Page 69 of Married As Puck
The words sit in the air between us, heavier than I meant them to be. I brace for him to crack a joke, or worse, look at me with thatkind of pity I can’t stand. But Cameron doesn’t do either. He just sits there, the candlelight throwing shadows across his face, his glass forgotten in his hand.
He leans forward slightly, elbows on the table, his eyes locked on mine. “That sounds… rough,” he says at last, his voice quiet but firm. Not pity. Not disbelief. Just acknowledgment.
I swallow, nodding like it’s nothing. “It was what it was. I got used to packing up, moving on. You stop expecting people to keep you, and you learn to keep yourself. Simple survival mode, you know?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just studies me, and it’s unnerving how steady his gaze is. Like he’s peeling back layers I’ve spent years building.
“You must’ve hated it,” he says finally.
I let out a small laugh, sharp and humorless. “Hated it? I don’t know. Sometimes. Sometimes I was just numb. Sometimes it felt easier to not feel anything at all.”
His jaw works, like he’s holding back words. Then, he softly speaks, “And here I was thinking you just hated me.”
I can’t help my smile, weak but real. “Well, that too.”
It earns me the ghost of a smirk, but it fades quickly, and when he speaks again, his tone has shifted. “Is that why you agreed to all this? The… arrangement?”
I freeze for a moment, then nod slowly. I point at him. “You were supposed to be out after seven days, remember?”
He laughs, leaning forward. His eyes stay on me.
I widen my eyes at him. “What happened to that?”
He leans back, huffing. “I was never going to move out in seven days.”
“What!”
He laughs. “When I mentioned the arrangement, I meant how we’re pretending to be married.”
“Ah,” I click my tongue. “Well, if we’re talking about that end of the deal… I mean all of it is kind of crazy…” I point at him again. “I can’t get over the fact that you were never going to move out. Are you serious?”
He nods, shrugging. “Landlord is double-dipping.”
“Asshole,” I say loud enough for anyone else to hear. “Did you ever call him?”
“No.”
I sink into my chair. “Neither did I. Wait, why didn’t we call him?”
A slow smile spreads across his face.
I point at him again. “I trusted that you were going to be out in seven days, and then it turned into this.”
“I misjudged you,” he says quietly. “I thought you were in this for selfish reasons. I thought…” He shakes his head. “Hell, I didn’t think you’d survived my life’s bullshit. You’re a lot tougher than I gave you credit for.”
Something in my chest loosens at his words, a tight knot I hadn’t even realized was there. I blink, suddenly aware of the burn in my eyes, and look away before he can notice.
“Don’t go soft on me now,” I manage, my voice unsteady.
His lips twitch, and for a second, I almost expect him to laugh. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans across the table, his hand brushing mine briefly before he pulls back. “Not soft,” he says. “Just… sorry.”
And for reasons I can’t explain, that apology cracks something deeper inside me than anything else could.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air feels charged, as if the candles themselves are holding their breath. His eyes linger on mine in a way that makes my pulse skitter, and for a second, I almost believe he’s about to say something more; something that would change everything.
But instead, Cameron pushes back his chair and stands. The scrape of wood against the floor breaks the spell. He circles the table slowly, and I tilt my face up toward him without meaning to. His hand brushes my shoulder and then he leans down, pressing a soft kiss against my cheek.
The touch is fleeting, almost chaste, but it leaves my skin burning.
