Marked by the King

Chapter Eighteen – Almost

Emilia’s POV

I wasn’t supposed to be in this hallway.

The elevator was out.

The service stairwell had a leak.

So I took the long way.

And now I was here—tray in my hand, apron tied too tight, heart thudding like it had been wound wrong.

I knew he was close before I saw him.

Could feel it in the air.

Thicker.

Slower.

Like something important was about to happen and the world was trying to brace for impact.

⸻

When I turned the corner, I stopped breathing.

Because there he was.

Luca.

Black coat open.

Collarbone visible through the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.

Hands in his pockets like he owned the gravity in the room.

And maybe he did.

⸻

We stopped at the same time.

A hallway made narrow by silence.

Too much space for everyone else, but not enough for the two of us.

His eyes met mine.

And everything else dropped away.

⸻

Luca’s POV

She looked like something sacred.

Like if I touched her, I’d ruin the very thing I wanted most.

But my hands twitched anyway.

She was twenty steps away.

Then ten.

Then five.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

But her breath hitched.

And that sound—barely audible—landed like a scream inside my chest.

⸻

I should’ve kept walking.

Should’ve nodded and passed by and kept my distance like I promised myself I would.

But I didn’t.

I stopped.

Because some things don’t care about restraint.

And this girl?

She was gravity.

She was war.

She was mine.

⸻

Emilia’s POV

I held the tray tighter.

Not because it was heavy.

Because I needed something to anchor me.

He wasn’t smiling.

Wasn’t speaking.

Just watching.

Like I was the answer to a question he’d asked years ago.

⸻

The silence stretched so long I thought I might scream just to break it.

But instead, I swallowed.

Shifted the tray from one hand to the other.

And waited.

⸻

Say something.

Anything.

⸻

Luca’s POV

She smelled like soap and citrus.

Warm.

Real.

Not perfume or flowers or something meant to cover a life.

Just her.

And that was worse somehow.

Because it wasn’t a costume.

It wasn’t a mask.

It was Emilia.

And I wanted to peel her open until I understood every inch of what made her move.

⸻

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t retreat.

But her knuckles whitened on the tray.

And her throat moved like she was trying to swallow words she didn’t dare speak.

⸻

Say something.

Anything.

⸻

Emilia’s POV

The key was hot against my chest.

It had slipped sideways during my shift, catching just beneath the edge of my bra.

Now it burned.

Pressed between my heart and a mouth I didn’t know how to use anymore.

His gaze dropped there.

Just for a second.

And I knew.

He could feel it too.

⸻

I should’ve said hi.

Should’ve smiled.

Should’ve cleared my throat or looked away or done something that proved I still had control over my limbs.

But I didn’t.

I stayed still.

Held together by nothing but willpower and breath.

And even that was fraying.

⸻

Luca’s POV

If I stepped closer, she wouldn’t run.

I knew that now.

She would stay.

Would meet me.

Would fall.

But that wasn’t how this was supposed to happen.

She had to come to me.

Freely.

Desperately.

Ready.

And today?

She wasn’t ready.

But soon…

Soon she would be.

⸻

Emilia’s POV

We were inches apart.

Close enough to touch.

Close enough to feel.

My hand shifted without meaning to.

Fingers twitching.

Wanting.

His hand moved too.

But neither of us reached.

⸻

Say something.

Please.

⸻

Luca’s POV

I saw her lips part.

The faintest sound.

Not a word.

Just breath.

But it filled the space like thunder.

And for one sharp second, I almost did it.

I almost broke the rule I’d carved into my spine.

Not yet.

⸻

Emilia’s POV

I stepped forward.

Just half a step.

Just enough to almost brush him.

And then he moved.

Not far.

Not away.

Just enough.

To let me pass.

To let me choose.

⸻

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

I walked.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Felt the heat of his gaze follow me like a second skin.

And when I passed him?

I whispered—

Not aloud.

Just in my head.

Just to him.

Please.

⸻

Luca’s POV

She walked away.

And I let her.

But only because I had to.

Only because the game wasn’t over yet.

Only because she hadn’t said yes.

And when she did?

The world wouldn’t be enough to stop me.

⸻

I turned.

