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"The personal complications you mentioned earlier," I said before I could stop myself. "Are they about us?"
His jaw tightened, and for a moment I thought he might actually answer. Then his professional mask slipped back into place.
"It's late, Lili. You should get some rest."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I can give you right now."
The careful way he said it—like he was choosing each word with a lawyer's precision—made my chest tight. There was something he wasn't telling me, something that went beyond whatever was sparking between us in darkened hallways.
"Edward—"
"Please." The word came out rougher than he probably intended. "Just trust me. I'm trying to figure things out."
I wanted to push, wanted to demand answers to the dozen questions spinning through my head. But something in his expression stopped me. He looked torn between wanting to tell me everything and knowing he couldn't.
"Okay," I said quietly. "But whatever it is you're not saying... I hope you know you can trust me too. This is why you kept your distance today," I said finally. "Why you're trying to stay away from me."
He nodded, his jaw tight. "One of many reasons."
"And the others?"
"You know what the others are."
The hallway suddenly felt too small, too warm. We were alone in the middle of the night, both of us in various states of undress—him with his loosened tie and rolled sleeves, me in my cotton sleep shorts and oversized t-shirt.
The air between us crackled with unspoken desire and the weight of his confession.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now you hate me, presumably."
"Do I?"
He searched my face. "You should."
"There are a lot of things I should do," I murmured, taking a step closer. "A lot of lines I shouldn't cross."
"Lili." His voice was rough, warning.
"Like this one?" I took another step. "Or this one?" And another.
I was close enough now to see the pulse hammering at the base of his throat, close enough to smell his cologne mixed with scotch and something that was purely Edward.
"You're going to be the death of me," he said quietly.
"The feeling's mutual."
We stood there, close enough to touch but not quite touching, both of us breathing hard like we'd been running. The weight of everything unsaid hung between us—the desire, the complications, the impossibility of it all.
"We can't," he said, but his eyes said something else entirely.
"I know."
"Daphne—"
"I know."