I blink quickly, and he must see the emotion rising in my chest because he presses a kiss to my temple, then my cheek, then the corner of my mouth.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ava. You don’t scare me.”
“I scare me,” I admit.
“I know,” he says. “But I’ll hold the fear with you. Until it’s not so heavy.”
The knot in my chest loosens—just a little. Not gone. But not alone anymore either.
And when he kisses me again, it’s slower. Sweeter. Like we have time.
We cuddle, showered together—Elijah making sure I started the day with a couple more orgasms. This man is unreal. His hands, his mouth, and God, that tongue… he takes me to heights I didn’t even know existed.
After breakfast, we lounge on the couch for a while—he sketches a design for a client, and I pretend to read. But I’ve gone over the same paragraph at least five times. I can’t focus. My body’s still humming, but more than that, my mind won’t slow down.
I glance over at him—so focused, so effortlessly talented. The way his brow furrows in concentration makes my chest tighten. Not just with affection, but with something heavier. A quiet, creeping fear.
“Elijah?” I say softly, not sure if I really want to break the calm.
He looks up right away, eyes warm. “Yeah?”
I hesitate, then close my book. “Can I tell you something? Something kind of… ugly?”
He immediately sets his sketchpad aside, giving me his full attention. “Of course.”
I take a breath, chewing the inside of my cheek. “I used to hate mirrors”, I say quietly, eyes on the chipped rim of my mug—even though I know Elijah already knows this.
He doesn’t react with surprise. Just looks at me with that same patient softness he always does when I talk about the past. “Still do sometimes, right?”
I nod. “Yeah. But when I was younger, I avoided them completely. I learned to do my makeup without ever looking myself in the eye.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just lets the silence settle, safe and steady between us.
“My mom... she had a way of pointing out every flaw like it was her sacred duty,” I say, fingers tightening around the warmth inmy hands. “My stomach. My arms. The way my thighs touched. To her, love came with a dress size.”
Elijah’s jaw flexes, but he stays quiet.
“I was thirteen when she first said no one would ever love me unless I lost weight,” I murmur. “And I believed her. You hear something enough times that it becomes part of you. Like it’s buried into your bones.”
I finally look up at him, my chest tight. “My ex didn’t have to say anything. He just… stopped touching me. Slowly. Quietly. Like I was becoming something unlovable in real time.”
My voice cracks. “And I stayed. For years. Because I thought maybe he was just seeing what everyone else already saw.”
Elijah sets his mug down and reaches for my hand. No dramatic speeches, no attempts to correct my truth. He just holds me—firm, steady—his thumb tracing slow circles against my skin.
“I’m not telling you this for pity,” I say, my voice rough. “I’m telling you because… you keep looking at me like I’m magic. And I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know how to take it without bracing for the day you see what I see—and leave.”
He leans in, forehead to mine, his voice barely a breath. “I already see it, Ava. The pain. The strength. Everything. And I’m not loving some perfect illusion. I’m loving you.”
The tears come before I can stop them. I turn my head slightly, and he kisses my cheek—soft, unafraid, like nothing about me scares him.
“You don’t have to shrink for me,” he says. “You don’t have to earn anything. You are enough. Right now. Just like this.”
A sob breaks loose from me—sharp, sudden—and he pulls me into his chest without hesitation. I cling to him like I’m unraveling, and he holds me like he’s ready to catch every single thread.
For the first time in years, I don’t feel broken when I cry. I feel safe.
Chapter twelve
