"Like us?"
"Exactly like us."
They were standing very close now, the crowd forgotten, the world narrow down to just the two of them on a platform in the firelight.
"Alaric," she said, using his real name for the first time in public.
"Yes?"
"Kiss me again."
"Here? Now? In front of everyone?"
"Especially in front of everyone. Let them see. Let them know. Let there be no doubt."
"About what?"
"About us. About this. About the fact that I choose you, lies and all, because the truth underneath was worth finding."
He kissed her then, properly this time, with no hesitation or surprise, just the sweet certainty of two people who'd found their way through deception to truth, through anger to forgiveness, through fear to love.
When they pulled apart this time, the crowd erupted in genuine celebration. Someone started playing a waltz, couples began dancing, and the New Year's celebration continued with renewed energy.
"We should probably get down," Marianne said, suddenly seeming to realize they were still standing on the platform like actors who'd forgotten to exit.
"Should we? I rather like being up here with you. Away from the crowd."
"We're literally elevated above the crowd. Everyone can see us better."
"But they can't reach us. No one can interrupt."
"Thomas could probably climb up."
"Thomas wouldn't dare. He has money riding on us staying together."
"How much?"
"His entire Christmas funds, apparently."
"That boy is going to be either rich or heartbroken."
"Rich, definitely. I'm never letting you go."
"That sounds vaguely threatening."
"It's meant to sound absolutely promising."
"Alaric?"
"Yes?"
"We should probably discuss practical things."
"Such as?"
"Such as where we go from here. You're a duke. I'm a baker. Those are different worlds."
"Not anymore. Now they're the same world. Our world."
