Page 66 of A Prescription to My Heart

“But you do?” My heart is hammering in my chest—I can’t believe it.

“I do.”

The silence between us stretches again. This time, it’s charged with all the unspoken. What do we do now? Where do we go from here?

Chapter 15

Talia

Thehouseisquietagain. No strained conversations. No hovering eyes watching us for proof of love. No Camille subtly analyzing every gesture. No Patrick looming like a quiet judge over dinner.

Just silence.

The in-laws are finally gone, and I should feel victorious. But all I feel is the tight coil in my chest winding tighter. Not quite relief. More like… uncertainty. The kind that gnaws under your skin and won’t let go.

I sit at the edge of the bed in the guest room; my fingers tangled in the hem of my oversized tee. The one I’ve worn more nights than I should in a house that was never supposed to feel this much like home. My suitcase is in the corner. Open, but still unpacked. Mocking me.

There’s no more reason to pretend. We admitted it. Webothfeel it.

Don’t we? Or am I mistaken, and it’s over? All of it.

No more fake kisses. No more handholding. No more quiet glances over the dinner table that linger too long, that feel tooright.

And yet, I can still feel his mouth on mine from last night. That reckless, desperate kiss. I close my eyes, and it flashes back like a memory on fire. The heat. The way he pulled me in like he couldn’t stop himself. The way the whole room disappeared.

I dreamed of it last night. Only, it was safe because I could wake up from it.

This? I don’t know how to wake up from this.

I press my palms to my eyes, forcing a deep breath in. “It was all an act,” I whisper. “Just an act.”

Except it didn’t feel like one. Especially not when he looked at me after. Like he saw something in me he hadn’t noticed before. Like the lines between us weren’t just blurred—they were gone.

I stand, pacing. The wooden floor creaks under my feet, and I welcome the sound. Anything to drown out the thoughts spiraling through my head.

We made a deal. Protect Marigold. Pretend until it was safe. Keep everything surface level. But the surface cracked the moment he touched me like that. The moment I defended him to Camille and Patrick like he wasmine.

The moment he admitted… he felt it too.

What am I thinking?

A soft knock on the door pulls me out of my spiral. It’s barely audible. I know it’s Soren.

I swallow hard. “Come in.”

The door creaks open, he’s there, in a faded gray t-shirt and joggers, hair still damp from his shower. He leans against the frame like he’s been standing there for hours.

“You okay?” he asks quietly. It’s odd, the cold, calculating Dr. Soren Calloway asking if I’m okay. But I like it. Too much.

I nod, though the answer is anything but. He looks at me for a long second, then sits on the edge of the bed. Not close, but not far either.

“It’s quiet now,” he murmurs.

“Tooquiet,” I tease.

His lips twitch. “You mean no one’s interrogating us or watching how many times we touch?”

I laugh, but it’s brittle. “Exactly.”

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