She lifted her chin. “You let him win,” she said.
“I did,” he admitted. “I let his ghost run my life, long after he was in the ground.”
He closed the distance between them, moving slowly as if she might vanish if he was too abrupt.
“But I’m done with it,” he added. “That night, I walked up to his grave and told him to rot. I told him he’d never ruin another day of my life, or yours, or any children we might have, whether by blood or by accident or by miracle. I told him I was going to love you, and if that was a crime, I’d hang for it with a smile.”
Celine turned then, her eyes searching his face as if trying to weigh the truth of every word. The firelight made her eyes enormous, impossibly blue.
“You never said so,” she whispered.
“I didn’t know how,” he said. “I never had an example to follow. But I confess… I came undone. By the time I was… composed, I was too late, and you were betrayed.”
She looked at him, her hands balled into fists. “And now?”
He reached for her, just barely touching her wrist. “Now I know that the only thing worth being brave for is you.”
For a moment, she didn’t move. Then, she unclenched her hand and let his fingers twine through hers. He felt her pulse, fast and wild, under his thumb.
“Whether or not we ever have a child,” he said, his voice catching, “whether or not we fulfill any of the idiotic, impossible expectations of our titles, it doesn’t matter to me. If I lose you, none of the rest matters.”
Her breath trembled, and she squeezed his hand hard.
He went down on one knee, letting his pride fall to the carpet with him.
“I choose happiness,” he murmured, not trusting himself to say more. “I choose you.”
She stared at him, her eyes wet, then knelt too, her skirts pooling around her like a sanctuary.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” she whispered.
He pulled her into his arms, his heart pounding so fiercely that he wondered if she could hear it through his coat. She was shaking, and so was he.
He kissed her—first on the cheek, then the jaw, then her mouth—reverent, desperate, as if he could pour every apology, every vow, into the space between them.
She tasted of salt and hope. Her hands slid up his shoulders, then into his hair, holding him as if she could keep him from drifting away.
They stayed like that, kneeling on the carpet in front of the fire for so long that the flames guttered to embers.
“I love you,” he said.
It was the easiest thing he had ever said.
Celine smiled, then, and the world came back into color.
He touched her face, traced the curve of her cheek with a thumb. “You’re sure you want to keep me?”
She laughed, a real laugh, and tugged him down so their foreheads touched.
“You’re mine,” she breathed. “Whether you like it or not.”
He let out a shaky breath and pressed his lips to hers again, gentle and certain.
For the first time in his life, Rhys believed in tomorrow.
Epilogue
“Is there a law requiring me to wear this blindfold, or have you developed a taste for melodrama?” Celine asked as Rhys led her along the flagstones.
