Switched Bride, True Luna - Chapter 31: Chapter 31

Emily
Moving into Logan’s house felt like stepping into forbidden territory. It was his personal space, designed exactly how he liked it, and it didn’t seem like anyone else had been welcomed before.
The place was stunning and immaculate. It had high ceilings, polished wood floors, and a kitchen that looked like it belonged on the cover of some high-end magazine. Everything smelled faintly of cedar, spice, and something I had started to associate with Logan himself.
I’d brought a few of my own things and made a quiet effort to make a space for myself, but it was impossible not to feel like I was a guest in a world I didn’t quite belong in.
Sharing a living space with the man I’d been trying to keep up boundaries with was dangerous.
My mind was reeling after every brush of his shoulder in the hallway. Every time we reached for the same coffee mug was laced with a tension that clung to the air like static.
He wasn’t even trying to tease me. That would have been easier. No, it was worse. He simply existed.
The way he moved through the space, his space, with that quiet, predatory grace of his was remarkable. Watching him pad barefoot through the hallway in low-slung joggers and no shirt should not have made my mouth go dry.
But it did. And I hated it.
The first few days were bearable only because we both kept busy. I had work to do and calls to make, and he was off doing business that I wasn’t fully allowed into yet.
That didn’t stop the friction from growing.
But it wasn’t the only friction in the house either. We constantly butt heads, especially in the way we liked to clean.
I preferred a tidy space. If I used a dinner plate, I washed it immediately. If Logan used one, he left it in the sink for the maid to get in a day or two. It was repulsive to me, but Logan didn’t care.
In fact, the man didn’t clean anything. The maid came twice a week and took care of the house. While I thought Sarah was perfectly nice, it didn’t seem like she needed to be cleaning up after us when we were perfectly capable of it.
Logan remained completely unbothered by it, which only made me more irritable. It mattered to me, so why couldn’t we at least have a conversation about it?
We finally snapped one morning.
I walked into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and craving caffeine. Instead, I found dirty dishes. Logan had already gone through the kitchen like a whirlwind, dirtying up pots and pans left on the stove and leaving his dishes in the sink.
I stopped in my tracks and stared.
“Seriously?”
Logan appeared from around the corner, shirtless, and mug in hand. He was entirely unfazed by my distress.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Do you not know how to clean up after yourself?”
He blinked, then shrugged. “The maid comes this afternoon.”
I threw my hands in the air. “That’s not the point! This is a shared space. I live here now, remember?”
“Believe me, I remember.”
I froze at his tone. It was too teasing for the moment, and it only made my anger flare more.
We stared at each other for a moment too long. Then I turned away and grabbed a sponge.
“If I wanted to live in a frat house, I would’ve moved in with college wolves.”
Logan leaned against the counter. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“I’m not trying to be cute. I’m trying to not lose my mind.”
Something shifted in his expression. “I’ll try harder. Okay?”
I sighed and put my hands on the counter, leaving over them. “You keep saying that, Logan. It doesn’t mean anything if you don’t actually make an effort. I don’t think what I’m asking for here is too difficult.”
He let out a heavy sigh, running one hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry, I haven’t had to live with anyone like this before.”
“I’m worried. We are supposed to look like a married couple. If we can’t live together, it could turn into a real problem.”
“Is it really that big of a problem?”
I was on the verge of exploding. “Yes! It matters to me. I can’t live without things being clean. I’m simply asking you to take care of your own messes.” For the last week, I had been taking care of Logan’s dirty dishes for him on the days the maids were gone. However, it was really starting to weigh on me.
It bothered me most that he didn’t care that it bothered me.
“I’ll do my dishes, Emily, I promise.” He looked sincere, maybe even guilty. It completely threw me off. He’d been so dismissive about it in our previous conversations.
Despite that, I wasn’t sure he was capable of change.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Thank you.”
True to his word, he made an effort. They were clumsy efforts, but efforts nonetheless. He loaded the dishwasher incorrectly, and I corrected it when he wasn’t looking. He wiped down counters with too much force.
He tried, and I tried to soften. I did my best not to become angry while he tried to be better at cleaning.
A rhythm started to develop. I cooked dinner one night, and he actually sat down and ate with me. Another night, we watched a movie in the dark, not touching, but our knees brushed once and neither of us moved away.
Every once in a while, he left another dish in the sink, and I had to take a breath. Still, I wasn’t as angry anymore.
Then came the storm.
It blew in like something out of a novel. It was complete with thick clouds, heavy wind, and thunder that shook the windows. Minutes into the howling storm, the lights cut out completely. I fumbled for a flashlight before I finally found one and clicked it on.
“Logan?” I called, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. Something about being left in the dark always made me heart pound unpleasantly.
“It’s alright,” came his voice from the other room. “We can set up some candles if you want.”
I made my way toward the sound of his voice, my heart thundering along with the storm outside. He met me halfway, candle in one hand, bottle of whiskey in the other.
“Prepared for the apocalypse, I see.”
“You have no idea,” he said with a smirk.
We ended up in the living room. The storm raged outside, wind rattling against the windows like claws against glass.
We managed to find a few more candles and set them up on the coffee table. The only light came from the soft flames, casting flickering shadows on his face.
I kept the flashlight nearby just in case.
I pulled my blanket around me and tucked my legs under. He stayed on the other end of the couch. I should have been relieved by the space, but it only made the air feel heavier.
“Did you ever imagine this?” I asked.
He raised a brow. “A blackout?”
“Living together. Like this.”
He hesitated. Then, softer than I expected, he said, “Not like this.”
I swallowed. “How then?”
“With less fire between us.”
That made me laugh in a bitter but amused way. “Fire isn’t always a bad thing.”
“No,” he said quietly. “But this burns.”
For a while, we listened to the rain. I watched the candlelight catch in his eyes, highlighting every sharp angle of his jaw.
“Why do you do that?” I asked.
He looked at me, puzzled. “Do what?”
“Act like you’re indifferent when you’re not.”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the flame.
“Because it’s easier that way. When you take things one step at a time, like a business plan, everything comes easier.”
“Life’s not a business though.”
“You may be right. Especially with you in the picture, it’s been more difficult to be as calculated as I usually am.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He looked up, his eyes locking with mine. “Sometimes your presence makes me want to throw rationality out the window.”
“Is that good?”
“I’m not sure.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to feel. I’d been so frustrated with him lately, it was difficult to understand any other feelings that had been bubbling under the surface. Or maybe I was angry to cover up anything else I might have been feeling.
The silence between us crackled louder than the thunder. He stood, walked over slowly, as if fighting an internal battle with every step. He knelt in front of me, close enough that I felt the heat of his skin.
His hand rose, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. Then it lingered at my jaw, his thumb grazing my cheekbone.
I tilted my face up, eyes fluttering closed. The tension stretched until it was unbearable.
Then, he pulled back and stood up straight.
And stepped away like he was retreating from the edge of a cliff.
“We should get some sleep,” he said hoarsely.
I didn’t say anything. My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I couldn’t tell why either. Was it fear? Was I awestruck? Was I disappointed? I don’t even know what I thought was going to happen.
He left the room without another word.
I sat there, staring into the dimming candlelight, trying to make sense of the ache that bloomed in my chest.
I think he thought about kissing me. Yet, he didn’t. Why, I’d never know.
The worst part was how much I wanted him to finish what he started.