"Isabella."
We both froze.
Adrien’s body went still above mine, breath halting just inches from my cheek. I didn’t dare move.
Maybe if I stayed perfectly still, we’d become invisible. Like startled animals.
No such luck.
The silence stretched—thick and suffocating—until Adrien slowly, so slowly, straightened up. He didn’t scramble or fumble or even look remotely sheepish. No. He adjusted himself like a man fixing his cufflinks before a board meeting. Calm, collected and unbothered.
Meanwhile, my heart had rocketed straight through my ribcage and into the stratosphere.
I scrambled up from the floor, nearly slipping again, tugging my shirt down in a useless attempt to look less compromised. My face was on fire. My brain completely short-circuited.
My father stood at the entrance, dressed in his scrubs, a pet carrier in one hand and the world’s most judgmental tabby cat glaring out from behind the mesh screen. Ivy—traitorous baby—chose that exact moment to bark once and then trot cheerfully over to him like this was just another Tuesday evening.
"Dad," I said, far too loud, far too fast. "Hi. Hi. You’re early!"
"Isabella," he repeated, tone impressively neutral.
He glanced at Adrien, who was now calmly brushing invisible lint off his pants. Not a hair out of place. The very picture of a respectable young man who absolutely had not just been caught nearly making out with the woman whose father had just walked in the door.
"Doctor Miller," Adrien said smoothly, as if he’d just arrived to check the plumbing. He offered the most obnoxiously polite nod. "Lovely cat."
The cat hissed.
I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.
My dad looked between the two of us. Then at the tablet lying abandoned halfway under the coffee table. Then back to Adrien.
"So," he said finally. "Am I interrupting something, or is this your new version of physiotherapy?"
Adrien didn’t even blink. "Balance training," he said evenly. "Falls are unpredictable. I’m helping her respond in real time."
The audacity.
I made a strangled noise. "I tripped."
"Right," he said, setting the carrier down as Ivy did circles around his legs. "She tripped. Into his mouth. Happens all the time. Must be a new form of physical therapy."
The tabby cat in the carrier let out a long-suffering groan that sounded suspiciously like it was judging my life choices.
Adrien coughed into his fist, eyes glinting. "She’s very committed to her recovery, sir."
"Committed to her recovery, indeed," my father muttered, his gaze sweeping over the scene: me, flustered and dishevelled; Adrien, annoyingly composed; the abandoned tablet; the general air of chaos that screamed ’caught in the act’.
He picked up the cat carrier. "Well, I’m glad to see you’re taking such a hands-on approach, Adrien." His voice was dripping with sarcasm.
I might’ve whimpered.
He clapped Adrien on the shoulder on his way to the kitchen, muttering, "I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see anything unless I hear wedding bells in the next six months."
My jaw might’ve hit the floor. Wedding bells? In six months? My father had just uttered the most utterly mortifying, old-fashioned, and hilariously inappropriate threat/wish/blessing I could possibly imagine.
I turned to Adrien with wide eyes, whispering harshly, "What is wrong with you?!"
He leaned in, not nearly repentant enough. "I was smooth. Admit it."
"You’re going to get me murdered."
"Your dad’s not buying the whole ’I tripped’ thing."
"You’re one to talk, Casanova," I shot back, fighting a grin. "Filtration while I’m laid up on the floor? Classy."
"Hey," he protested, holding up his hands in mock innocence. "You’re the one who jumped me."
"Only because you stole my tablet like a toddler!"
He snorted. "I was saving you from yourself. You’re supposed to be resting, remember?"
"Right. I remember now. That’s why you had your tongue in my mouth."
He stepped closer, eyes darkening. "Well, it was either your mouth or your neck. I wasn’t picky at the time."
I swallowed hard, pulse jumping. "You wouldn’t dare."
"Oh, I’d dare. Question is, would you like it if I did?"
He was close now, a hairsbreadth from touching. This close, I could see the silver flecks in his eyes. My mouth went dry.
"You’re playing with fire," I warned, voice unsteady.
The corner of his mouth kicked up. "I like heat."
I groaned, flopping onto the couch and covering my face with a cushion.
From the kitchen, my dad’s voice called out dryly, "Adrien, I hope you like decaf. I made a pot."
Adrien smirked. "Love the man."
I groaned louder, burrowing my face deeper into the cushion. My father and Adrien. Talking. About me. Possibly while holding a judgmental feline. This was a nightmare.
Adrien chuckled, a low, warm sound. "He likes me."
"He thinks you’re trying to get me pregnant so you can trick me into marriage," I mumbled into the fabric.
"That’s a surprisingly specific interpretation," he said, though his voice held no hint of surprise. If anything, it sounded... pleased. "Don’t worry, I corrected him. It’s clearly you trying to seduce me."
I lifted my head, pulling the cushion down to glare at him. "You absolutely did not say that."
"Not in those exact words," he conceded, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "But the implication was there. Very subtle."
"Subtle as a brick through a window, Adrien."
And then his phone rang, shrill in the charged silence. He hesitated, gaze still locked on mine, before slowly reaching for it with a muttered curse.
"Yes?" he answered, voice clipped. His eyes didn’t leave my face.
I tried to back away, suddenly desperate for some space, some air. But my traitorous body wouldn’t cooperate, rooted to the spot by the sheer force of his attention.
Adrien listened for a beat, frowning. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah."
He ended the call and exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. When he looked up at me, his expression was regretful.
"I have to go," he said, apologetic.
Disappointment spiked through me, followed by a wave of guilt. Of course he had to go. He had responsibilities. It wasn’t fair for me to hog his time, especially not when we were nearly caught making out on my living room floor by my overly protective, wedding-bell-obsessed father.
"Right. Of course," I said, trying for breezy and probably landing somewhere around constipated.
"I’ll call you later?"
"Sure," I said, a little too quickly. "Whenever you’re free."
He studied me for a moment, as if trying to read my thoughts. Then, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. "Behave yourself."
Before I could respond, he turned and headed towards the kitchen, presumably to have the awkward conversation with my father.
I heard the murmur of voices – Adrien’s smooth bass, my dad’s deeper rumble. A clink of mugs. The faint, disapproving mrrow of the cat. Adrien appeared in the archway moments later, car keys already in his hand.
"Doctor Miller, thank you for the coffee," he said, giving my dad a nod that was infuriatingly polite. "Isabella, rest up. Call me if you need anything." His gaze lingered on mine for just a fraction too long before he gave another brief nod and was gone.
The front door clicked shut.
The silence left in Adrien’s wake was louder than I expected.
"He seems like a nice young man," Dad said, handing me one of the mugs he brought with him. "If a little... intense."
"He is..." I searched for the right word. "Complicated."
"Aren’t they all?" He settled into the armchair opposite me, Ivy jumping onto his lap. "So," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. "About this ’balance training’..."
I groaned again, burying my face in my hands. "Dad, please."
He chuckled. "Alright, alright. I won’t pry. Just... be careful, Isabella. I know you’re strong, but... don’t let him rush you into anything you’re not ready for."
His words warmed me in a way I hadn’t expected.