Maya had been bracing herself for this moment all week, though she wasn't sure what "this moment" even meant until Damien stepped into the room with that look in his eyes. The one that said he'd already thought ten steps ahead of her, maybe even twenty.
He didn't say anything right away. Instead, he closed the door behind him, slid his jacket off, and tossed it over the chair with an ease that made the room feel smaller. Maya could feel her pulse responding as though her body had agreed to play this dangerous game long before her mind had.
"They'll all be there," he finally said, his voice low, not casual but not heavy either. He leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, studying her. "My mother. My father. Logan and Brielle. Maybe my sister, if she decides to stop pretending she's too busy. That means… we can't just wing it."
Maya swallowed, nodding before she could even gather words. She knew what he was implying. The gathering wasn't far off now -- just days away -- and every detail of their cover had to be flawless. The little slip-ups she'd made before -- the way she sometimes confused rehearsed details, or let herself sound more like Maya than Isla -- wouldn't survive an evening under the same roof as Damien's family.
"You mean," she said softly, "we need to practice acting like people who are… in love."
The last two words lodged somewhere in her chest, too sharp and too fragile all at once.
Damien pushed off the desk, coming closer, his movements deliberate but never rushed. When he stood in front of her, his height forced her chin to tilt up just slightly, and she hated how much that tiny gesture already made her feel like she was falling into the part.
"Exactly." His gaze lingered on her face, so direct it almost pinned her in place. "Except it can't look like acting. It has to feel real. To them. To you. To me."
His words hummed in the air, something unspoken laced beneath them. Maya could almost hear her own heartbeat in the silence that followed.
"How?" she asked, her voice a whisper she didn't quite intend.
That half-smile flickered on his lips, the one that had the power to unsettle her in ways she didn't want to admit. "Start simple. Sit."
Maya lowered herself onto the couch, her palms pressed against her knees as if to keep them still. Damien sat beside her, close enough that she could catch the faint trace of his cologne -- clean, restrained, yet something deeper underneath.
His hand brushed hers, just lightly at first, as if testing. She stiffened, not because she didn't want it, but because she wanted it too much.
"You can't react like that," he murmured, his fingers curling around hers, firm now, grounding. "If you pull back when we're with them, they'll notice. You need to lean in, not away."
Maya forced herself to breathe, to let the warmth of his hand seep into hers until it felt less like practice and more like… more. She glanced down at their intertwined fingers, the sight almost surreal, as though she was stepping into a life that wasn't hers but could have been.
"Better," Damien said, softer this time. His thumb moved once over her knuckles, an absent-minded caress that couldn't have been part of the lesson. Or maybe it was. She couldn't tell anymore.
He shifted, his arm draping along the back of the couch, his shoulder brushing hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the closeness altering her breathing in subtle, dangerous ways.
"Now," he continued, his tone almost casual but the weight of it heavy, "look at me the way you would if no one else were in the room. If you were already mine."
Her chest tightened. She turned, meeting his eyes, and for a split second forgot about roles, forgot about Isla, forgot about all the lines they were supposed to stay inside. All she saw was Damien -- steadfast, unreadable, and yet not unreadable at all. She let her gaze soften, allowed her lips to part as if the air between them wasn't enough, as if she needed him to fill it.
The way he stilled told her she'd gotten it right -- or maybe too right.
"That," he said, his voice rougher now, "is exactly what I meant."
But he didn't move back. If anything, he leaned closer, his face a breath from hers. She felt his hand slide from her fingers to her thigh, not possessive, not invasive, but steady -- anchoring her as if to say, stay here, don't run.
Maya's pulse raced, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't.
"Next time," Damien murmured, his lips almost grazing hers, "they'll be watching for how natural we are. The touches, the looks, the small things we don't even think about." His thumb pressed slightly into her skin, subtle but certain. "Like this. Like now."
The space between them disappeared by degrees, slow enough to make her dizzy, fast enough to make her forget this wasn't real. His breath was warm against her mouth, his hand sliding higher to her waist, drawing her closer.
Maya swore the world tilted. She could feel the promise of his kiss -- dangerous, inevitable -- but it didn't come. Not yet.
Instead, Damien pulled back just enough to make the distance unbearable, his forehead resting against hers. The silence burned hotter than words could.
"You see?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "That's how they'll believe it."
Maya's eyes fluttered shut, her lips aching with the weight of what almost was, what could be if either of them dared to cross the line.
But neither did. Not yet.
His hand lingered on her waist, unmoving, grounding them both in that suspended space. She could feel the tension in him -- restrained, held back by something she couldn't name.
Her breath came shallow, uneven. She wanted to step away, to break the spell before it unraveled her completely. But her body betrayed her, leaning into him instead, her cheek brushing his temple, her nose brushing the line of his jaw.
The tiniest sound escaped her throat -- something between a sigh and a plea. She froze, horrified she'd made it, but Damien only exhaled sharply, as if the sound had undone him too.
"Maya." Her name slipped from his lips like a warning, low and ragged.
Her eyes snapped open, searching his. He didn't kiss her. He didn't move away either.
Time stretched thin, taut, fragile. The air between them quivered with everything they weren't saying, everything they couldn't afford to want.
And in that moment, she understood the truth: practice had nothing to do with this anymore. The line they'd drawn so carefully was already blurred, erased by the heat of what hung unsaid between them.
Her lips hovered a breath from his. Waiting. Fearing. Wanting.
And then -- he let go. His hand slipped from her waist, his body easing back with a discipline she could feel cost him something. His gaze lingered one heartbeat longer before he leaned away, dragging the space open between them again.
Maya sat frozen, her skin still burning where he'd touched her, her pulse rioting.
"That's enough for tonight," Damien said finally, his voice composed but not steady.
And though he rose from the couch, leaving her behind, the ghost of his almost-kiss followed her long after he'd gone.