Chapter 29 Date??

Chapter 29 Date??
Sarah’s eyes snapped to mine.

“What was that?”

I nearly choked. “Cat,” I blurted

“You don’t have a cat.”

“Stray,” I said. “Came in. Through the… window.”

She stared at me like I’d just confessed to murder.

“Emily,” she said slowly, “are you lying to me?”

I exhaled, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m tired, Sarah. Can we talk tomorrow?”

She hesitated, torn between worry and curiosity. Finally, she nodded.

“Fine. But you’re telling me everything in the morning.”

I nodded, forcing a smile. “Of course.”

She gave me one last suspicious look before turning away and heading to her room.

I waited until her door clicked shut. Only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding and slip back into my room.

Marco was sitting up against the headboard, arms crossed, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face.

“Stray cat?” he murmured

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Don’t.”

He laughed softly — low, warm, and entirely too pleased with himself.

He pushed himself up from the bed and started walking toward me, still completely naked. My pulse jumped.Oh God, what is this man doing to me? The sight of him was overwhelming.
I told him he needed to go. The night had already spiraled far beyond anything I’d planned, and the idea of him staying — or worse, being discovered — sent a fresh wave of panic through me.

He didn't move. His arms tightened around me, pinning me against the door frame. "If I'm leaving, I'm taking you with me." He grinned, a quick, wicked flash of teeth. "This is interesting. I feel like a teenage boy sneaking out after curfew."

"It's not sneaking out, it's just leaving," I insisted, trying to sound firm, but the playfulness in his tone was infectious.

"So, come with me. My place is less than thirty minutes away."

That's when the playful tension snapped. "No, Marco," I said, pushing back slightly. "No. That's a no."

He finally stepped back, his face instantly serious. The soft, unreadable look he'd worn earlier was gone, replaced by a focused intensity. "Why is that a 'no'? We just spent the night together. We crossed the line, remember? What's the difference between here and my apartment?"

The thought of going to his house with him felt too personal, too intimate in a way I wasn’t ready for. His space meant something different — a step into a world I wasn’t prepared to enter, not tonight, not with my thoughts still tangled and my emotions still raw.

Going to your house right now, right after this—" I met his gaze again. "It feels too personal. It feels like... like we’re skipping too many steps." I tried to explain

He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. He simply accepted the boundary, even if he didn’t agree with the method of leaving.

He leaned down and gave me a final, slow, deep kiss. "Okay," he whispered, his lips brushing mine. "I'll go."

We shared a final, quiet goodbye right in the doorway. He slipped out, closing the door softly behind him.

I slipped into bed without turning on the lights, the room still holding the warmth of everything that had happened. I didn’t even consider showering — the thought of washing away Marco’s scent felt wrong, like erasing the last few hours before I’d even had time to understand them.

His cologne lingered on my skin, on the sheets, in the air around me. I pulled the covers up and breathed it in, letting the familiarity of it settle the chaos still swirling in my chest.

My phone chimed.

I reached for it, half expecting Sarah, half dreading Robin — but it was Marco.

Just a single sad emoji.

It hit harder than any words could have. A soft ache bloomed in my chest, unexpected and unwelcome.

I scrolled up, needing to see what he sent earlier — the messages I ignored while I was out with Robin. The screen lit up with a string of texts, each one more frantic than the last.

He had been furious. Not in a cruel way — in a way that came from panic, jealousy, fear of losing something he hadn’t even admitted he wanted.

The words were sharp, impulsive, written in the heat of emotion. He’d said things he didn’t mean — dramatic, reckless things — the kind of threats people make when they’re spiraling, not thinking, imagining the worst.

Reading them now, after everything that had happened between us, they felt different. Not dangerous.Not literal.
Just raw. A man unraveling at the thought of someone else touching me.

I closed my eyes, letting the scent of him pull me under, knowing sleep wouldn’t come easily — not with Marco’s presence still clinging to me, not with his messages replaying in my mind, not with the knowledge that tonight had changed something neither of us could take back.

The message woke me before the sun had fully risen — short, direct, and completely unlike the man I thought I knew. Get ready. There’s a car waiting for you outside.
No explanation. I did not expect this side from him.

I dressed the way he asked: comfortably.
My favorite tights, the ones that hugged every curve without apology. A simple shirt. Sneakers. Nothing fancy, nothing planned — just me.

When I stepped outside, the car was already waiting. The driver didn’t say much, just nodded and opened the door. The ride felt endless, the scenery shifting from city edges to open stretches of nothing. I kept trying to guess where I was going, but every possibility felt too small for the way my heart was beating.

Eventually, the car slowed to a stop in the middle of nowhere — or what looked like it. And then I saw it.

His G‑Wagon. Parked alone, gleaming in the early light.

Marco stepped out before the driver even opened my door. He looked different in the morning — calmer, softer, like the night had settled something inside him. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in and greeted me with a kiss.

Not heated. Not claiming.Just a simple, quiet kiss that somehow felt more intimate than anything we’d done the night before.