Page 50 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)

THIRTY

olivia

Nathaniel stands close now, the dim lighting of his childhood bedroom casting long shadows across his handsome face.

A heavy silence stretches between us, long enough that I hear the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. The photograph lies face-down on the nightstand, its presence looming despite being hidden from view.

Nathaniel’s posture is rigid, the tension in his frame coiled so tight, it looks like he might snap any minute. I don’t miss how the muscle in his jaw flexes before he finally speaks.

“Alexander was everything I wasn’t.” His voice is low, rough, as if the words grate against his throat.

“He was bright, charming. He could walk into a room and command attention without even trying. People adored him. Our parents…” A mirthless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“They love us both, I suppose. But Alex was the one who was meant to lead the family. He had the presence for it. The charisma.”

I stay silent, giving him the space to say what has been buried inside him for years .

He exhales, tilting his head back for a brief second, before his gaze meets mine again.

“I’ve never resented him for it,” he admits, his voice softer now, as if he’s trying to convince himself. “It’s never been like that. It’s just…how things are. I’m fine being in the background. I prefer it. But then, suddenly, he was gone, and everyone started looking at me instead.”

His eyes flick back to the nightstand and his fingers twitch.

“We were eighteen,” he continues. “It was Alex’s idea, of course. He wanted to go skiing for the weekend, just the two of us. He was always chasing some thrill, some adventure, and I never really said no to him.”

A pause. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“The weather on the mountain was clear when we started. But Alex wanted to ski off-trail. Said it would be more fun. I hesitated, but he told me I was playing it safe, as usual. I let him talk me into it.”

I can picture it vividly—the two of them side by side, snow kicking up behind them as they move effortlessly down the mountain, Alexander leading the way, Nathaniel always a step behind.

“The snow was unstable,” Nathaniel continues, his tone void of emotion. “We didn’t realize it until it was too late. A shift, a loud crack somewhere above us—then this deep, thunderous roar. I’ll never forget that sound. The world collapsed around us.”

I gasp as my stomach twists. “You got caught in an avalanche.”

He nods. “It swallowed us. When I came to, I could barely move. I’d shielded myself, but Alex—” He breaks off, his breathing shallow.

I reach for his hand. He’s gripping the edge of the nightstand, knuckles white. At my touch, he relaxes, just enough for my fingers to slide between his.

“He was alive when I found him,” Nathaniel says, his voice just above a whisper. “Barely. I tried… I tried to pull him out, to get us to safety, but his leg was pinned. There was so much blood.”

I squeeze his hand, unable to stop the sting in my own eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Nathaniel lets out a soft, bitter laugh. “Regardless, he’s dead and I’m not.”

I flinch. “Nathaniel?—”

“It should have been me.” His gaze locks onto mine. “If you asked my parents, if they had been given a choice, they would have chosen him.”

“That’s not true.” The words come out fiercer than I intended.

His expression is defeated, as if he wants to argue but doesn’t have the energy.

“The moment I came home without him, everything changed. My mother tried to hold it together. But my father… He didn’t have to say anything.

I could feel it. The disappointment.” He shakes his head.

“So I stepped into the role Alex was supposed to play. I tried to become what they wanted, but it still wasn’t enough. ”

I think of the dinner conversation earlier, of his father’s thinly veiled comparisons. How the ghost of Alexander continues to haunt Nathaniel, no matter how much time has passed.

“I grew to resent spontaneity after that,” Nathaniel admits. “Alexander thrived on chaos, and it killed him. So, I chose control. I learned to predict. To plan. If I could eliminate risk, I’d never experience loss like that again.”

A lump forms in my throat. It makes sense now, his unrelenting pursuit of certainty in a world where he has lost the one thing that can never be replaced.

“You are not a substitute,” I whisper. “You are enough .”

Nathaniel inhales sharply, as if he’s been waiting for years to hear someone say those words.

“I didn’t tell you about Alex…because I was afraid.” He sw allows thickly. “Afraid that you would start comparing too. That you’d see the cracks in me, the places where I fall short…and wonder if he would’ve been better for you.”

He looks away in shame. “It’s irrational.

I know that. But I’ve spent my whole life— my entire fucking life —being second to him.

