Chapter 72

The minutes that followed felt as if time had slowed down, the world beyond the walls of Margaux’s apartment fading into nothingness. She could still feel the warmth of William’s lips on hers, the way his touch had lingered even after the kiss ended. It was as if the very air between them had shifted, heavy with a kind of unspoken understanding that neither of them fully grasped but both could feel. The taste of him was still on her lips, his scent—a faint trace of expensive cologne mixed with something entirely him—lingering in the air around her.

Margaux shifted slightly, her body still heavy and soft from the kiss, as though she had been pulled into another dimension. Her senses were heightened, every detail about William suddenly so vivid that it overwhelmed her. The way he filled the small space beside her with his quiet, commanding presence made her hyper-aware of every inch of him. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt, and his frame seemed almost sculpted, his build a careful balance between strength and elegance. She couldn’t ignore how tapered his body was—broad at the top, narrowing into a lean, athletic waist and narrow hips that made him look effortlessly put-together, even in his most casual moments.

Her eyes flicked to his hands, resting on his thighs, long fingers curling slightly as if he were deep in thought. They weren’t rough hands, but they carried a quiet strength, a precision that matched his personality. Those hands had held her so carefully moments ago, their touch deliberate yet gentle, and she could still feel the ghost of them on her skin. They seemed to echo his build—controlled, composed, but undeniably strong. It was disarming how much they affected her, how much he affected her.

Her gaze wandered upward again, catching the line of his jaw, sharp and defined, and the subtle movement as he shifted. His profile was striking, but it was his eyes that had undone her completely. Those deep, penetrating blue eyes held a weight that seemed to see straight through her, as if he could unravel every secret she carried without even trying. They were both intense and impossibly soft, making her feel seen in a way she wasn’t sure she was ready for. And then there was his mouth, the shape of his lips still vivid in her memory, the way they had moved against hers, firm but restrained, pulling her into something she couldn’t quite name.

Margaux swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. She wanted to ground herself, but everything about him drew her further into this strange, overwhelming moment. She had always prided herself on being in control, on not letting her emotions dictate her thoughts, but now, in this dimly lit apartment with William beside her, she felt untethered. He was so close, and the weight of his presence, his body, and everything he was seemed to press against her, demanding her attention. It wasn’t just physical; it was his confidence, his self-assuredness, the quiet way he occupied space without needing to say a word.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable yet charged, and Margaux leaned back, resting her head against his chest without thinking. His body was solid beneath her, every muscle honed to precision, and she could feel the rhythm of his breathing, steady and calming. His heartbeat, slow and unhurried, thrummed against her ear, a grounding presence amidst the storm of her thoughts. She felt his hand move to her arm, his fingers tracing lazy circles along her skin, and the warmth of his touch seemed to sink into her, making her all too aware of just how alive she felt in his presence.

He didn’t rush her, didn’t push her to say or do anything. William simply was, his patience palpable as he let her exist in this moment of uncertainty. His quiet restraint unnerved her in a way that wasn’t unpleasant—it made her want to pull closer even as her mind screamed at her to tread carefully. She had never been so conscious of someone’s physicality before, never noticed the way their body moved, the way it felt so vividly. It wasn’t just that William was fit; it was the balance he struck between strength and subtlety, the way his movements were deliberate and fluid, as if every inch of him had been designed with precision.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, breaking the silence like the softest of waves. “Margaux,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the top of her head, “T’es bien?” It had been a long time since he had spoken in French to someone other than his father. However, there was an underlying truth that William knew, Margaux preferred French. (Are you okay?)

She nodded faintly, though her body still felt the aftershocks of their kiss, her thoughts a chaotic jumble. “Oui, mais..., chuis juste... un peu accablée,” she admitted quietly, her voice nearly drowned by the weight of her emotions. (Yes, but... I’m just... a bit overwhelmed.)

“Accablée?” he repeated softly, his hand stilling on her arm for a moment. “Pourquoi?” (Overwhelmed? Why?)

Margaux let out a shaky breath, her chest tightening as the question settled in the space between them. “Chais pas, c'est un peu trop pour moi aujourd'hui,” she said, her words coming out softer than she intended. (I don’t know, it’s a bit too much for me today.)

William was silent for a moment, his hand resuming its gentle movements. “Qu'est-ce qui est trop?” he asked, his tone impossibly tender. (What is too much?)

She sighed, her gaze falling to the floor as she fought the knot in her throat. “Tout. Toi. Ce soir... L'alcool. N'est-ce pas?” she replied, her voice breaking just slightly as the admission left her. (Everything. You. Tonight. The alcohol. What is it not?)

“C’est normal,” he said, his voice a soothing balm. “Tu as besoin de te reposer et de tout traiter. Rien de mal à ça.” His words were simple, but they carried a weight that made her feel as though it was okay to be overwhelmed, to not have all the answers right now. (It’s normal. You need to rest and process everything. There’s nothing wrong with that.)

Margaux let out a long breath, leaning further into him as his hand moved to her shoulder, squeezing gently. His words gave her the space she needed to feel without judgment, and though she wasn’t sure she understood her emotions entirely, she found herself beginning to relax, if only slightly. Every part of her was still hyper-aware of him—his warmth, the controlled strength in his body, the calm authority in his voice—and for once, she let herself sink into the moment without overanalyzing it.

“I’m going to head out,” William said softly, standing slowly. The loss of his warmth was immediate, but his hand lingered briefly on her shoulder, reassuring her. “Take some time to think about everything, alright? Process it at your own pace.”

She looked up at him, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. She didn’t want him to leave, not really, but she couldn’t find the words to ask him to stay. Not now.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He gave her a small, understanding smile before leaning down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. The gesture was simple, tender, and felt like a promise—that he wasn’t rushing her, wasn’t expecting anything she couldn’t give.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured, his voice as steady as ever. “We’ll figure it out when you’re ready.”

And with that, he left, his steps quiet as the door clicked softly behind him. Margaux stayed where she was, her body still humming from the closeness they had shared. She closed her eyes, letting herself breathe in the lingering traces of his presence. William was so much—his strength, his calm, his warmth—and for the first time in a long while, Margaux allowed herself to feel the weight of it all, even if she didn’t know what it meant yet.