Anthea looked up at him, at the way he was watching her with patient intensity, and felt her heart begin to race.
"I think you meant it," she whispered. "I think you believe love should be protected and cherished. I think—" She swallowed hard. "I think you were not just talking about Veronica and Mr. Hartley."
Gregory's hand tightened slightly at her waist. "And if you are right? What then?"
"Then I need to tell you something," Anthea said, her voice barely audible over the music. "Privately."
Gregory's eyes darkened with something that looked like hope mixed with heat. "Now?"
"Yes," Anthea said. "Now. Before I lose my courage."
Without a word, Gregory guided them to the edge of the dance floor, then out through the terrace doors into the garden. The late afternoon sun cast everything in golden light, and the sounds of the celebration faded to a distant murmur.
They walked in silence until they reached a secluded corner of the garden, hidden from the house by a hedge of roses.
"Here," Gregory said, stopping. He turned to face her fully. "We are alone. What did you want to tell me?"
Now that the moment had arrived, Anthea found the words catching in her throat. She had spent so many years guarding her heart, protecting herself from vulnerability. Opening herself up—truly opening herself up—felt like stepping off a cliff with no certainty of what waited below.
But Gregory was watching her with such patience, such obvious care, that some of her fear began to dissolve.
"Your speech," she began. "About love being a choice. About committing to build something together even when the path is not easy."
"Yes," Gregory said softly. "I remember what I said."
"Did you—" Anthea stopped, started again. "When you said love should be protected and cherished, were you thinking about us? About our marriage?"
"Yes," Gregory said simply. No hesitation. No deflection. Just honesty.
The word settled in the space between them like a gift.
"I have been thinking," Anthea said, her voice shaking slightly, "about what I want. What I truly want, not what I convinced myself I should want."
"And what do you want?" Gregory asked.
"You," Anthea said. "I want you. Not the arrangement we agreed to. Not the marriage of convenience. I want—" She took a breath. "I want a real marriage. With you. All of it. The messy, complicated, terrifying parts. The vulnerability and the risk and the possibility of being hurt."
Gregory's expression softened. "Anthea?—"
"I am not finished," she interrupted. "I need to say this. All of it. Before I lose my nerve."
He nodded, falling silent.
"I spent three years telling myself I would never love anyone again," Anthea continued. "That Maxwell had broken something in me that could not be repaired. That the only way to be safe was to never be vulnerable. And then I married you, and you—" Her voice cracked. "You refused to let me hide. You saw me. All of me. The sharp edges and the scared parts and everything I have spent so long trying to conceal. And you did not run. Did not try to change me or make me smaller or more acceptable. You just—you stayed."
"Of course I stayed," Gregory said, his voice rough with emotion. "Anthea?—"
"And I realized," she pushed on, needing to finish before she lost her courage entirely, "that I do not want safety anymore. I do not want walls. I want you. I want mornings where you bring me breakfast because you are worried I will forget to eat. I want evenings where we argue about estate management and politics and everything else we disagree about. I want—" She looked up at him, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks. "I want to be brave enough to love you. Completely. Without holding back. Even though it terrifies me. Especially because it terrifies me."
Gregory made a sound low in his throat—something between a laugh and a sob—and pulled her into his arms.
"You are brave," he said fiercely, his face buried in her hair. "You are the bravest person I have ever met. And I love you. God, Anthea, I love you so much it feels like I cannot breathe sometimes."
"You do?" Anthea pulled back just enough to see his face. "Truly?"
"Truly," Gregory said. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "I have loved you since that first night when you refused to be intimidated by me. Since you stood in the music room and told me exactly what you thought without apology or pretense. And I have spent every day since falling deeper."
"I love you too," Anthea whispered. "I have been trying not to. Trying to protect myself. But I cannot anymore. I do not want to anymore."
