him, and the space between us is very small. I can see the pale blue of his eyes. The faint scar above his left eyebrow. The way he is looking at me like I am something he wants and is trying very hard not to reach for without permission.

I should step back. I should thank him and take my tea and go back to my room. I do not step back. "What if I get it wrong?" I ask.

"Then you get it wrong. And we try again." I set down the mug. Turn to face him fully. His hand drops from my face, but he does not move away. We are standing close enough that I can feel his breath. Close enough that if I leaned forward six inches, our mouths would touch. I lean forward. I kiss him.

It is not tentative. It is not asking permission. It is the first time I have initiated anything since I got here, and we both know it. He goes very still for half a second, and then his hand slides to the back of my neck, and he kisses me back, and the world narrows to this. His mouth. His hand. The solid heat of him.

He pulls back just far enough to look at me. His voice is lower. Rougher. "Tell me this is what you want." "Yes." "Not the contract. You." "Yes. This is what I want." "Say it again." "I want this."

He kisses me again. Slower this time. Deeper. His other hand finds my waist and pulls me closer, and I can feel the restraint in him. The way he is holding himself back. Making me come to him instead of taking what he wants. I step into him. Slide my hands up his chest and around his neck. Press myself against him. He makes a sound low in his throat. Almost a groan.

Then he lifts me onto the counter in one smooth movement. Steps between my knees. The robe falls open. His hands are on my thighs. Warm. Sure. He kisses me until I am breathless. Until I am dizzy. Until I forget where I am and why any of this started.

When he pulls back, I make a sound of protest. He smiles. Just barely. Just the corner of his mouth. "Not here," he says. "Not like this." "Why not?"

"Because when I take you to bed I want you to remember every second of it. And right now you are exhausted and overthinking, and you will wake up tomorrow and convince yourself this was a mistake."

I want to argue. I want to tell him I will not overthink it. I want this now. But he is right. I am exhausted. And some part of me is already whispering that this is a bad idea and I should stop before it goes too far.

He lifts me down from the counter. Pulls the robe closed. Ties the belt with careful fingers. Hands me my tea. "Go to bed, Sophia." "What about you?" "I will be fine."

I do not believe him. He looks like a man barely holding himself together. But I take my tea, and I turn to leave. Then I stop. Look back.

"Alexander?" "Yes?" "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For waiting." Something moves through his face. "Always."

I go back to my room. Lie in the dark. Replay the kiss until I fall asleep. When I wake in the morning, I am not sure if it was real or if I dreamed it. Then I see the mug of tea on my nightstand. Cold. Untouched. Real. I get dressed and go downstairs. Alexander is in the kitchen with coffee and the newspaper. He looks up when I come in.

"Good morning," he says.

"Good morning."

He does not mention last night. Does not ask if I regret it. Just pours me a cup of coffee and sets it in front of me and goes back to reading. I sit at the counter and drink the coffee and try to figure out what happens now. After a while, he sets down the paper. "I have a meeting this afternoon. I will be back by six." "Okay."

"There is food in the refrigerator. Help yourself." "Okay." He stands. Picks up his jacket. Pauses at the door. "Sophia?" I look up." "Yes?"

"Last night was not a mistake."

Then he leaves. I sit in the kitchen alone and stare at the coffee cup and think about the way he said "always." Like he meant it. Like he would wait as long as I needed him to wait. Like I was worth waiting for.

And for the first time since I signed the contract, I think maybe I am.