GROWING ATTACHMENT

CHAPTER 21

I caught myself smiling at nothing halfway through braiding my hair, remembering the dry look Roman had given me the night before when I'd beaten him at chess for the third time in a row.

"You're cheating somehow."

"You're just bad at this."

I'd laughed.

He'd almost smiled.

I stopped braiding and stared at myself in the mirror.

I hadn't counted the weeks left on the contract in days.

I used to do it every morning, a small ritual of survival. A reminder that every uncomfortable meal, every awkward silence, every reminder that I was temporary had an expiration date.

Now I couldn't remember the last time I'd bothered.

That should have scared me more than it did.

Roman was already at the table when I came downstairs, which had stopped being unusual weeks ago.

"You're smiling," he said, not looking up from his coffee.

"I'm allowed to smile."

"You're smiling like you're planning something."

"Maybe I'm planning to beat you at chess again tonight."

That earned me the almost-smile, the one that lived at the corner of his mouth and rarely made it any farther.

"You cheated."

"I won."

"Same thing, apparently, in your world."

I caught myself staring at him.

Then I looked away too quickly.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You were staring."

"I was not."

"Mira."

I sighed.

"Fine. I was staring. You have coffee on your lip."

He wiped it away, completely unbothered.

"Better?"

"Much."

Something about the ease of the exchange settled warm in my chest before I could stop it.

This wasn't supposed to feel normal.

But somehow, it did.

He found me in the library that afternoon.

No reason given.

No excuse offered.

"Did you need something?" I asked.

"No."

I waited.

He didn't leave.

"Then why are you here?"

His gaze settled on me.

"I wanted to see you."

He said it plainly, as if the words cost him nothing.

I wasn't sure what to do with how much they cost me to hear.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

I raised an eyebrow.

"No security update?"

"No."

"No healer appointment?"

"No."

"Then you've become surprisingly inefficient with your time."

The faintest smile appeared.

"I'll survive."

I closed my book, more to have something to do with my hands than because I'd lost my place.

"Well. You've seen me. Mission accomplished."

He didn't leave.

Instead, he sat down across from me.

And we talked.

Not about the investigation.

Not about the contract.

Not about the pregnancy.

Nothing important.

A council dispute over grazing rights.

A ridiculous joke Tessa had made in the kitchen.

Whether I'd ever seen snow before coming to Silverpine.

He listened when I spoke.

I listened when he did.

Nearly an hour passed before I realized something that made my chest tighten.

I hadn't thought about the contract once.

Not once.

That realization made me stand too quickly.

"I should go check on"

I stopped.

There was nothing to check on.

Roman's brow furrowed.

"Did I say something?"

"No."

"Then why are you leaving?"

"I just remembered something."

He didn't believe me.

I could see it in his face.

But he didn't stop me.

And I left before either of us had to examine why I'd suddenly needed to run.

Tessa found me an hour later refolding linens I'd already folded once.

"You've been smiling more," she said.

"It's a nice day."

She glanced toward the window.

"It's been raining since noon."

I set down the towel.

"What do you want, Tessa?"

"Nothing."

She smiled.

Entirely unconvincing.

"I'm just noticing things."

"Such as?"

"How you know his coffee order now."

I said nothing.

"How you two have private jokes."

Still nothing.

"And how you get this look whenever he walks into a room."

"What look?"

"The one you're making right now while pretending you have no idea what I'm talking about."

I opened my mouth to argue.

Nothing came out.

Tessa's expression softened.

"What happens when the baby is born?"

The question landed like cold water.

"The contract ends."

I said it automatically.

"I get paid. I go home."

"Is that what you want?"

"It's what I signed up for."

"That's not what I asked."

Her voice was gentle now.

"Do you want to leave?"

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Tessa didn't press.

"You used to count the days," she said quietly.

"I know."

"And now?"

I looked down at the folded linen in my hands.

"It's complicated."

"It usually is when someone matters."

I didn't answer.

I didn't have to.

She already knew.

I found the garden that evening because I needed somewhere quiet.

Somewhere that had slowly become mine.

And Roman's.

Without either of us deciding that it should.

The roses had grown wild along the stone path. The evening air carried the faint scent of rain, and for a few minutes I let myself believe I was alone.

Then I heard footsteps.

"You've been avoiding me."

I turned.

"I'm not."

"You left the library like the room was on fire."

"I had things to do."

"You didn't."

I sighed.

"I didn't."

He stopped a few feet away.

Neither of us spoke.

The garden suddenly felt smaller than it had a moment before.

I looked toward the roses.

The same ones Lyra had once tended.

For a moment, the thought of her settled between us.

Not as a threat.

Not as a comparison.

Just as a reminder that this place carried a history neither of us could erase.

Then Roman spoke.

"I don't want you to leave when this is over."

I went very still.

The words were simple.

They shouldn't have shaken me as much as they did.

"Why?"

He didn't give me a poem.

He didn't reach for grand words.

He simply looked at me.

"Because somewhere in the last few weeks, having you here stopped feeling temporary."

My throat tightened.

He continued.

"I like having breakfast with you."

A pause.

"I like knowing you're in this house before I even see you."

Another pause.

"And I like the way the room feels different when you're in it."

My chest ached.

"Roman..."

"I don't know how to explain it better than that."

"You don't have to."

He looked at me.

I could see the uncertainty in his expression.

This wasn't the controlled Alpha everyone else knew.

This was a man admitting something he hadn't planned to admit.

Something that frightened him because it was real.

"I don't want you to leave," he repeated quietly.

I looked at him.

At the man who had once treated our contract like a wall.

At the man who had spent years protecting himself from wanting anything again.

And now he was telling me he didn't want me to walk away.

"I don't know what happens after the contract either," I whispered.

His eyes didn't leave mine.

"I know."

"I don't know if going home would feel the same anymore."

Something shifted in his expression.

Hope.

Maybe.

Fear.

Definitely.

I couldn't tell which one frightened me more.

Neither of us moved.

The silence stretched between us, filled with everything the contract had never been built to hold.

His admission sat openly between us.

Mine remained caught somewhere behind my teeth.

And we stood there in a garden that belonged to a woman who was gone...

while something new was quietly taking root between us.

Something neither of us was ready to name.