Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
He sucks in a deep breath, his chest rising as he tries to steady himself. “Yeah,” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I guess I’m used to it, but that doesn’t mean you should have to deal with it too.”
His words sink in, and for the first time, I realize how much this is weighing on him. How much he’s worried about what this life might mean for us. The thought tugs at me, a dull ache forming in my chest. I squeeze his hand, wanting to tell him it’ll be fine, that we can handle it. But before I can say anything, we spot my parents up ahead, and York’s expression changes, a mask of calm slipping over his features as we approach them.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of holiday shopping and small talk with my parents, but there’s a heavy weight hanging between York and me. It’s subtle at first—just a quiet tension—but it grows as the hours tick by. I can feel it in the way his hand grips mine a little too tightly, in the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks at me.
Like there’s something unresolved, something lurking underneath the surface, disrupting the happiness we felt just this morning. And no matter how hard I try to push it away, it lingers between us, a silent reminder that our worlds are colliding in ways neither of us fully understands yet.
We’re all sitting around the fire, the heat from the flames doing little to ease the knot forming in my stomach. The crackle of the wood burning is soothing, but the tension between York and me is thick enough to cut with a knife. I can feel it, unspoken and heavy, ever since we got back from shopping. My parents are oblivious, chatting about the upcoming charity event, but all I can focus on is the uncomfortable silence between York and me.
My dad clears his throat, breaking through my spiraling thoughts. “So,” he starts, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes flicking between me and York, “I’ve been thinking about what we’ll need to do after the holidays. You know, to wrap this thing up for the media.”
My heart sinks, the weight of what he’s saying hitting me like a ton of bricks. I glance at York, expecting him to say something, anything. This is the moment—our moment to tell my parents that this isn’t a fake relationship anymore. That we’re real. But York just sits there, staring into the fire, his jaw tight, not saying a word.
I can’t speak either. My throat feels like it’s closing up, the words trapped somewhere deep inside me. This was supposed to be it, the perfect moment to come clean. But now, with my dad watching us so expectantly and York not stepping up, I feel like I can’t do it alone.
Dad continues, oblivious to the turmoil in my head. “We need to come up with a story for your breakup. Something simple, believable. The press will eat it up, and then Noelle won’t have to worry about any of this when she heads back to college.”
I feel the air leave my lungs. A breakup? My mind is spinning, my heart pounding in my chest. This is the exact opposite of what I wanted. I look at York again, silently pleading with him to say something, to stop this conversation from spiraling out of control. But he just sits there, tense, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“York?” My dad prompts, waiting for his input. “What do you think? We could say it just didn’t work out, that you both decided to part as friends. It’ll be clean, no drama. Then nobody will bother Noelle when she goes back to school.”
I want to scream, to stand up and tell them both that this isn’t fake anymore, that York and I are really together, that we don’t want to break up. But the words won’t come. Not with York sitting there, silent. If he’s not going to say anything, how can I?
I force a tight smile, nodding along as if I’m okay with this whole ridiculous plan. “Yeah,” I manage to say, though my voice sounds far away. “That could work.”
York finally looks up, his eyes meeting mine, but I can’t read his expression. There’s something there, something I can’t quite place, but he doesn’t speak. He just nods, agreeing with my dad’s plan as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if the idea of publicly breaking up doesn’t tear me apart inside.
The conversation drifts after that, my dad satisfied with the plan as he leans back in his chair, talking about logistics and timing. I barely hear him. All I can think about is the silence between York and me, the opportunity slipping away, and the ache building in my chest.