Page 68 of A Prescription to My Heart

“I’ll give you space,” he says, “but… I don’t want you to leave. Not yet.”

I don’t answer. Because I don’t know what I want either.

All I know is that the act is over, and somehow, what’s left feels more dangerous than the lie ever did.

***

The room is still. Moonlight filters in through the curtains, pale and cold, draping everything in ghost light. The sheets on Soren’s bed are rumpled, but Soren is gone.

I stare at the indentation where his body lay, his scent still clinging to the air—clean soap, a hint of cedar, something that’s just… him. Familiar. Comforting.

I can’t breathe.

I slip out of the bedroom doorway, careful not to make a sound. My bare feet touch the cold wooden floor and the chill shoots straight through me, like a jolt to my nervous system.

The hallway is silent. Marigold’s door is shut, and a soft lavender glow from her fairy nightlight seeps from underneath. Soren told me once, in the earliest days of this whole arrangement, that she’s afraid of the dark, but won’t admit it. Just like her father.

My chest clenches.

I head downstairs, one step at a time. Not sure where I’m going, only that I need distance from the silence of that room, and the echoes of last night still clinging to the air.

I find myself in the kitchen. Lights off. Just the moonlight painting silver lines across the counter. I brace my hands on the marble edge and drop my head between my arms.

What am I doing?

It was supposed to be fake. All of it. The marriage, the smiles, the practiced glances. I knew the rules. I wrote them. But somewhere between pretending and protecting, I got pulled in. Not just by Marigold—but by him.

By the way he watches me when he thinks I’m not looking. The way he trusts me with the most fragile parts of himself—grief, doubt, fear. The way he said my name last night after the kiss, like it was the only word he trusted in his mouth.

I press a hand to my chest. I can’t let this happen. We’re not built for this. We were supposed to play our roles, keep it clean, keep it clear. And yet…I can feel it in the way my heart beats faster when he enters the room. The way my breath hitches when our hands brush. The way my whole body felt like it caught fire the moment his lips touched mine.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Get a grip, Talia.

I reach for a glass, pour water from the dispenser, and sip slowly, like it can drown the chaos rising inside me. From the corner of my eye, I see movement.

Soren stands by the staircase, half in shadow, his face unreadable. He says nothing. Just watches me. I pretend not to notice.

I take another sip, keep my voice steady. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” he replies.

We fall into silence again. It’s not heavy this time. Just quiet. Tense. Like a wire stretched between us, threatening to snap.

I finally speak. “We need to figure things out.”

“I know.”

I look at him. He’s in sweatpants, a worn black hoodie, hands in his pockets like he’s bracing for impact.

“I think…” I gulp. “I think I need some space. Just a little.”

His jaw flexes. But he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push.

“I get it,” he says.

“I just… I need to think. About all of this. What it means.”

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