Chapter 32

Vedant

The living room is quiet, even as we both sit there, occupying the same space. The silence seems to hum between us, awkward from the tension we always seem to be enveloped in.

Ever since the incident with the breakfast, we have been circling the drain of conversation. Neither of us seems eager to break this peaceful stalemate between us with words.

Chiara and I are sitting so far apart we are on opposite sides of the living room, but we both have our homework sprawled across the same coffee table. The lights are dim except for the bright glow of our open laptops.

I try not to look up at her, and I know she is avoiding me just the same. And yet… It’s strange how natural it feels to be in the same room as her, like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

We’re both working on the same assignment for class, but we are in our own worlds. I wonder what she is thinking as she looks down at her laptop. I wish I could pick her brain about it.

I try not to think about the way the light hits her face as she leans over her notes, seeming to illuminate all of the smooth planes and sharp angles. I also try not to notice that she’s barefoot. There’s something so domestic and comfortable about it that it keeps drawing my attention.

It’s like she’s made herself at home.

Suddenly, she speaks, shattering the silence like an eggshell.

“Do you have a pencil sharpener?” she asks, holding up her dulled pencil sheepishly.

It’s such a simple request, but I’m thrilled that she has broken the tension of the room.

“Yeah,” I say, reaching across the coffee table to get it. But she’s already leaned forward as well, and our hands collide clumsily.

Her skin brushes mine and awareness shoots through me, jolting me from my toes to my scalp.

For a split second, neither of us moves. The air becomes heavy, charged with something unspoken. Her eyes flick to mine, seeming startled, and I’m sure mine look the same. I wonder if she feels this electric thing shooting between us, too, but maybe I’m just on my own here.

“Sorry,” we both blurt out at the same time.

I yank my hand back so fast I nearly knock the notebook from my lap. My face heats, and I look down at it to avoid her gaze. I clear my throat and pray to whatever higher power there is that my reaction wasn’t too embarrassing.

“I, um, sorry about that. You can take it,” I say, sliding the pencil sharpener toward her.

Who knew something as simple as exchanging a sharpener could be so nerve-racking?

“Thanks,” she mumbles.

I hope she can’t hear the way my heart is trying to escape my rib cage. It’s certainly drowning out every other noise for me.

For the next hour, we both pretend to focus, returning to our earlier silence. But I surprise myself when I absently run my finger over the skin she had brushed in the exchange, almost thoughtlessly.

I told myself it’s just homework. Just two classmates finishing an assignment. We could be civil and in the same room while we did it, right?

But that lie is getting harder to swallow by the minute. I was so grateful when she stood up, announcing she needed a shower, it was almost shameful. The minutes that had passed since our hands had touched had put me on edge, and as I watched her limp away, I couldn’t help but sigh out the breath I had been holding.

Nelson, my wolf, stirs as we watch her leave. From deep in me, his voice is a possessive rumble. Ours.

She’s not ours, I snap back.

Not yet.

I clench my pencil so tight the wood creaks and force myself to get back to work. When the assignment is finally finished, I nearly jump up from the couch, eager to retreat to my room.

I stuff my papers in my backpack and hurry to the hall. It’s almost within reach, but there’s just one problem.

I have to pass the bathroom first.

Our timing is perfect, or devastating, depending on how you look at it.

I’m walking down the hall toward my room when the bathroom door opens. Steam spills out like mist, and Chiara steps out, barefoot and wrapped in a towel..

I stop dead.

It takes every ounce of strength I can muster not to look below her flushed face. To see her bare shoulders speckled with water droplets. To focus on my towel wrapped around her.

She freezes too, eyes wide, one hand clutching the edge of the towel tighter.

“Vedant,” she says, voice low, uncertain. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t know you’d be up here.”

For a second, all I can do is stare. I’ve been struck speechless. I can’t remember words, can’t even remember my own name.

My wolf is pacing just under my skin, restless, hungry. Mate, Nelson snarls, the word reverberating through me like a thunder clap.

My throat is dry as I finally manage to force out a response. “No, I’m sorry, I—”

I take a step back, forcing myself to breathe. She smells like floral shampoo and sweet soap. My control is hanging by a thread.

“I wasn’t looking,” I muster up, which sounds like a lie even to me. “I… um, goodnight.”

And before I can do something incredibly stupid, I turn and walk away, hurrying as quickly as my feet will take me.

Chiara

The door clicks shut behind him, and I stand there, heart pounding. I can’t help the amused smile that stretches my lips, just as I can’t stop the gooseflesh from rising up the length of my arms. I tell myself that it’s just from the cold air.

I don’t know what shocks me more: the fact that he saw me like this, or the way he reacted. Vedant, the unflappable perfectionist, strong to the point of it being a fault, couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. He had barely been able to even look at me.

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so flustered. And it’s not like I was naked and exposed to him. I hugged the towel even tighter to me when I saw him, in fact.

For a moment, I’m thinking of Felix. And Iris.

Telling him the truth about who I am and destroying the idea of who he believes me to be would leave me more exposed than if I had been standing before him totally nude.

And yet a loud part of me wants to tell him.

I feel a strange pull I can’t quite explain, beckoning me to knock on his door and reveal it all to him.

Because the truth is, I still don’t trust him. Not yet. Not with this kind of truth. It would change everything.

It’s too early to tell him still, and I’m getting ahead of myself. Telling him now would only serve to break the tender bond we’re working on reforming. So instead, I smile to myself and limp back to my room.

When the time is right—if it ever was—I would tell him. But for now, some truths are better left unspoken.