Clothes—tailored coats, soft sweaters, shoes I’d never pick for myself but somehow love the second I put them on.
Every time I protest, he just leans in and murmurs, “Let me,” like it’s not about money at all—like it’s about care. About wanting to give. About wanting to see me happy.
And that’s what gets me.
Not the brands.
Not the receipts.
It’s the way he watches me when I smile at my reflection. The way his hand settles at my lower back, grounding,possessive but gentle. The way he looks at me like I’m something precious he’s afraid to drop.
Somewhere between the men’s section and the art books, it hits me.
I’m falling.
Harder than I already had.
London didn’t make me love Lex.
It just gave me space to realize how deep it already went.
Here, no one stares. No one whispers. No one knows us. We hold hands openly. We laugh too loud. We kiss in quiet corners like it’s normal—like it’s allowed.
And maybe that’s why it feels so real.
Later, we duck into a small café, all warm wood and fogged-up windows.
“I’m grabbing us another coffee,” Lex says, already standing.
“And cheesecake.”
I grin.
“Raspberry?”
He smirks.
“Obviously.”
While he’s gone, I wander into a tiny souvenir shop next door—nothing fancy, just postcards, magnets, little things that smell like cheap plastic and nostalgia.
That’s when I see it.
A neon pink mask.
Bright. Shameless. Completely opposite of the dark one that started everything.
I pick it up, turning it over in my hands, heart racing for entirely different reasons. An idea sparks—dangerous, playful.
I buy it without overthinking.
When I step back outside, Lex is already there, holding two coffees and a small plate with my cheesecake. He smiles when he sees me, like his day just got better by default.
“Your favorite,” he says, handing it over.
I take it, brushing my fingers against his. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he replies, leaning down to kiss my temple, “you adore me.”
