Chapter Twelve: Confessions and Teasing
I barely slept that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt it again—Rowan's arms around me, strong and steady, the warmth of his body shielding me from the chaos of the world. His kiss had been brief, but it lingered like a secret pressed into my skin, a phantom pressure that sent a slow, warm shiver down my spine whenever my mind replayed it.
Morning light crept through the dorm window, pale and gentle, doing nothing to dispel the restless energy humming under my skin. My phone buzzed on the bedside table. For a second, my heart jumped, a foolish, hopeful flutter that it was him.
It wasn't.
It was Sophia.
Sophia: Are you alive? Did you make it back safely? Spill. Now.
I smiled, hugging my pillow. It still smelled faintly of my perfume and the cool night air.
Me: I'm alive. And yes… I made it back.
There was a pause. A telling, loaded pause.
Sophia: That ellipsis was suspicious. Start talking.
I laughed softly and swung my legs off the bed. I didn't even try to hide it. How could I? My heart felt too full, too restless, like a bird beating its wings against the cage of my ribs.
Me: Can you come over? I need to tell you everything.
She arrived less than fifteen minutes later, bursting into my room like a storm in human form, her curls wild and her eyes wide with anticipation. She didn't even sit down before speaking, closing the door with a firm click.
"So?" she demanded, arms crossed, her gaze sharp and sparkling. "What happened last night? And don't you dare say 'nothing.' The 'nothing' you text me about always turns out to be 'something monumental.'"
I took a deep breath, as if steadying myself on a ledge, and began from the beginning. The suffocating press of the crowd. The cold, slick fear that had turned my bones to water. The dark alley that felt like a trap. And then… the arms that caught me. The solid, unshakeable presence. The low voice in my ear that had instantly spelled safety.
"It was Rowan," I finished, my voice dropping to a whisper. "He… he kissed me."
The words hung in the air, charged and delicate.
Sophia stared at me in complete, utter silence.
Then she screamed—a short, high-pitched sound of pure glee that she muffled by clapping her hands over her own mouth.
"OH. MY. GOD," she hissed through her fingers, her eyes impossibly wide.
I jumped. "Sophia! Shh!"
She launched forward, grabbing my hands and shaking them. "Do you realize what you just told me? My brother. Rowan Royce. Kissed you. In an alley. Like some tragic, dramatic, romantic movie hero saving the damsel!"
"I was scared," I protested weakly, though a smile was tugging at my lips. "I didn't even know it was him at first. I just knew I wasn't alone anymore."
She grinned wider, a conspiratorial glint in her eye. "Of course you didn't. He loves dramatic entrances. It's his brand of emotional communication." She flopped onto my bed, bouncing slightly. "So, details. How did it feel? Was it a soft kiss? A desperate one? Did the world stop?"
"Sophia!" I groaned, burying my hot face in my hands.
She laughed, the sound rich and full. "Oh, I will not stop. This is historic! I need documentation for the family archives."
I peeked through my fingers. "There are family archives?"
"Metaphorical ones," she waved a hand. "In my mind. This is going in the highlight reel." Her tone softened then, the teasing giving way to genuine curiosity. She studied me carefully, her head tilted. "You like him, don't you? Really like him."
I didn't answer right away. I looked down at my hands, at the way my fingers twisted together. I didn't have to answer. My silence was loud enough, a confession in itself.
She gasped again, this time softer, more profound. "Aira… you're falling."
The simplicity of it, the terrifying truth, broke through my last shred of hesitation. "I think," I whispered, the words both a fear and a relief, "I already have."
She clasped her hands dramatically to her chest. "I knew it. I absolutely knew it. The way you look at him when you think no one's watching. The way you get quiet when his name comes up."
"Sophia—"
She cut me off, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. "Congratulations, sister-in-law."
I froze. "What?"
She burst into laughter at my horrified expression. "I'm calling it now. You're already my sister-in-law. Emotionally, spiritually married. It's just a matter of time before the paperwork catches up."
My face felt like it was on fire. "You are completely impossible."
"And you," she teased, leaning over to poke my cheek, "are in love. With my cold, scary, emotionally constipated older brother. Do you have any idea how rare that is? How legendary?"
I blinked, her words sinking in. "Rare?"
"Mythic," she corrected, sobering slightly. "He doesn't do public affection. He barely does sustained eye contact with people he likes. Romance? I wasn't sure he knew the definition."
I swallowed, a sudden thread of anxiety weaving through my euphoria. "Then why… with me?"
Her teasing expression melted into something gentler, more sincere. "Because he sees you, Aira. Really sees you. And trust me—when Rowan Royce looks at someone the way he looks at you, it's not a fling. It's a decision. It's serious."
That thought made my chest tighten, a sweet, almost painful pressure.
"But he didn't say anything," I murmured, voicing the tiny seed of doubt. "Afterwards, he just… brought me home. No promises. No confessions. Nothing."
Sophia shrugged, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "He never will. Not with words, not directly. He shows things. Through actions. Through showing up. Through removing threats." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Through alleyway kisses."
I thought of the way he'd materialized from the shadows. The absolute certainty of his hold. The rough, tender way his voice had wrapped around my name. You're safe now. The memory was a tangible comfort.
Sophia leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Just… be careful, okay?"
The shift startled me. "Careful?"
She nodded, her playful mask slipping to reveal the protective, knowing friend beneath. "My brother is… intense. When he cares, it's deep. It's possessive. It's fiercely protective. It can be overwhelming. Sometimes, it can even feel scary. But it's never casual. It's never fake."
I searched her face. "Do you think he's… playing with me? That this is some kind of game?"
Her answer came instantly, steel beneath the softness. "No."
The certainty in that one syllable calmed the fluttering anxiety inside me.
"He wouldn't touch you if he wasn't serious," she added quietly. "His moral code is twisted in a lot of ways, but about this? It's weirdly absolute." Then she smiled, the sweet, dangerous smile of a sister who knew her brother's every flaw. "And if he ever hurts you, if he so much as makes you cry over something stupid…" She patted my hand. "I'll neuter him myself."
I laughed, the sound bubbling up through the strange, warm vulnerability spreading in my chest. We talked for another hour, dissecting every second, every glance I could remember from the past weeks, Sophia providing hilarious and occasionally insightful commentary on her brother's likely internal monologue.
Later, after she left with a final, exaggerated wink, I lay back on my bed, staring at the cracked plaster of the ceiling. The room was quiet, but my mind was roaring. I traced my lips with my fingertips, wondering if they looked any different, if they carried some visible mark of him.
My phone buzzed on the comforter beside me.
An unknown number.
My heart stuttered, then began a frantic, hopeful rhythm.
Unknown: Did you sleep?
Three words. Simple. Controlled. Utterly him. I could almost hear the low gravel of his voice, see the careful, assessing look in his eyes.
I stared at the screen, my lips curving into a shy, private smile. I typed back, my thumbs clumsy.
Me: A little. You?
A few seconds passed, each one stretching taut.
Unknown: No.
My breath caught. Before I could think how to respond, another message came through.
Unknown: The city is too loud.
It wasn't an explanation. It was a sharing. A crack in the fortress wall. I hugged the phone to my chest, feeling its vibration against my heart, my cheeks warm.
Maybe I was foolish. Maybe I was stepping into a world I didn't understand, moving too fast towards a man made of shadows and sharp edges.
But for the first time in my life, someone saw the quiet, sad girl and didn't look away. Someone looked at me not just like I mattered, but like I was worth crossing a city for, worth fighting through a crowd for, worth losing sleep over.
And I was falling—slowly, deeply, helplessly—into that terrifying, beautiful certainty.