For the first time in years, I let myself believe in forever.
Cristofano’s mouth moves over mine with a need that feels centuries old, a hunger born of all the battles we fought against each other and the world. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me closer until my body melts against his. I can feel his heartbeat and tears prick my eyes again because I almost lost this. Him. Us.
The couch beneath me creaks as he lowers me gently, his weight hovering but never crushing, like he’s terrified of breaking me even now. His lips leave mine only to trace down the line of my throat, slow, reverent. Every touch feels like an apology and a promise at once.
I thread my fingers into his hair, holding him, grounding myself in the warmth of his body, the reality of him here, with me. I love you. I love you. I love you. The words loop endlessly in my head, in my soul, until they escape my lips between shaky breaths.
His hand cups my cheek again, lifting my face so I meet his gaze. His steel-gray eyes aren’t cold now. “Let's live happily, Serafina,” he murmurs. My real name. On his lips, it feels like a vow.
I nod, my throat too tight for words. I’ve spent years fighting, hiding, running. But not tonight. Tonight, I let go.
When his lips claim mine again, it isn’t a battle. It isn’t desperation. It’s surrender. My surrender. To him, to us, to the life we’re building.
