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13

Stellan

I’m losing my mind.

But I can’t rush this. I know that.

I can’t make the same mistakes I’ve made before, with women who weren’t serious, with relationships built on shallow foundations. Fiona deserves more than that. More than me, just another guy trying to get by on charm. If I’m going to prove to her that I’m in this for the long haul, I have to take things slow. As much as I want to pull her into my arms and never let go, I know I need to build her trust. I need her to believe that I’m not playing her, that what we have is real.

So when the kiss ends and we stand there in the silence of her apartment, our breaths ragged, I force myself to step back. It takes everything in me not to pull her right back to me. But I know this is the right thing. I have to prove that I’m not rushing her into something she’s not ready for.

“I should go,” I say, my voice hoarse, and I hate how much it betrays the way I feel.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She just looks at me, her expression soft but guarded. There’s still doubt in her eyes, but there’s also something else—something like hope, maybe?

“You don’t have to,” she says quietly, but I can tell she’s still unsure.

“I do,” I reply, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “I’m not going anywhere, Fiona. But you’re not ready for that yet. I can wait. I’ll prove to you that I’m not faking this. You have to know that I’m in it for the long haul.”

I want to kiss her again, tell her that I’m serious. But I stop myself. I want her to feel safe. I want her to know that I respect her.

“I’ll see you soon,” I say, my voice rough, and then I leave.

The next weekend, I’m sitting in the plush seat of a private jet, staring out the window as the clouds pass by below us. The hum of the engine is a constant in the background, but it’s the thoughts of Fiona that fill my mind. I’m on my way to the tropical island, to the getaway we’ve been forced into, and I can’t stop thinking about her. She’s sitting beside me, looking out the window, her quiet presence a mixture of grace and tension.

The trip is part of the PR stunt—an outing for the media, a way to keep the rumors buzzing. Fiona’s father and Coach Phillips think it’ll help solidify our image. But every time I glance over at her, I feel the same pull, the same desire to get closer, to prove that I’m not just doing this for the cameras.

Fiona shifts in her seat, glancing at me, and I can feel the energy between us crackle. She’s still distant, still unsure, but I can tell she’s thinking about the same things I am.

“So,” I start, trying to keep my voice casual, “tropical island, huh? Think we’ll survive the paparazzi?”

She looks over at me, her lips curling into a small smile. “We’ll have to pretend it’s all part of the act,” she says, her tone light but guarded. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”

I nod, but inside, it’s a little harder to pretend. I don’t want this to be a game. I don’t want it to be fake. But I can’t tell her that right now. I can’t make things worse by pushing for more.

When we land, the first thing that hits me is the heat. The air is thick with tropical humidity, and the bright sunlight makes everything feel even more real, somehow. A car waits for us on the tarmac, and as we head to the resort, the photographers are already out, snapping pictures of us as we walk. It’s all smiles, poses, and pretending, but when I glance over at Fiona, I see her stiffen, the tension in her shoulders.

She’s not used to this—being the center of attention, having her life scrutinized by strangers. But she’s doing it anyway, putting on a brave face like she always does.

We get to the resort, and the staff greets us with smiles, offering us drinks and towels to wipe off the sweat from the trip. We’re whisked to a private suite—luxurious, spacious, but still cold in its perfection.

As we step into the room, I glance around, taking in the grand view of the ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows. But it’s the bed that catches my attention.

There’s only one.

A king-sized bed, enormous and luxurious, but the fact that there’s just one? It feels like a challenge. It feels like the universe is daring me to make the wrong move. I glance over at Fiona, but she’s already looking at me, her eyes wide with the same realization.

I let out a breath, running a hand through my hair. This is ridiculous. We’re supposed to be playing the part of the perfect couple, but how do you pretend to be in a relationship when there’s only one bed?

Fiona steps forward, glancing at the bed and then back at me. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, and I can feel the tension rising between us.

“Looks like we’re going to have to share,” I say, trying to keep the tone light, but it comes out heavier than I expect.

She doesn’t laugh. Instead, she just nods, her gaze shifting away from me, almost like she’s embarrassed by the situation. She heads toward the balcony, clearly trying to put some space between us. I can feel her retreat, and it hurts more than I expected. I want to reach out to her, pull her back into this moment, but I can’t. Not yet.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice soft. I don’t want to push her, but I need to know if she’s all right with this. With me. With everything we’re doing.

She turns to face me, her eyes clouded with thoughts she hasn’t voiced yet. “I’m fine,” she says, but her voice doesn’t match her words. “Just... I don’t know what to make of any of this. I’m not sure what you want, Stellan. You want me to believe this is real, but I don’t know if I can.”

Her words cut through me like a knife, and I feel the weight of everything we’ve been dancing around. “I want you, Fiona,” I say, my voice low, firm, and honest. “I don’t want this to be fake anymore. I want you to see that I’m not like the others. I’m not going anywhere.”

She doesn’t answer, but I can see the flicker of something in her eyes. Something close to fear.

I take a step closer to her, not wanting to crowd her but needing her to know that I mean it. “We can take this slow. We can play the part for now if that’s what you need. But when you’re ready, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She looks at me, and for a brief moment, I think she might say something. But then, she turns back toward the balcony, her gaze lost in the view of the ocean.

And all I can do is stand there, hoping she’ll believe me.