Chapter 8 - A KISS THAT WASN'T IN THE CONTRACT
The next morning, Adrian was different.
Not dramatically.
Not suddenly cheerful.
But softer.
He smiled when I entered the library.
Asked whether I'd slept.
And thanked me when I brought coffee.
I sat beside him.
“Adrian.”
“Yes?”
“About last night.”
His expression changed.
I continued.
“I don't want you thinking I stayed because I felt sorry for you.”
He looked at me.
“I don't.”
“Good.”
A pause.
Then I smiled.
“Because you're still incredibly annoying.”
He laughed.
“Noted.”
Over the following weeks, our relationship changed.
We talked late into the night.
Shared meals.
Watched terrible movies.
And argued about music.
Adrian loved old blues.
I loved pop songs.
He called my playlists criminal.
I reminded him that he was literally a crime boss.
He laughed so hard he nearly spilled his coffee.
One evening, he asked me to dance.
I stared.
“Adrian.”
He smiled.
“I know.”
I looked at his wheelchair.
Then at him.
“How?”
He extended his hand.
“Come here.”
I stepped closer.
He drew me gently toward him.
I rested my hands on his shoulders.
He held my waist.
And we moved slowly to the music.
Not the dance we would have performed in a ballroom.
But something quieter.
More intimate.
More ours.
When the song ended, he looked up.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“May I kiss you?”
My heart raced.
I smiled.
“Yes.”
He kissed me.
Softly.
May you like
Carefully.
And for the first time, the marriage contract felt like the least important thing in the room.
