“I do, though. Because you didn’t have to do any of this. You could’ve just let me walk away. Pretended Vegas never happened.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my wife. And I take care of what’s mine,” he responds without hesitation.
“I’m not yours.”
“Yes, you are.” He turns to face me fully. “You might not remember it. You might not want it. But it’s still true.”
I let out a sigh. “What was it like? That night?”
His expression shifts. Softens. “You really want to know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I grip the railing.
“What do you want to remember?”
“I don’t know.” I laugh, and it sounds broken. “I don’t know what I want.”
He moves closer to the divider between our balconies, close enough that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.
“You were brave,” he says quietly. “That night. You’d just had the worst day of your life, and instead of falling apart, you decided to do something crazy. You won that trip. You took it. You met me, and we talked like we’d known each other forever.”
“We did?”
“We did. You told me about your mother. About growing up without a father. About feeling lost.” His eyes hold mine. “Andwhen I asked what you wanted, you said you wanted to feel alive again.”
Something flickers in my memory. A fragment. His voice calling meprincess. My hand in his.
I ask, “Did it feel real? Or was it just drunk people making a mistake?”
“It felt real to me.”
The way he says it makes my chest ache.
I don’t know what possesses me. Don’t know if it’s the cold or the exhaustion or the memory fragments swirling in my head.
But I climb over the divider.
It’s not graceful. I’m in bare feet and pajamas, and the metal is cold and awkward. But I make it onto his balcony, and suddenly we’re in the same space with no barriers between us.
“Savannah—” he starts.
“Don’t.” I step closer. “Don’t think. Don’t talk. Just?—”
I kiss him.
His mouth is warm against mine, and the moment our lips touch, something explodes in my head.
Flashes. Memories.
Dancing in a club. His hands on my waist. Neon lights.
His smile. “You’re beautiful.”
A hotel room. His mouth on my skin. Gasping his name.
