“Good,” he says, leaning in to press the faintest kiss to my forehead. “Stay that way. Makes my life easier.”
I let out a soft breath that might be a laugh. “Bossy.”
“You like me bossy.”
He’s not wrong.
The room falls into a quiet that isn’t uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken things pressing against the silence.
Eventually, I push up onto my elbows.
“Tony,” I say.
He stiffens slightly. “Yeah?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“That never ends well for me,” he mutters, but there’s no real annoyance behind it.
I take a breath. “I don’t want to get married again.”
He goes still.
Completely, absolutely still.
Then, after a moment:
“I figured.”
“You did?”
He nods. “You flinch every time someone mentions commitment like it’s a cage snapping shut. I’ve seen that look before. Had it myself once or twice.”
I turn fully to face him. “You don’t… want marriage either?”
His eyes harden for a moment—not angry, just certain.
“No,” he says. “Not now. Not ever again.”
Something eases inside me. A knot I didn’t know I’d been carrying.
“Good,” I breathe.
One of his brows lifts. “Good?”
“I thought you might be expecting more. Or hoping for more.”
He snorts. “Sweetheart, if I’d wanted marriage I wouldn’t have told you right up front I don’t do monogamy.”
“Yeah, well… things have changed.”
His gaze sharpens. “What things?”
“You.”
“Me.”
We stare at each other for a long beat.
