Page 96 of Don't Be in Love

I took my burgundy scarf off and threw it over her neck, tugging her forward to secure it in place. She let me pull her in. I couldn’t tell if she was surprised by the action or simply alarmed that she was accepting it. Her black hair cupped her face, held down by the cashmere.

“Why aren’t you in Italy with James right now?” she asked.

“Do you really need me to answer that question?”

“Maybe I wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Admit that I wanted to be around you? I didn’t think that was something I had to disclose.” I adjusted her hat. It didn’t need to be adjusted. But I was restless. She made me restless.

I was getting dangerously vulnerable. Maybe it was the four glasses of gin I had at the pub before walking to her flat. But realistically, it was the moment I saw her in the dim lighting of her kitchen that unraveled me. This harsh craving to hold her sparked. It hit me like a truck. Two weeks away from her was unsolicited torture. I should’ve been fine. Our deal was complete. She helped me pass the class. She didn’t have to see me. She probably didn’t want to see me.

For the first few days, I believed that. But the way her neck craned to meet my lips thirty minutes ago, I didn’t believe it anymore. Especially when the small phone box keychain was hanging from the purse on her shoulder.

There was something between us. And I was going to tell her. Tonight. No excuses, no redirection, and no flirting that curbed the truth.

If she said Sabrina was the only problem, then I’d explain on Adelaide’s behalf to her friend.

If she mentioned Victoria, then I’d tell her it was over. I’d explain how I stopped at Victoria’s earlier (before dreadfully hitting the pub) to tell her I was done. That I loved someone else.

If Adelaide didn’t feel the same way, then … I guess I’d spend my holiday pretending that my heart wasn’t slowly bleeding out.

Returning to campus would be another problem. One I couldn’t withstand to imagine right now. Not when she was standing in front of me with the tip of her nose pink from the air.

“So what are we doing here?” she asked.

“You’ll see. It’s just a short walk.” I took her gloved hand and slipped it into my coat pocket.

A cold, but quick stroll across the length of the bridge, and she was already trying to pull me in the opposite direction.

“You want me to get onthat?No way.” Despite the intimidating look of determination on her face, panic was evident in her voice.

“It’s on the list! And you can’t live in London and not go on the London Eye,” I explained. The spinning structure sparkled above us like a perfect white snowflake. It did look quite large from this angle though.

“Dorian, no, really I can’t do this.” Her hand gripped mine with the power of a vise.

Despite losing feeling in my fingers, I squeezed her hand back, trying to give her a place to focus. “I’ll be with you, don’t worry. But I can’t let you miss this, not with the snow coming down and the Christmas lights up on the bridge.”

If she said no again, I was prepared to turn us around. I wanted to help her face a fear, not traumatize her.

With her hand cutting off the circulation in my palm, she stared up for a few moments before she finally gave in and continued to walk, allowing us to approach the entrance where one of the large glass globes was coming to a stop and opening.

An employee in a branded jacket nodded for us to go on.

“What’s going to happen if I vomit? Because as of right now, that’s incredibly possible.”

The uneasiness of her legs was apparent as we stepped inside, the door closing behind us. I guided her to the long benchthat sat against the back of the globe before her legs could give out from the sudden motion.

“No one will see you vomit”—because I paid an exuberant amount of money to have someone let us on despite its closing to the public three hours ago.

“What if I vomit on you?” Out of context, it sounded like a threat.

“I’ll send you my dry-cleaning bill then.” That earned me a laugh.Finally. My shoulders relaxed.

But once the ride kicked into gear and we began moving, her hand shot to my leg. I covered her knuckles with my palm, trying everything in my power not to flinch at the way her fingers splayed across my thigh.

“How high up are we? Actually, never mind, I don’t want to know.” She spoke in a rush, her eyes squeezed shut.

I peeled my gaze away from her to look at the skyline. The inside of the pod was dark, but the city lights exploded with color. We had a bird’s eye view of all of London’s most notable sites.