Page 36 of Oliver
Until bedtime.
Every detail of our nighttime routine felt too personal. The glimpses of Zahra in her silky pajama set. The way she pulled her hair up into a messy bun, exposing the nape of her neck, and the casual intimacy of listening to her brush her teeth.
And the suite didn't help. Soft lighting. Plush robes hanging on the bathroom door. A bathtub specifically designed for shared indulgence. My pulse ticked higher at the thought, at how easy it would be to cross that line. It was composed mostly of pillows, after all.
No.
This arrangement made sense.It made sense. We were adults. Professionals. This was a job. A job that was holding on by a feather.
I slipped under the covers, lying flat on my back, forcing my body into rigid stillness. I listened to the slow, steady sound of Zahra's breathing as she seemed to drift off. The bed was massive, but somehow, she still felt too close. Or maybe it was me, too aware of her warmth, just inches away, of the soft jasmine scent of her shampoo invading my half of the bed, of the fact that if I turned my head, she'd be right there.
Schrodinger's wave function collapse.The moment of observation that transforms possibility into reality.
If I turned toward her, everything would change.
So, I stared at the ceiling instead, reciting the Schwarzschild radius equation in my head as if it could somehow shield me from the woman lying beside me.
Then—her voice in the dark. "Oliver?"
My throat tightened. "Hmm?"
"Thank you. For earlier. With my family."
I stared harder at the ceiling, remembering how natural it had felt to hold her close. How I hadn’t wanted to let go.
"Just doing my job," I said finally.
The lie settled on my chest, a slow, suffocating weight.
The truth was that something had shifted at the airport. When she'd kissed me, when I'd kissed her back—it had felt like coming home. And that was dangerous.
The silence stretched, charged with conflicting thoughts.
I forced myself to remember why I was here. I was in Norman for one reason—to free myself and Emmet from the chains our parents had burdened us with. That mission demanded focus, precision, ruthless detachment.
Not Zahra. Not the sound of her laugh. Not the phantom press of her lips. Not the way she slept just inches away, close enough to reach for.
Right now, she was proving a liability to my goal. And liabilities needed to be handled.
I shut my eyes, jaw locked, willing myself to ignore the way her presence frayed at the edges of my control. But control was a fragile thing. And tonight, in a too-soft bed that smelled too much like her, I wasn't sure how long I could keep it intact.
The digital clock on the nightstand read 1:47 AM when I finally accepted that sleep wasn't coming. I'd been lying in the same position for over two hours, too aware of Zahra's proximity to relax.
I needed air. Space. Distance.
Careful to avoid disturbing her, I slipped out of bed and padded to the window. Norman's skyline spread below, modest compared to Seattle but familiar in a way that ached. Somewhere out there was my grandparents' house, the one my parents had stolen. Tomorrow, I'd begin the process of getting it back.
"Can't sleep?" Zahra's voice startled me.
I turned to find her propped up on one elbow, messy bun half-undone, eyes heavy with interrupted slumber. The sight sent a jolt of something dangerous through me.
"Just thinking," I said, keeping my voice low.
"About?"
"Work." The lie came easily.
She studied me for a moment, then pushed aside the covers to join me at the window. She was close enough that I felt the warmth radiating from her through the thin silk of her pajamas.
