He was lost. He was totally, utterly lost. Everything he’d tried to distance himself from Ophelia and the way he was feeling about her was hopeless, now. As he walked through Madrid with her beside him, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d never seen the city until now. He’d never seen it covered with snow, sure, but it felt like he’d never seen it at all.

And it struck him that meeting Ophelia was like getting to see the whole world for the first time again. Everywhere he brought her, he’d be able to see as though for the first time. One day in the future, when he felt he could tell her in a way that didn’t sound over the top, he would have to tell her that. But tonight, walking through the streets back to the hotel, he simply enjoyed the quiet night and the company he had for it.

As they neared the hotel, though, his peace began to crack. He hadn’t even kissed her. Not on her lips. Not the way he wanted to. And everything in him wanted very much to kiss her, and invite her to his room, so that the night wouldn’t have to end, and he could get to know every part of her as well as he had already gotten to know her face.

In theory, there was nothing stopping him asking her. With the way she was nestled into him, she would go with him; he was sure of it. At the very least, she would welcome his kiss with an open heart.

And isn’t that what he wanted? So why did the thought set him on edge?

It wasn’t until they were almost at her room that he was able to put his finger on what was bothering him.

Nikolai.

He was there, lurking, even when he and Ophelia were alone together. The thought of the arrangement that Salim had made with him was ever-present, and poisoned everything.

Salim couldn’t lie to Ophelia. When he did, she shut him out, and he couldn’t take that coldness. So, even if he called off the bet with Nikolai, and managed to get his friend to agree never to tell, it wouldn’t be enough. Eventually, one day, Salim would have to tell her the truth of how they came to meet.

He flushed red with embarrassment, and he was glad that Ophelia couldn’t see his face from where she stood. How would he tell her? How would he confess that he had made a heinous bet with his friend as to who could get Ophelia into his bed the fastest? The moment she heard that, he’d lose her forever. And he hadn’t realized until this moment how horrible a loss that would be.

Even if he told the truth—that he’d only taken the bet as a means of protecting Ophelia from Nikolai’s advances—would she believe him? And even if she did believe him, how would he justify being friends with a man who could treat her so callously? How could he sum up nearly two decades of friendship, and how much they had both changed in that time?

How could he defend a man he knew was indefensible?

He didn’t have answers to these questions, and he realized now that he desperately needed to find them. But even before he knew how to deal with the question of the bet, he knew that if he so much as kissed Ophelia before she knew the truth, then that kiss would be tainted. Everything they did would be tainted.

He wanted the first time he kissed her to be pure. He wanted her to be able to look back on it and know, without a shadow of a doubt, what his thoughts and intentions towards her were. And that meant that, with a great heaviness, Salim knew they couldn’t kiss tonight.

When they drew up to the door, he knew what he had to do. Slowly, gently, he released his arm from around her shoulders, and took her hand in his.

She looked up at him, and he knew she wanted him to kiss her. That purity of expression of face and body told him that, loud and clear.

It was the hardest thing Salim had ever done to bring her hand up to his lips, and kiss it. He tried to kiss it with every ounce of the tenderness he would treat her lips with, if he were able, but he knew it wasn’t enough. He knew she wanted more, even as he did.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to you in London, after we spent time together there,” he spoke out into the disappointed quiet between them. “I know an apology isn’t much, and you’re owed an explanation. But there are some things I have to sort out before I can do that.”

She was confused, and disappointed. He hated to see her that way. And he hated, more than anything, that he was the one who had put that expression on her face. But he couldn’t stop, now.

“And…also, before I can see you again.”

This time, her face practically spoke to him without her needing to say a word. It told him of her disappointment. It told her how much he had hurt her.

“Soon,” he said, stepping back. “I just need some time.”

He turned and left before she could reply. At a word, he would stay. He couldn’t let her ask.