Page 31 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)
We turn in unison, and he steps closer, his expression kind. “I wanted to commend you both again. Truly remarkable work. Have you considered collaborating on your capstone project? I’d be happy to supervise. I think the two of you could create something groundbreaking.”
My eyes widen, and I glance at Nathaniel, who remains calm and collected, though I can see the glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
“Thank you, Professor,” I say, my voice tentative. “That’s…definitely something to consider.”
Professor Jones nods, his approval evident, before turning his attention to another student.
As we step into the hallway, Nathaniel’s hand brushes against mine.
“A capstone project together,” he begins, his tone light. “Sounds promising, don’t you think?”
I pause, my thoughts swirling. It does sound promising, but it’s more than that. With Nathaniel, I’m not just surviving the grind of deadlines and expectations. I’m thriving in ways I haven’t before—with anyone .
“Maybe,” I say finally, a small smile tugging at my lips.
It doesn’t take much coaxing to convince me to go back to Nathaniel’s place. The emotional high of our shared success at the presentation still remains, creating a bubble of safety and reassurance I’ve missed.
The truth is, I’ve missed him.
The past week of obstinately staying away feels more like self-inflicted punishment than self-preservation. And the way his eyes lit up when he extended the invitation made it impossible to say no.
Now, I’m here, wrapped in one of his oversized sweaters, the soft knit brushing against my skin and carrying his scent—something clean, dark, and addictive. The fabric pools at my thighs as I curl my legs beneath me on the plush couch in his living room .
Much like him, his space is sleek, refined, and just a little too perfect. But somehow, when I’m here, it feels like it could be mine too. The thought both comforts and concerns me.
Nathaniel stands by the TV, scrolling through movie options. “What about this one?” he asks, turning to me with a playful glint in his eye.
“ Pride and Prejudice ?” I arch a brow at him, trying to suppress a smile. “I didn’t peg you as the type, Nathaniel. Is this some move to impress girls?”
He chuckles, the sound low and rich. “That depends. Is it working?”
“Maybe,” I tease, leaning back against the cushions, letting the banter distract me from the sudden heat rising in my chest.
His smile softens, his teasing giving way to a conspiratorial tone. “Just between you and me, it’s actually one of my comfort movies.”
I blink at him. “Comfort movies?”
He nods, his expression open, almost boyish.
“My mother loves the book. She read it to me growing up, made me sit through the various adaptations over the years. It…reminds me of those simpler times.” He pauses, a flicker of something raw passing over his face before he turns back to the screen. “So, what do you think? Shall we?”
The vulnerability in his admission catches me off guard, and for a moment, I can only stare at him. This is a side of Nathaniel I haven’t seen before—a softer, quieter part of him that feels like I’ve been granted access to something precious.
“Sure,” I say finally, my voice gentler now.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes my heart skip.
As he dims the lights and settles onto the couch beside me, I assess the array of snacks spread out on the coffee table: chips, chocolates, popcorn, even a cup of hot chocolate, the steam curling up invitingly.
I raise a brow, glancing at him in mock suspicion. “Do you always have this many snacks lying around, or should I be flattered by the effort?”
Nathaniel grins, entirely unbothered by the question. “If there’s even a minuscule chance I get to spend time with you, Olivia, I’ll go out of my way to make sure it’s perfect.”
My chest constricts again, this time with something dangerously close to hope.
“You’re too much,” I murmur, but the words have no bite.
“I try,” he replies smoothly, handing me the cup of hot chocolate. His fingers brush mine—just a whisper of contact, but it sparks all the same.
As the movie plays, my thoughts keep drifting to the man sitting so close to me that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
His arm stretches along the back of the couch, just shy of touching my shoulder, and the small space between us feels charged, like the universe itself is holding its breath.
I try to focus on the screen, but my gaze keeps flicking to Nathaniel—to the line of his jaw, the way the light from the TV softens the sharpness of his profile. He seems so at ease, yet I know him well enough now to sense the undercurrent of intensity in his stillness.
The room smells faintly of cinnamon and cedar, a combination so comforting it makes my chest ache with the desire to lean into him, to lose myself in his warmth.
My mind wanders to his confession earlier about his mother… Private pieces of him he so freely gives.
I think about the way he so effortlessly makes me feel like I belong in a world I’ve always thought was out of reach.
The pull of him—steady, insistent, impossible to deny.
I’ve spent so long fighting my feelings, guarding myself against the fear that this is too good to last. But here, now, with him…it doesn’t feel like a battle worth fighting.
As Elizabeth Bennet comes alive on screen—sharp, wary, stubborn—I see pieces of myself in her. Not the boldness, maybe. But the fear. The desperate need to protect something fragile inside myself.
And Darcy—steady, unshakable, terrifying in how much he feels— I think of Nathaniel, and the parallels sting more than they soothe.
By the time the rain-drenched confession scene plays, the air between us is thick, electric.
Darcy’s voice, low and raw, fills the space, carrying words that feel almost too familiar. His declaration, fraught with misunderstanding and passion, strikes a chord deep inside me.
Elizabeth’s fear of surrendering her heart to someone who had shaken the foundation of everything she believed in—it’s as if I’m watching a reflection of my own turmoil. My chest tightens as Darcy’s feelings pour from the screen, and I steal a glance at Nathaniel.
I find his gaze already fixed on me, his cobalt eyes dark and intent, as though he can see every thought flitting through my mind. The weight of his attention makes me feel exposed, yet there’s comfort in it too—a reminder that I’m not alone in this.
Darcy’s voice is soft but firm, his words wrapping around my heart like an embrace.
“You have bewitched me, body and soul.”
His vulnerability—the way he lays himself bare before Elizabeth—is so striking that I can’t help but feel my own defenses begin to crack.
The credits roll, but I barely register them.
My thoughts are consumed by Nathaniel—the way he always seems to see me, even the parts of me I try to hide. He doesn’t just want me in the fleeting, surface-level way others have in the past. He wants all of me, and for the first time, I want to offer myself freely, without fear.
I turn to him, my heart pounding. His face softens when our eyes meet, and that tenderness is all I need to finally find my courage.
“Nathaniel,” I start, my voice trembling slightly. “I need to say something.”
His brows lift, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. “You can tell me anything,” he says, his voice reassuring.
I hesitate, the words lodged in my throat. But then I remember how brave Darcy was, and I think of Nathaniel—how he has been my anchor even when I tried to drift away.
“I’m falling in love with you,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. The words feel like a leap off a precipice, terrifying and exhilarating all at once. “I tried to fight it, but I can’t anymore. I don’t want to.”
For a moment, silence stretches between us, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.
But then Nathaniel reaches out, his hand warm and steady as it slides to the back of my neck. His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“Then don’t fight it,” he says, his voice wrecked. “I beg you, Olivia—don’t fight this. Don’t fight us .” His thumb brushes along my jawline, and the raw vulnerability in his tone cracks something open inside me.
“Please,” he whispers, “let yourself fall in love with me.” He leans in and presses his forehead against mine, his breath hot against my lips. “Because I’m so fucking in love with you.”
The space between us breaks like a dam.
And this time, when he closes the distance—when his mouth finds mine?—
I don’t hesitate.
I fall.