Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Mick

Lina's Apartment

Her apartment was exactly the kind of place I would have guessed she lived in.

Clean. Quiet. Thoughtfully arranged, like every small thing in it had been placed with care. And it smelled like her, something soft and faintly sweet that I couldn't name but recognized immediately, the way you recognize a song you haven't heard in years.

I stood in the middle of her living room, still holding her in my arms. She had gone quiet against my chest, her arms looped loosely around my neck, her head heavy on my shoulder. Her breathing had slowed into something deep and even. Almost asleep, but not quite.

I should have set her down and left.

Instead, my eyes moved slowly around the room.

The living room was simple,no clutter, no excess,but it had warmth to it. The kind of warmth that comes from a space that actually belongs to someone, not just somewhere they sleep. A small lamp cast soft light across the walls. A few plants sat near the window. And on one wall, hanging in neat, evenly spaced frames, were a series of drawings.

I stepped closer to look.

Jewelry designs.

Rings with delicate stone settings. Long layered necklaces. Bracelets with small detailed charms. Each one carefully sketched in clean lines, arranged and framed like they deserved to be taken seriously. Because they did.

Something warm moved through my chest.

Lina had always talked about this when we were younger. She would sit at the kitchen table at Millicent's house for hours, bent over a notebook, drawing little designs that nobody had asked for and everybody ignored. She was maybe fourteen, fifteen. And she talked about it the way kids talk about things they love.

She hadn't given it up.

She had framed it and put it on her wall.

I stood there longer than I meant to, looking at those drawings. Feeling something I didn't have a clean word for.

"Mick…"

Her voice was small. Barely there. The kind of voice that comes from somewhere between awake and dreaming.

I blinked and looked down at her.

She was still resting against my chest, her lashes fluttering like she was fighting to keep her eyes open and losing. Her lips were slightly parted. Her whole body had gone soft and heavy in my arms the way people only do when they feel completely safe.

That thought sat in my chest in a way I tried not to examine too carefully.

"Mm," I answered quietly.

I turned and walked toward the bedroom, nudging the door open with my shoulder. The room was neat and calm, exactly like the rest of the apartment. Light colored sheets. A small lamp on the nightstand casting everything in a pale, gentle glow. It felt peaceful in a way that the rest of the night hadn't.

I bent down carefully and laid her on the bed, slowly untangling her arms from around my neck. She stirred slightly but didn't wake. Her head settled into the pillow and her breathing evened out again almost immediately.

I straightened up.

And then I just stood there.

I don't know how long I stood there, looking at her.

Her face in sleep was completely unguarded. All the small tensions that people carry in their expressions during the day,the careful looks, the held-back thoughts, all of it was gone. She looked soft. Younger somehow. Like the girl I remembered from years ago sitting at that piano, getting frustrated with herself every time she missed a note.

My chest did something painful and quiet.

My eyes moved to her lips without my permission.

Full. Softly curved. The kind of lips that made it hard to think about anything else once you noticed them.

I needed to leave.

I was very aware of that. My mind was telling me clearly — go, walk out, close the door behind you. I had no business standing in this room, looking at her like this, feeling what I was feeling.

But my body had completely stopped listening.

"Why are you so irresistible," I said under my breath. Not really a question. More like something that had been sitting in my throat all night and finally slipped out when I wasn't guarding myself carefully enough.

I leaned closer without deciding to.

Close enough to hear the quiet rhythm of her breathing. Close enough to feel the faint warmth of it against my face. My eyes stayed on her lips for one long, dangerous second.

Then I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead instead.

Soft. Careful. The kind of thing that was easy to explain to myself,just making sure she was okay, just an old habit, nothing more than that.

I started to straighten up, ready to finally do the sensible thing and leave…

Her hand caught mine.

Her fingers wrapped around my hand with a grip that was surprisingly firm for someone half asleep.

"Don't leave me."

Her voice was barely a whisper. Sleepy and small and completely unaware of what it was doing to me.

I went still.

"Don't leave me again."

The words landed somewhere deep in my chest and stayed there.

"Don't go to Australia."

My heart stopped for a full second.

