“Going to sleep,” I murmur, closing my eyes. “And you should too.”
“I—Dove, I can’t—this is—”
“Shh.” I nuzzle the slightest bit closer. “I’m staying.”
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Then—Very slowly—He lowers one arm around me. Then the other. Like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he holds me too tightly. His hand rests against my waist, fingers splaying after a hesitant second, pulling me just a bit closer. He exhales…a long, shuddering breath. His face buries itself in my hair. I feel him inhale deeply—a soft, reverent sound.
“Dove…” His voice cracks around the word. Something inside me melts. Completely. And just like that—Wrapped in the arms of the man I once feared, the man who looked broken moments ago, the man I am falling in love with—I drift into sleep without a single doubt in my heart.
Chapter 22
Iwake slowly. That alone is strange—I never wake slowly. My eyes blink open to soft morning light filtering through the curtains…and the weight of something warm and delicate pressed against my chest. It takes my mind a full five seconds to understand what I’m feeling.
An arm. A leg tangled with mine. A cheek resting over my heartbeat. Soft breath brushing my skin.
Elena. My wife.
Sleeping in my bed. In my arms. And I’m holding her so tightly I could fuse us together. My heart slams once, hard, before steadying into something dangerously calm.
I have slept… longer than I have in years. Maybe ever. No sweat. No nightmares ripping me out of sleep. No pacing in the dark. No emptiness.
Just—Her.
The realization hits me like a fist. I haven’t shared a bed with anyone since I was twenty years old. I tried—once. A girl I dated for three months. I stayed the night. I warned her I didn’t sleep well. She brushed it off, said it didn’t matter. I woke from a nightmare with her screaming, scrambling away from me, sobbing that I scared her. She told me she didn’t feel safe. Asked me to leave her apartment. So I did. Walked home in the freezing cold at four in the morning, knowing deep in my bones that whatever broken pieces lived inside me meant I would never share a bed with someone again. Not safely. Not without hurting them. Not without terrifying them. It scarred me in ways I never voiced.
But now—Elena is curled on top of me like she belongs there. Like this is her place. Like she wasn’t afraid last night when I grabbed her arm in my sleep. Like the nightmare that shattered me didn’t scare her away. My little Dove isn’t just anyone. She came into my nightmare like a blade of light. She touched me—held me—calmed me.
And I slept. Christ, I slept. Something hot and unfamiliar twists in my chest. Not lust. Not possession. Something worse. Something inevitable.
I’m falling in love with her.
The thought terrifies me. Thrills me. Consumes me. I tighten my arm around her, pulling her closer, needing her weight, her warmth, her breath against my throat. She murmurs in her sleep and snuggles in deeper. My breath catches. How the hell am I supposed to let her go now? I won’t. I don’t care what her father expected of her, or what my father expected of me, or what this alliance was supposed to be.
Elena is mine. My wife. My partner. My anchor in every storm I never learned how to escape. Now I just need to make her love me—truly love me—so she never leaves. Because I am keeping her. Forever.
She shifts against me. A soft sound. A stretch of her leg sliding along mine. Her hand brushing across my stomach—And every muscle in my body locks. Her palm glides over the lines of my abdomen again—slow, exploring, curious.
I suck in a breath. “Dove…”
She blinks up at me, sleepy and unguarded, then lets her hand drift higher—fingertips tracing my ribs like she’s learning me by touch alone.
“Elena,” I warn, but my voice is already too low, too rough.
She shouldn’t touch me like this. Not when I’m barely holding myself together. Not when I’ve woken up with her in my arms for the first time in my life. But she does. She presses her hand to my stomach again, firmer this time, and my eyes slam shut.
“Dove,” I breathe, catching her wrist gently. “You should stop.”
“Why?” she whispers, her voice soft but steady. “I don’t want to stop.”
Her fingers curl against my skin, and something inside me snaps. Not violently. Not out of control. But with a clarity I’ve never felt before. She wants me. Not out of duty. Not out of fear. Not because of what this marriage was supposed to be. She wants me.
“Elena…” I say her name like it’s a prayer I’ve never let myself speak. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Her lips curve into the smallest, bravest smile. “Maybe I do.”
Before I can gather the will to pull away, she leans up and presses her mouth to mine. Not tentative. Not hesitant. Bold. Hungry. Needing.
I groan—full, helpless—before I can stop myself, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her waist and pulling her fully onto my chest.
