She woke to a suffocating silence. Anxious, needing a connection to the outside world, however toxic, she fumbled on the bedside table until her fingers found the cold glass of her phone. She held the power button, and the device vibrated to life in her hand. Not a minute later, the sun streamed through the window, warming the foot of the bed.

Dahlia woke up to the sound of her phone ringing.

She groaned. Gaynell. Again.

She reached for the phone. She had an idea. A petty, desperate idea.

She answered.

Before Gaynell could speak, Dahlia pitched her voice an octave higher. She made it breathless. Sweet.

Oh, Clive... stop it... Mother is on the phone.

She paused, as if listening to someone whisper in her ear.

Gaynell went silent.

Dahlia giggled. It was a fake, sugary sound.

No, honey, not there... I have to talk to her.

Dahlia? Gaynell's voice was suddenly cautious. Respectful. Is Clive there?

Yes, Dahlia sighed. He's being... very distracting. We're having a lazy morning.

She made a smacking sound. A kiss.

Mwah. Behave, darling.

Okay, Mother, I have to go. Clive is getting impatient. Love you, bye.

She hung up.

She threw the phone down and let out a long breath.

Victory.

She smiled to herself. That should buy her a week of silence. Gaynell wouldn't interrupt if she thought they were making an heir.

So, I'm distracting?

The voice came from the bathroom doorway.

Dahlia froze. Her blood turned to ice.

She turned her head slowly toward the sound.

Clive?

He was leaning against the doorframe. He had just showered. A towel was draped around his waist. Water droplets clung to his chest hair. He watched her with amusement dancing in his eyes.

You didn't leave? she squeaked.

Clive walked into the room. No. I slept on the couch.

Dahlia wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She covered her face with her hands.

Oh my god. You heard that.

Every word, Clive said. He walked closer. He smelled of soap and amusement.

I... I just wanted her to leave me alone, she stammered.

Clive chuckled. It was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated in her chest.

It was a very convincing performance, he said. I particularly liked the 'not there' part. Where exactly was I not supposed to be touching you?

Dahlia's face burned. She felt like she was on fire.

Shut up, she groaned.

Clive sat on the edge of the bed. He was enjoying this.

You know, he said, his voice dropping lower. If you need sound effects next time, just ask. I can be very... vocal.

Dahlia hit him with a pillow.

He caught it easily. He laughed again.

It was the first time she had ever heard him really laugh. It wasn't cold. It wasn't cruel. It was warm.

She peeked out from behind her hands.

You're not mad?

Mad? Clive tossed the pillow aside. That was the highlight of my week. Watching you manipulate that witch? It was art.

He poured her a glass of water.

Here. Hydrate. All that moaning must have made you thirsty.

Dahlia groaned again, pulling the sheet over her head.

Clive watched the lump under the covers. His smile faded slightly, replaced by a softer look.

He liked this. He liked her.

The realization terrified him.

It was afternoon. The room was golden.

Clive was on a Zoom call. He had his AirPods in, murmuring about quarterly projections.

Dahlia was bored. She was listening to an audiobook, but her mind wandered.

She could hear Clive breathing. She could hear the rustle of his papers.

She moved to reach for her water. Her hand knocked the remote off the table.

Clive stopped talking mid-sentence.

Hold on, he said to the board of directors.

He took the AirPods out. He walked over, picked up the remote, and placed it in her hand.

You're a hazard, he said. But his tone was gentle.

Clive?

Hmm?

What do you look like?

Clive paused. I look like a man.

Dahlia rolled her eyes behind the bandages. Helpful. I mean... I saw you at the wedding, but you were far away. And scary.

Scary?

Intimidating. I want to know.

Clive sighed. He sat down.

Well, I have two eyes. A nose. A mouth.

Dahlia reached out. Can I?

Clive stared at her hand hovering in the air.

He knew he should say no. This was crossing a line. This was Clause 34B being shredded.

But he leaned forward.

Fine. But don't poke me in the eye.

Dahlia's fingertips touched his jaw.

Stubborn, she muttered. He hadn't shaved since yesterday. The stubble was rough against her soft skin. It sent a zing of electricity through his nerves.

She traced his jawline. Strong. Square.

She moved up. High cheekbones.

Your nose is straight, she whispered. Like a Roman statue.

She moved to his eyes. He closed them. Her fingers fluttered over his eyelids.

You look tired, she said. Even your eyes feel heavy.

She moved down.

Her thumb brushed his lower lip.

Clive stopped breathing.

Her finger traced the shape of his mouth. It was a stern mouth. But under her touch, it softened.

He had the sudden, insane urge to bite her finger. To taste her skin.

Dahlia pulled her hand back.

You're handsome, she decided. But you look mean.

Clive opened his eyes. He grabbed her hand before she could pull it all the way back.

I am mean, he whispered.

No, you're not. Not really.

Clive looked at her. She was blind, but she saw him better than anyone else ever had.

He let go of her hand. He stood up abruptly.

I have to get back to the meeting.

He put his AirPods back in.

But for the rest of the call, he couldn't concentrate on the profit margins. He could only feel the ghost of her fingers on his lips.

Night fell. The city lights twinkled outside, invisible to Dahlia.

Clive was putting on his jacket.

You're leaving? Dahlia asked. She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

I have a gala. The Met. I can't miss it.

Oh. Of course.

Clive heard the sadness. He stopped.

He walked back to the bed.

Give me your phone.

Why?

Just give it to me.

She handed it over.

He typed in a number. He set it to Speed Dial 1.

This is my private line, he said. It bypasses Arthur. It rings directly in my pocket. Even in meetings. Even at galas.

Dahlia held the phone like it was a precious stone.

Why?

In case you fall again. Or in case Gaynell calls. Or in case you just... want to know what I'm wearing.

Dahlia smiled. What are you wearing?

A tuxedo. Black tie.

You must look very dashing.

I look like a penguin who is about to be very bored.

He laughed.

He hesitated. Then, he took her hand.

He didn't shake it. He didn't hold it.

He raised it to his lips.

He kissed her knuckles. A lingering, warm pressure.

Goodnight, Dahlia.

He turned and walked out before she could say anything.

Dahlia sat there, touching her hand.

She pressed the button. Speed Dial 1.

It rang once.

Hello? Clive's voice. He was in the hallway.

I just... wanted to test it, she whispered.

Works perfectly, he said.

She could hear the smile in his voice.

Go knock 'em dead, Penguin.

She hung up.

Clive stood in the elevator, staring at his phone. The screen saver was the default stock image. He changed it to a photo he had secretly taken of her sleeping an hour ago.

He was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.