Even now, he’s gone, and I still can’t escape his shadow.

So tell me—” His voice drops with anguish.

“Tell me how am I supposed to believe you wouldn’t have picked him over me too? ”

His confession hits me like a physical blow.

I feel pain everywhere. The depth of his insecurity, the way it has shaped him, how deeply it has festered into something that seeps into every facet of his life.

My heart aches, not just for the boy he was, but for the man who stands before me now, so certain that he’ll always be second choice.

My hand lifts, cupping his cheek, guiding his gaze back to mine. “Nathaniel,” I whisper, willing him to hear me, to believe me. “You’re wrong.”

He says nothing, but I see the war in his expression, the way his body has gone so still.

“I don’t need to know Alexander to know that I would choose you ,” I tell him. “Because I see you. The way you think. The way you feel things so intensely but try to hide it. The way you love .” I brush my thumb over his cheekbone, and his breath hitches under my touch.

“I love you for who you are, Nathaniel.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, like the words have stripped away some invisible weight from his shoulders. His forehead dips against mine, his hands rising to my face, his grip almost too tight. I let him hold me like that, let him breathe me in.

Then, barely above a whisper, he rasps, “Say it again.”

My chest aches with everything I feel for him.

I thread my fingers through his hair and brush my lips against his cheek, his temple. “I love you. ”

He jolts. His fingers curl against my skin, his breathing ragged as he squeezes his eyes shut, like he can’t bear the intensity of it.

For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. Then, his voice comes, hoarse and desperate.

“Again.”

“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you, Nathaniel.” I will tell him as many times as he needs to hear it.

A tremor runs through him.

Then, he’s kissing me as if he can press my words into himself, as if he needs to feel them in every fiber of his being.

I let him. I kiss him back, pouring every ounce of what I feel for him into it.

Because he deserves this. He deserves to be chosen, and I want there to be no doubt. I will always choose him.

His hands grip my waist, pressing me so close that I can feel the rapid, uneven rise and fall of his chest against mine. I cling to him just as tightly, as if I can hold him together through sheer force of will.

Then, suddenly, he tears himself away.

His forehead drops against mine, his breathing ragged, like the act of pulling back physically hurts.

“We need to leave,” he rasps. “ Now .”

He grabs my hand, his grip tight as he leads me from the room. The hallways are silent as we pass through them, the dim lighting stretching our shadows against the walls. I barely register the path we take to the front entrance, where his driver is already waiting.

When the door to the Rolls-Royce opens, Nathaniel hauls me inside, slamming the door shut behind us with a force that sends a sharp reverberation throughout the car’s interior.

I have no time to settle into my seat before his hands are on me, dragging me onto his lap with a desperation that sends my pulse into a frenzy.

“Nathaniel—”

His arms lock around me as he buries his face in the crook of my neck. “Just let me hold you, please.” He breathes against my skin. “I need to hold you.”

So, I hold him back. My poor, beautiful boy.

I curl into him while his hands roam, restless, smoothing over my back and sliding down to grip my thighs.

I shift to straddle him, so that he can hold me closer, mold my body to his.

I soothe him the only way I know how, with soft touches and quiet reassurances while his lips press reverent, open-mouthed kisses to my skin.

The lights of Manhattan flicker past the tinted windows, but the world outside doesn’t exist. There’s only him.

Although the drive back to Central Park Tower is short, it feels endless. By the time the car rolls to a stop in the private garage, I can feel the tremors in his hands, the tension thrumming through his entire body.

Inside, the concierge barely spares us a glance as Nathaniel leads me straight to the elevator.

Once the doors slide shut, he descends.

His mouth crashes against mine, hands gripping my waist, pressing me back against the mirrored wall. His desperation is palpable, his movements unrestrained.

I respond just as passionately, letting him take what he needs, allowing him to consume me.

The elevator ascends, both too fast and not fast enough.

A soft chime.

The doors slide open.

No words. He just grabs my hand and leads me into the penthouse.

The second the door clicks shut behind us, his fingers tangle in my hair as he fuses his mouth to mine. Each lick of his tongue is fevered and frenzied, as if he’s starving for something that only I can give him.