If I sit across from her tomorrow and she asks,“Are you married in truth or only in name?”
I won’t be able to look her in the eye and lie.
I need truth to stand on.
So, I take off my robe. Put on the pale lingerie I’ve never worn for anyone. And sit on the edge of his bed, waiting.
When the door finally opens, my heart lurches.
“Kat?” he calls, footsteps heavy with concern. “Where are you?”
“In here,” I say, though my voice barely carries.
He pushes open the door and freezes.
“Katerina…” His voice drops, scrapes low.
He looks wrecked, a little stunned, but the part I need to see is that his vision takes in every inch of me. “You’re staring…” I say. “It’s hard not to… you’re gorgeous. But what… what are you doing?”
“It has to be real,” I say. “All of it. Not the almost. Not the pretending. Not the pieces of us we keep stopping before they go too far.”
I stand and take a step towards him.
He swallows hard, his eyes roaming over every inch of see-through lace. “Kat—”
“You said that if we take it any further, then this marriage isn’t temporary for you,” I say quietly. “What if it’s not for me either?Tomorrow she’ll ask me if I’m married in truth. And I can’t look her in the eye unless—”
“Unless we sleep together,” he finishes, voice breaking.
I nod.
His chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths. “I don’t want to take something from you I can’t give back.”
I lift my chin. “You’re not taking anything. I’m choosing you. And I want the night before I have to defend us to be ours.”
He closes his eyes, pained. “Don’t do this because you’re scared.”
“I’m doing this because I’m in love with you, too.”
His eyes snap open.
“You are?” he breathes.
I nod because the emotions that clog my throat are too thick to speak through. I needed to hear him confess it first, and once he did… I knew I couldn’t continue to pretend that I don’t want him too. It feels terrifying and freeing to say it aloud.
He stares at me as if the universe just tilted, taking a step closer to me. “Say it again.”
“I’m in love with you,” I whisper. “And tomorrow… if she asks me, I want to answer her truthfully.”
Scottie moves toward me as if he’s being pulled, as if gravity itself just shifted.
He cups my face with both hands. His palms are warm, steady, grounding.
“Katerina,” he murmurs, forehead pressing to mine, “I love you. God, I love you.”
The air leaves my lungs.
“I’ve been gone for you for weeks. Fighting it. Losing. You won.” He whispers.
