Page 60 of Wicked God
“I’ve spent my whole life playing a role. The dutiful son. The political heir. The perfect Hawthorne. With you, for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m playing a part. I’m just me. When you laugh, I forget my own name. When you touch me, I forget everyone else exists. And it terrifies me because now I have something real to lose. And my family won’t understand why I would choose my own happiness over their plans.”
“And is that what I am?” Olivia asks. “Your happiness?”
“Yes,” I breathe, taking her face in both hands. “You are everything I never knew to wish for.”
Chapter 27
Olivia
The night my mom and stepfather’s car hit that guardrail, something fundamental inside me shattered as well. That unquestioning belief that someone will always be there, that the people who love you won’t suddenly vanish. I’ve spent years collecting the fragments, trying to reassemble them into something that resembles trust, but the cracks remain visible. Permanent.
Now Alexander stands before me, rain-soaked and earnest, and I feel that familiar tremor of doubt. His shirt clings to him, dark with rain, and I shiver, suddenly aware of my own soaked bathrobe clinging to my skin.
A sleek shadow materializes from beneath the coffee table—Duchess, stretching languidly before padding across the floor with aristocratic indifference. She pauses to assess Alex withnarrowed amber eyes, then disappears down the hallway, apparently unimpressed by our drama.
“You’re cold,” he says.
“So are you,” I answer, eyes flicking to his shirt. I push my hair behind my ear, water trailing down my neck, but before I can find more words, Alex is already moving. I hear the quiet clatter of cabinet doors in the bathroom. He returns with a towel in his hands, holding it out to me like a peace offering.
“Here. Let me help you.”
He dries my hair so gently that my throat goes tight, then drapes the towel over my shoulders. It’s almost enough to make me forget how everything in my life seems to come apart. I close my eyes and lean into his touch.
“Olivia,” he begins, voice low, “Elena and I have history, but it’s just that: history. There’s nothing between us now.” He holds my gaze through the ornate mirror above my vanity. “We pretended to be less than we were, right from the start. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you aren’t enough.” He swallows, and his knuckles go white, gripping the towel’s edge. “I know this changes everything. But I’m done with pretending. What I feel for you is real, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt for anyone, including Elena.” His storm-grey eyes pin me in place.
I inhale sharply, the scent of his cologne mingling with a trace of aftershave. “Alexander, I—” I start, but he gently squeezes my hands, silencing me.
“You don’t have to reply now. I just needed you to know the truth. Whatever you decide, I want it based on honesty.”
Looking into his eyes, I realize this complicated, infuriating man has become essential to my life.
“I’m afraid.” The words tumble out of me. “We had a plan, an arrangement. And I thought I could keep things neat, practical. But in the process, I started feeling things I never thought possible.”
Trust. Passion. Infatuation.
Love?
Alexander’s eyes widen, a mix of hope and concern flickering across his face. I press on, my heart racing. “I’ve been trying to ignore it and convince myself it was just part of our act. But it’s not. But we both know that’s a lie. And that terrifies me.” I wrap my arms around myself as if to shield my heart. “Maybe we were too hasty with the engagement announcement.”
I’m not sure I’ll be able to pretend to be in love with Alexander and then walk away when one year ends.
But what alternative do we even have? Tiffany’s safety, our futures—all depend on this sham wedding becoming true.
He steps closer, tilts my chin until our eyes lock again. “I won’t let anything touch your sister. I won’t let anyone hurt you, either. Not even me, if that’s what you choose. I know this isn’t how either of us expected things to turn out. We can’t rewrite the past. We can only choose what comes next.”
My forehead finds his chest. “And how do we do that? We’re in too deep. The wedding plans, our families, the media... we’re trapped in this narrative we’ve created.”
“Then let’s write it together, chapter by chapter. No more scripts. No more secrets.” His arms circle me, cautious but certain, and for a few suspended heartbeats, the rest of the world evaporates beneath the steady thump of his heartbeat against my cheek. He says nothing more, just holds on, the rain still needling the windows in a relentless pattern. I feel his breath, slow and deliberate. My own comes in fragile, uneven little bursts, but I don’t pull away.
I don’t want to.
When I finally lift my head, I rest my fingers in the damp dip above his collarbone, absently tracing the outline of a scar I never noticed before—a pale, quarter-inch mark jagged as alightning crack. Alex shivers, but doesn’t shrink from the touch. “You know you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe.”
“And you’re the only person who makes me want to stay."
The things this man does to my heart are hazardous to national security, let alone my own sanity.
“Alexander,” I say softly, “what are we doing?”
His lips find the top of my head. “We’ll figure it out together.”
In the shadowy confines of my apartment, with only the soft hum of the city for company, I wonder if the choice to bind my life to Alexander’s is the prelude to a love story or heartbreak in the making.