Page 38 of Oliver
Oh.
Heat flooded my face. Definitely time to extract myself from this completely inappropriate position.
I tried to slide away, only for his arm to tighten, fingers flexing like he was trying to keep me close. A sleepy murmur, warm breath against my temple.
"Five more minutes."
Like he meant it.
I was in serious trouble. Part of me wanted to give him those five minutes, wanted to pretend this was real, wanted...
The professional part of my brain finally kicked into gear, and I managed to wiggle free, careful not to wake him. The last thing I needed was for Oliver to realize how we'd spent the night.
As I pulled away, he made a quiet, almost reluctant noise in his sleep, turning toward the space I'd vacated as if seeking my warmth.
I didnotthink about what that meant.
I escaped to the bathroom, leaning against the door and trying to get my racing heart under control.
This was just physical proximity, I told myself. Natural biological responses. Nothing more. We were two adults who happened to gravitate toward each other in sleep. It happened all the time. Probably.
The mirror revealed my flushed cheeks, tousled hair, and eyes that were a little too bright. I looked exactly like someone waking up from an unexpected night with?—
Nope. Not going there.
I took the world's longest shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering sensation of Oliver's arms around me. By the time I emerged, wrapped in one of the hotel's plush robes, I felt more in control. Professional. Composed.
That composure lasted exactly three seconds.
Because while I was hiding, Oliver was building.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, not simply reconstructing the pillow wall—we were past that now—but, rather, he was engineering a full-blown fortification. Additional towel barricades. A layered reinforcement structured like he was preparing for an invasion.
The man was drafting blueprints in his head. And he was ignoring me.
"Good morning," I said, aiming for casual and missing by about a mile.
He was forced to acknowledge me then, and our gazes met briefly before we both looked away, a silent agreement to never discuss this morning’s failure of what we’d convinced ourselves had infallible architectural integrity.
"Morning," he replied, suddenly very interested in a particular pillow arrangement.
His hair was rumpled from sleep, a hint of stubble shadowing his jaw, and something about the serious concentration on his face as he reinforced his pillow fortifications made my heart do a complicated little flip.
I busied myself gathering clothes from my suitcase, hyperaware of Oliver's presence just a few feet away.
"I have to meet the bride and make sure she's settled in okay," I said, retreating to the bathroom to change. "I'll be back in two hours to get you for the meet and greet."
Oliver just nodded, still focused on his pillow project. "I'll be ready."
It wasn't until I was safely in the hallway, brunch dress draped over my arm and door firmly closed behind me, that I allowed myself a small smile. Even his embarrassment was endearing, which was definitely not a professional thought to have about my fake boyfriend.
I was still smiling when I stepped out of the elevator at my cousin's floor—until I nearly collided with my aunt.
"Up early," Auntie Maryam noted, her sharp gaze flicking from my slightly flushed face to the elevator doors closing behind me. "Sleep well?"
I cleared my throat, plastering on a polite smile. "Of course. Such a great hotel; the perfect venue for Pari's wedding."
She hummed, unconvinced.
