“I am better,” she whispered, voice muffled against him, “I thought ye would be angry. Or disappointed.”
His hold tightened. “Never.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him. “Ye’re certain?”
He cupped her face, thumbs brushing away tears she hadn’t realized had fallen. “I can never be mad at ye. Nae for this. Nae for loving me.”
Ariella broke the silence first.
“I did nae leave to punish ye,” she said quietly, before he could speak, before he could apologize again or retreat behind careful words. “I left because I needed to hear myself think. Because I needed to choose what I would do if ye never changed yer mind. And I did choose.” She rested her hand over her stomach, the gesture unguarded now.
“I chose our child. I chose myself. And once I did that, truly did it, the anger lost its hold. I forgave ye long before I came here. The moment ye apologized, even if ye did nae yet understand what ye were apologizing for.”
Maxwell’s breath shuddered out of him. He crossed the room in three strides and knelt in front of her, as if the weight of standing were too much.
“I was wrong,” he said hoarsely. “About the rules. About thinking love could be managed like a border or a ledger. I was wrong to make ye doubt yer place in me life. There is nay part of ye I daenae want. Nay future I want that does nae include ye.” He reached for her hands, tentative now, waiting.
She let him take them.
“That is all I ever needed to hear,” Ariella whispered, leaning forward until her forehead rested against his. The tension finally broke then, quiet and complete. His arms came around her, careful and fierce all at once, and she held him back just as tightly, both of them breathing through the same relief.
What remained between them was not hurt anymore, but understanding, and the steady certainty that they would choose each other again, even after fear, even after silence.
He kissed her then.
It was not desperate or rushed, but slow and reverent and full of promise.
She laughed softly against his mouth and began kissing him everywhere she could reach. His cheek. His jaw. The corner of his mouth. As if making up for all the moments she had held back.
“I love ye,” she said between kisses. “I love ye. I love ye.”
He chuckled, breathless. “I believe ye.”
They moved together with an ease that had been waiting for permission. Clothes were shed without haste, hands exploring with familiarity and wonder, each touch a reassurance rather than a question.
He did not rush her.
That was the first thing Ariella noticed. The way Maxwell moved with deliberate care, as though every moment mattered. As though this was not something to take, but something to be given.
He brushed her hair back from her face with the backs of his fingers, knuckles grazing her cheek in a touch so gentle it made her breath stutter.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
She did, heart full and open in a way that frightened her a little. His gaze held no hunger without tenderness, no heat without restraint. It made her feel seen, not claimed.
“I am here,” she whispered.
His mouth curved faintly. “I ken.”
When he kissed her, it was slow. Lingering. Not the frantic collision of mouths they had shared before, but something deeper. His lips moved against hers with patience, coaxing, letting her set the rhythm. She melted into him, fingers curling into his shirt, grounding herself in the solid truth of him.
His hands followed the lines of her body like he was learning her anew. Not as a prize. Not as something fragile. But as a woman he loved. His palms were warm and sure, leaving heat in their wake as they traced her shoulders, her back, her waist.
She sighed softly when his touch lingered at her hips, thumbs pressing gently as if asking permission.
“Aye,” she breathed.
The word seemed to undo him.
