Page 46 of Knot By Design
His mouth tilts. “You look…” His voice dips lower. “Sexy.”
My stomach does a slow, traitorous flip. I force a laugh that sounds steadier than I feel. “That’s one word for it.”
He smiles faintly, and the sight should not still have that kind of power.
“And you?” I ask, desperate to reroute the heat curling in my gut. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”
“The Phantom of the Opera,” he says simply.
I blink. “Where’s your mask, then?”
“I didn’t bring it.”
Of course he didn’t.
Before I can roll my eyes, he reaches up and brushes his thumb across my cheek. “You had snow,” he murmurs.
My breath catches. The touch is light, almost nothing, but it sets off a cascade of sparks that make my knees threaten betrayal.
Then he pulls his hand back and curses softly. “Fuck.”
The word is strained, rough around the edges.
He clears his throat, trying for neutral. “You did really well with everything. The flowers. The hall. It looked incredible tonight.”
“Thank you,” I say, and my voice comes out quiet, thinner than I mean it to.
Silence falls, fragile as frost. The snow starts up again—small flurries swirling between us, catching the porch light.
“How’s your mother?” I ask softly.
His expression shifts, guarded again. “Better. I hired her a nurse.”
I nod. “That’s good.”
He hesitates, then says quietly, “It’s what she needed. What I should’ve done sooner.”
I nod again, fingers tightening around the post. “You’ve always been good at fixing things once they’re broken.”
The words hang there. He looks at me—really looks—and I realize what I’ve just said. I’m talking about all the times we would get back together, thinking things had changed.
I was such a fool. It was always the same.
“Norah—”
I cut him off. “Why?”
I don’t know why I asked. Maybe it’s the cold, maybe it’s the way the world feels suspended between heartbeats, maybe it’s that I’ve been carrying the question for too damn long.
He frowns. “Why what?”
“Why did you leave like that?” I say, and it comes out sharp. “The last night we spent together, you just…left. No message. No goodbye. Nothing. That was shitty, Dorian.”
He closes his eyes for half a second, like the memory hurts. “I know.”
“That’s it?”
He exhales, his breath fogging the air between us. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. That night.”
