“Just for a minute,” he murmurs, voice dipping into that dangerous softness that always breaks my resolve. “Cast and Damien are up. They can handle breakfast.”
“They’ll start a food fight,” I counter, though my tone is already weaker, laughter bleeding into it.
He grins, lazy and wicked. “Then they’ll clean it up. That’s called teamwork.”
I chuckle lowly, shaking my head. “You’re terrible.”
“And yet,” he says, moving before I can finish, “you’re still here.”
He reaches for me in one smooth motion, his hand finding my wrist, then the small of my back. I let out a surprised gasp as he tugs me backward, the world tilting until I land against his chest with a soft thud and a laugh that escapes before I can stop it.
“Vincent—” I try to sound stern, but he’s already wrapping both arms around me, strong and certain, pulling me down until I’m pinned to the bed beside him. His breath brushes the back of my neck and I shiver at the warmth of it.
“Five minutes,” he murmurs into my skin. “That’s all I want.”
“Liar,” I say, twisting in his arms until I’m facing him. The sheet slips between us, soft against my knees. He looks down at me, hair mussed, eyes half-shadowed, the faint scrape of stubble along his jaw catching the light.
“You’re trouble,” I whisper, fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt.
He leans closer, voice a low hum against my mouth. “You married trouble.”
“I don’t remember that being in the vows.”
“You weren’t listening.”
He dips his head, and I meet him halfway. The kiss lingers like this is the first time we’ve explored each other’s mouths. His thumb traces my jaw, and I can feel the rhythm of his heart where our chests meet. The air between us thins until even breathing feels like sharing.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are darker now, his voice rougher. “Stay.”
I let my hand slide up the back of his neck, feeling the tension still living there. “You said five minutes.”
“I lied.”
He catches my mouth again, this time deeper—no rush, just gravity. My laughter melts into the kiss, the sound swallowed between us. His hand moves to my waist, thumb pressing tenderly against the thin fabric of my robe.
The room smells like sleep and him—clean cotton, faint cologne, the ghost of coffee from last night’s mug still sitting on the nightstand. The house beyond us hums faintly with life—the creak of floorboards, a distant bark, the muffled sound of children not yet realizing their parents are awake.
Vincent breaks the kiss first, resting his forehead against mine. His breath fans across my lips, steady and warm. “We could stay like this all day,” he murmurs.
“Until they find us,” I whisper, smiling.
He answers with another kiss, rougher, and I forget about the cold morning, about the barking dog, about everything that isn’t this—until?—
“MOM!” Rose’s voice cuts through the door like a fire alarm.
We freeze. He pulls back, breathing hard, forehead still resting against mine.
“Saved by the child,” Vincent mutters, voice low against my skin.
“Or doomed by her,” I whisper back, trying—and failing—not to laugh.
“Moooom!” Rose shrieks again, closer now, her voice echoing up the stairs. “Theo’s drinking the syrup straight from the bottle!”
Vincent groans and drops back against the pillows, one arm flung over his eyes. “Of course he is.”
I push myself upright, breath still unsteady, robe slipping off one shoulder. My cheeks are flushed, my hair hopelessly tangled, my heartbeat drumming too fast for a morning this early. “Go,” I tell him, nudging him with my knee. “Time tochannel your inner authority figure. You’re better at the scary voice.”
He reaches up, fingers catching around my wrist before I can escape. His hand is warm, firm. He turns my arm over and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist, just where the pulse beats. The contact is soft and lingering, his thumb brushing there once as if to memorize it.