Watched her disappear down the hall.

And said the only thing I could.

Soft.

Gravel-deep.

To the air she left behind.

⸻

“Not yet.”

⸻

Emilia’s POV

I didn’t remember the walk back.

One moment I was in the hallway, his presence still clinging to my skin like perfume I hadn’t asked to wear.

The next—I was back in the kitchen.

Clutching the tray so tightly the edges dug into my palms.

I set it down. Smiled at a coworker. Nodded when someone asked about soup.

But none of it registered.

Because he was still in my head.

Still in the ache behind my ribs.

Still in the place just under my skin that burned hotter now.

⸻

Lizzy gave me a look across the kitchen. One eyebrow raised.

I looked away before she could say anything.

⸻

I needed a second.

One breath. One break.

Something to remind me I was still in control of this.

Of me.

I ducked into the back hall.

Locker room. Bathroom. Storage closet.

Anywhere he wasn’t.

Anywhere I could think.

⸻

I slipped into the last stall and locked the door.

Sat down on the toilet lid.

Pulled my notebook from the waistband of my apron.

Flipped to the page where his name waited.

And stared.

⸻

Then, without meaning to, I turned the book sideways and traced the outline of my hand.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Then turned to a new page and did it again.

This time… I drew his hand beside mine.

Larger. Rougher. The way I remembered it from the dream.

And where the fingers overlapped—

I shaded the space in like heat.

⸻

My cheeks burned.

Not from shame.

But from recognition.

Because I wasn’t denying it anymore.

Not what I felt.

Not what I wanted.

Not what I craved.

And it wasn’t just his voice or his eyes or the way the air around him made me feel seen.

It was the promise.

Of something dark.

Of something safe.

Of something that didn’t ask me to shrink to be loved.

But to stand taller.

To belong.

⸻

I touched the key under my shirt.

Pressed it flat against my chest.

And whispered—

Not a name.

Not a prayer.

Just a sound.

Soft.

Unformed.

But real.

⸻

Luca’s POV

I watched the camera feed ten times.

More.

Looped the moment on mute.

Back and forth.

Frame by frame.

The way she stepped into the hallway like she didn’t know I’d be there—but felt it anyway.

The way her breath caught.

The flicker in her eyes.

The tremble in her wrist.

The way her fingers shifted just enough to almost reach for me.

⸻

Almost.

The word drove me insane.

Almost was worse than never.

Because almost meant it was real.

Almost meant it had weight.

Almost meant if I hadn’t stopped myself, I would’ve touched her.

And if I touched her?

There wouldn’t have been a hallway left by the time I was done.

⸻

Nico walked in.

Paused.

Watched the screen.

“You’re torturing yourself,” he muttered.

I didn’t answer.

He sighed. “Want me to make sure you two do bump into each other again?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“She needs to feel it build.”

Nico crossed his arms. “She already feels it, boss. Hell, I feel it.”

“Not enough.”

“Luca…”

“I said no.”

⸻

He left after that.

Didn’t push.

Because he knew.

This wasn’t about force.

This was about surrender.

And I wanted hers on her knees.

⸻

I let the video play one last time.

Watched the moment our hands hovered in the air between us like two stars about to collide.

Then paused it.

Stared at the still frame.

Zoomed in on her face.

The flush in her cheeks.

The part in her lips.

The question in her eyes she hadn’t dared ask yet.

⸻

I leaned back in the chair.

Closed my eyes.

And thought of her writing my name in that notebook.

Tracing it with fingertips that trembled more each day.

Drawing my hand beside hers.

Planning a world where they touched.

⸻

She wouldn’t run.

Not now.

Not when she was already walking toward me in dreams.

Not when her body had already given in.

Not when the key around her neck pressed a vow into her skin with every step.

⸻

The garden was almost ready.

The wine chilled.

The path carved.

And soon?

She’d stop whispering say something and start saying please.

And then I’d give her everything.

⸻

But today?

Today I let her pass.

Watched her body tremble with restraint.

Watched my own hands curl tight at my sides.

And when the hallway emptied and the lights flickered and the silence rushed back in?

I said it again.

To no one.

To her.

To the hunger that was now half of who I was.

⸻

“Not yet.”