She was still mostly asleep. She didn't know what she was saying, not really. But that didn't change the fact that she meant it. Somewhere underneath the alcohol and the exhaustion, underneath everything she would never say out loud while she was sober,she meant every word.

I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed.

I held her hand between both of mine and lifted it, pressing my lips gently against her knuckles. Her skin was warm. Soft.

"I'm not leaving you," I said quietly. "I'm right here."

With my free hand I reached up and gently stroked her hair, the same way I used to when we were kids and she or Millicent would get upset about something. A small, automatic gesture that meant you're safe, calm down, I've got you.

She settled slightly. Her grip on my hand loosened but didn't let go.

I stayed there, watching her breathe, and that was when my father's voice came back.

It always came back.

You're turning thirty this year.

It's time for you to get married.

I hadn't wanted to think about that conversation tonight. That was the whole reason I had gone to the bar in the first place…to put some space between myself and those words, to let the noise drown them out for a few hours. But sitting here in the quiet of Lina's room, holding her hand while she slept, they came back louder than before.

A dull, heavy ache spread through my chest.

I let out a slow breath.

Then Lina moved.

She pushed herself up slowly, blinking, her hair falling across her face. For a second she just sat there, finding her balance. Then her eyes focused and she looked straight at me.

My heart kicked hard against my ribs.

Her eyes were still soft from the alcohol, still slightly unfocused at the edges. But they were locked on me with an intensity that made thinking feel difficult. She looked at me the way you look at something you've wanted for a long time and finally stopped pretending you don't.

Slowly, she lifted her arms and wrapped them around my neck.

I froze completely.

Every muscle in my body tensed at once. My eyes dropped to her lips for the second time tonight and this time I couldn't pull them away.

“Do you ne—"

I never finished the sentence.

Because her lips touched mine.

For one suspended second my brain went completely blank.

Then something in me gave up trying to be sensible.

I kissed her back.

Not gently. Not carefully. The way you kiss someone when you have been holding something back for too long and your body has simply run out of patience for restraint. My hand came up to the side of her face and she leaned into it, and the part of my brain that had been telling me all night to be careful, to be good, to remember all the reasons this was complicated,that part went very, very quiet.

When we finally pulled apart, her breathing came out in soft uneven waves. Mine wasn't steady either. My chest was rising and falling too fast, and the hand I had against her face was not entirely still.

I wanted more.

Every part of me wanted more.

But I made myself stop.

"Lina." Her name came out lower than I intended.

She opened her eyes slowly. Then her hand came up and touched my face. Her fingers moved across my cheek with a gentleness that was almost unbearable, slow and wondering, like she was checking that I was actually real. Like she had imagined this enough times that she wasn't sure yet whether to trust it.

That single touch hit harder than the kiss had.

Then her hand moved.

Down from my cheek. Across my jaw. To my chest. And then, slowly, deliberately, her fingers slipped beneath the hem of my shirt.

My eyes closed on their own.

A sound escaped my throat before I could catch it, quiet, involuntary, embarrassing in the way that only truly honest reactions are. My head tilted back slightly. My breathing deepened. My whole body pulled tight like something wound too far.

When I opened my eyes, she was watching me.

The sleepiness in her expression had shifted into something else entirely. Something warm and knowing and just slightly playful, like she was fully aware of what she was doing to me and had decided she didn't mind at all.

Her hand moved lower.

I caught her wrist.

"We shouldn't be doing this," I said. My voice came out uneven and I hated it.

She looked down at my hand around her wrist. Then she lifted her eyes back to mine.

"Then tell me to stop," she said softly.

Low. Quiet. Certain.

I stared at her.

This side of Lina,unhurried, unafraid, looking at me like she had already made her decision and was simply waiting for me to catch up,

I had never seen it before. Or maybe I had never been close enough to notice it.

My heart was hammering.

Her eyes stayed on mine.

Steady. Patient. Waiting.

And the part of me that had been trying to do the right thing all night looked at her face, and the careful argument it had been making collapsed completely.

I wasn't sure I wanted to stop anymore.

I wasn't sure I had ever wanted anything less.