CHAPTER 2 : CHEEK KISS

The officiant’s voice rose above the quiet murmur of the room, clear and decisive: “And now, you may kiss your spouse.”

Damon’s entire body went rigid. He’d been preparing for this moment for days, telling himself it would be quick, impersonal. Just another part of the performance they were putting on for everyone in attendance. But as he turned to face you, the words he’d rehearsed in his head vanished completely.

Your eyes were fixed on his, wide and dark and filled with a mix of fear and something else he couldn’t quite place, and suddenly his mouth was dry, his hands shaking slightly at his sides.

He leaned in slowly, carefully, keeping his movement stiff and deliberate so no one would see how nervous he really was. He could smell your scent something light and clean that made his head spin and feel the warmth radiating from your skin. Instead of pressing his lips to yours like everyone expected, he tilted his head slightly and brushed them against your cheek, the contact so brief it was over before either of you could process it.

He pulled back immediately, his jaw clenched so tight he could feel a headache building behind his eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder as if the wall was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

In his peripheral vision, he could see the way some of the guests shifted in their seats a few looked confused, others disappointed, but most just looked away, pretending not to notice the rebellion burning in his eyes. His father’s jaw was set, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of his chair, but he said nothing, just gave a small, sharp nod that meant we’ll talk about this later.

As the applause began polite and measured, not exactly enthusiastic. Damon took a step back, putting space between you two as you turned to walk down the aisle together. The walk felt endless, every eye in the room on you both, every footstep echoing in his ears like a drumbeat. Just as you reached the end of the aisle, he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he spoke in a low, rough whisper that only you could hear.

“I don’t like this any more than you do,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I know you didn’t have a choice in this any more than I did. So here’s what we’ll do, we’ll keep our distance. We’ll play our parts when we have to, do whatever the families need us to do to make this work for them. But that’s it. No pretending we’re something we’re not. No getting close. No… nothing else.”

His words were meant to be firm, final a boundary he needed to set to protect himself from feelings he didn’t want to deal with. But as he spoke, he felt his cheeks warming again, remembering the way your skin had felt against his lips, how small you’d looked standing beside him. He pulled away quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets once more as he led you toward the doors where the cars were waiting to take you to the reception.

You didn’t respond, just kept your gaze forward, your hands clenched at your sides. But he could see the way your shoulders tensed at his words, and a small part of him, the part he tried to ignore, felt a pang of guilt. He knew this was hard on you too. You’d been pulled into this just like he had, a pawn in a game neither of you wanted to play.

As you climbed into the car beside him, the silence between you was thick and heavy. He stared out the window, watching the world pass by in a blur of colors, while you sat perfectly still beside him, your hands folded in your lap.

He wanted to say something to apologize, to explain, to tell you that it wasn’t personal but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he just sat there, feeling like he was suffocating in the fancy suit and the even fancier lie they were all telling.

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