Page 32 of Oliver
I should have pulled back, I meant to pull back, but then his arm tightened around me, lips pressing just a fraction deeper, just a moment too long. A breath caught between us. A beat that felt like a pause in the world.
And then a small, exhaled sound, like he was losing a fight with himself.
Suddenly, there was too much heat, too much closeness. His fingers skimmed the fabric at my waist like he was trying to memorize it, his lips moving against mine with the urgency of a man who knew he was on borrowed time. A shudder ran through him, something almost desperate in the way his grip flexed?—
And then it was gone.He broke the kiss. Stepped back. A fraction of distance, but it was enough.
My pulse roared in my ears, and for a moment, I forgot where we were. Who we were pretending to be.
It felt real.
Too real.
"Jeez, guys, at least wait 'til you get to your room," Parisa said with a smirk.
I forced a bright smile, though my heart was hammering, my breath unsteady.
"Well, that settles it," Oliver said lightly, smiling as if nothing had happened. "Zahra isliterallybreathtaking."
It was perfect. Smooth. Playful. It made everyone laugh and broke the tension like nothing had happened.
But I could still feel the press of his mouth, the heat of his hand through the fabric of my blouse, and the weight of what shouldn't have happened but did.
"Alright, alright," my father said, clapping his hands together. "Let's get you two situated in the hotel where you can have some privacy."
I guffawed. Dad wasnotthe kind to crack jokes, definitely not those kinds of jokes. It was official. Oliver had won everyone over. Well, almost everyone. Auntie Maryam still stood there studying him with suspicion.
As we moved toward the exit, my fear was confirmed. Auntie fell into step beside me, her voice low.
"He's different," she observed, eyes still trained on Oliver. "More... I don't know. Serious."
"He's grown up, Auntie," I replied, trying to keep my voice light. "We both have."
"Hmm." She didn't sound convinced. "Well, I hope you manage to hold onto the relationship this time."
The comment stung more than it should have.This time. As if last time had been a disaster of my own making.
My stomach dipped, but I forced a smile, refusing to let it show. I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat and risked a glance at Oliver, but he was already looking away, his jaw tight.
Right. He’d lost control. He wasn’t good at reconciling with his vices.
The drive to the hotel was a blur of chatter. My mother and Parisa insisted on riding with us in our rental instead of in their own vehicles. They filled the silence with wedding details and family gossip. Oliver drove while I was squeezed between the two women in the back seat. Our eyes occasionally met in the rear-view mirror, each gaze electric, charged with something I couldn't name.
When we arrived at the hotel, my family insisted on helping us check in. Parisa practically bounced ahead to the reception desk, but Oliver and I lingered behind.
"That kiss..." I started, but my voice faltered.
"It was necessary," Oliver said. And that was it. His voice, his expression, he might as well have slammed a door shut in my face.
But I knew how his hand had lingered, and how his mouth had softened.
It wasn't just a performance. It couldn’t have been. Or maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see. Maybe Auntie was right, and I was a fool grasping at non-existent straws.
"Right," I said, my voice small. "It sold the act.”
“We made a mistake, deviating from the plan, not getting it out of the way in privacy." I watched him adjust the strap of his carry-on, his movements controlled and precise. “We won’t make that mistake again.”
Then he took my hand, threading our fingers together, and led me inside to our waiting audience.
