Chapter 6 Terms and conditions

Sienna.

The moment the door slams shut behind us, I tear myself away from him, my skin prickling and heart hammering in my chest. Realizing what I had just done.

“She’s gone now,” I could hardly meet his eyes, I focus instead on the expensive collar of his jacket. Anywhere but his face.

“She needed to know her place.” Roman added. His deep voice is rough, completely devoid of the sudden warmth he had just used when his tongue was tangled with mine. 

“Sure, I understand. It’s not real.” I let out a dry laugh.

He frowns, pulling a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket. He brings it to his mouth, roughly rubbing my lipstick stain off his lips.

“Can we leave now?” I ask.

“Okay.” 

The walk out of the gala venue and the ride back home was awkward. For me at least. 

The silence on the ride back home was deafening. I mean sure it was a fake kiss and a strategic play to ruin his ex’s night and protect my dignity. But he rubbed it off like I was going to contaminate him with something. 

I stare out the passenger window, the passing lights of the city blurring into long streaks of gold.

“We should set rules for this whole thing.” I say, finally breaking the silence. 

“Sure.” He said coldly while his eyes remained locked on the road. 

“Firstly, no one can know we’re step-siblings—“

“Going to be.” He corrects instantly. 

“Yes, whatever. We don’t need to know about our personal lives, you can fuck or kiss who you want, as long as it doesn’t affect our deal. Same applies to me.” 

He nods. 

“PDA is strictly when needed... just like tonight.” Outside school and those specific moments, we don’t exist to each other.” I looked at him, he didn't even budge, just nodding like a lizard. 

“You didn’t mention the most important part.” his deep baritone voices out as he turns the steering into our street. 

“What is that?”

“You can't fall in love with me.” 

A breathless, incredulous laugh escapes my throat. “You think way too highly of yourself, Roman. You’re arrogant, brooding, and completely not my type. So no, that’s not even on my list.” I scoff, turning back to the window.

Falling in love with him? I’d have to be an absolute idiot to fall for a guy like him.

The car pulls into the long, paved driveway of our house.

“I’ll go in first,” I announce, unbuckling my seatbelt before the engine even dies. “I don’t want to be caught going out with a bad influence like you.”

“They’re out for dinner,” he says, not even looking at me as he cuts the headlights. “You don’t have to sneak in.”

“Oh. Alright then.”

I scramble out of his car, my heels clicking sharply against the pavement as I head straight into the house and up the stairs to my bedroom.

The moment I shut the door, I lean my weight against it, closing my eyes. The silence of the empty house rushes in. Slowly, against my own will, my thumbs lift to brush against my bottom lip. Feeling the ghost of the sudden, terrifying heat of how he had kissed me back. So many things I could have done to save face in front of his ex, but I decided to kiss him. So stupid. So incredibly stupid.

I drop my hands and try to breathe, but the designer dress suddenly feels like a cage.

I reach behind my back, my fingers fumbling for the zipper. I pull. It doesn’t move. I pull harder, twisting my arms at an awkward angle until my shoulders ache. The fabric pinches my skin, but won't budge.

Five minutes pass. Then ten. Panic starts to set in, a claustrophobic wave of overstimulation making my skin feel incredibly hot. I step out of my room, my chest heaving as I head down into the kitchen.

I pick up a knife from the block on the counter. I stare at the blade, then look at my reflection in the microwave door. No. It’s an expensive dress. Roman bought it. Destroying it feels childish, leaving me with exactly one option.

Roman.

I walk up the stairs to his room. I hesitate twice, my hand hovering over the dark wood, before I finally knock.

The door opens almost instantly.

“I—I need you to help me with my dress,” I stammer, the words tripping over each other. “It’s stuck.” When he just stares at me, his gaze heavy and unreadable, I swallow my pride. “Please.”

He steps out into the hallway. Behind him, I sneak a peek into his room. I’m not surprised to find it completely dark. Like his heart.

“Stop peeking and turn around,” he mutters.

“I wasn’t peeking,” I lie, quickly spinning on my heel to present my back to him.

The hallway lights are dim and the house is completely silent, save for the sound of our breathing. 

My breath seized when I felt his finger grazing the bare skin at the top of my spine.

A sharp gasp catches in my throat. I suck in a breath, my body instantly rigid. Every single nerve ending along my back fires at once. I try to focus on my room door ahead, on anything other than how super naturally sensitive my skin feels as his fingers work the zipper. His hands were warm, and entirely too steady.

“It’s not budging,” he says. His voice is dangerously close, his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending a violent shiver straight down my back. “We might have to cut it open.”

My palms grow sweaty. The air between us feels thick, charged with a current that makes it hard to inhale or even focus.

“Give me a minute,” he murmurs.

He steps back into his room, and the sudden drop in tension makes my knees feel weak. I lean slightly against the wall, trying to steady myself. My body feels way more alive, way more awake, than it ever has.

He returns, the faint metallic clink of a pair of scissors in his hand.

“Stay still,” he commands softly, stepping up close behind me again. “I’m going to cut it open.”

“It’s so expensive and pretty,” I whisper, a strange ache of regret hitting me.

“Would you rather go to bed like this?”

I shake my head, the friction of my hair rubbing against my shoulders.

“Then turn and remain still.”