Colour climbed into her cheeks. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“I’ve been waiting two weeks to touch you anywhere. This is restraint.”
She laughed again. “You know what I missed. Besides this.” Her fingers brushed higher on my arm.
“What.”
“You complaining about my show.”
“Your show is a crime against television.”
“You love it.”
“I love you,” I corrected. “The show is evidence democracy doesn’t work.”
She rolled her eyes, relaxed now. “You know every name.”
“That’s because you give me a daily briefing like you’re presenting syndicate intel. Don’t pretend you don’t love the debrief more than the episodes.”
Her face lit up in that way that killed me. “Okay, so, you remember Kira?”
“The one who thinks crying on cue is a personality.”
“She does not—okay, she does, but that’s not the point.” Madeline tucked her leg under her, forgetting I still had her ankle, ending up half turned toward me. “She finally confronted Ezra about the secret fiancée and it was… oh my God, you would have screamed. She walked in with the receipts printed.”
“Receipts,” I echoed.
“Screenshots,” she clarified. “Of his Veil messages. In a binder. Colour-coded.”
I huffed out a reluctant laugh. “That’s psychotic.”
“That’s commitment. She put tabs on each lie. I have never loved a woman more.”
Of course she identified with the girl who built a case file.
She went on, hands flying, describing the scene in breathless detail. Her voice rose and fell, all the little emotional peaks and valleys of someone who cared about fictional people like they were neighbours.
I let myself sink back into the cushions and watched her.
This. This right here was the part that made me dangerous. Not the way she came for me or the way she whispered Daddy. That was ours, private and holy.
It was this softness the rest of the world didn’t see. This ridiculous, pure joy over shoes and reality TV and matching hair bows. The way she got worked up over someone else’s heartbreak, because her own was still so raw she had to pour it somewhere else.
She realised I was quiet and paused mid-sentence, suspicious.
“You’re staring again.”
“I’m in love. There’s overlap.” I hesitated, fuck crow, she is about to see just how possessive you are. “I got you something.”
I reached beside the couch and pulled out the slim black case. Matte leather, no logo, just a small silver Crow pressed into the corner. Luxury, but quiet. Exactly how I wanted this part of us to live.
Her gaze caught on it. “What’s that?”
“A travel kit. For when you insist on leaving my city.”
She didn’t take it at first, just looked between my face and the case like it might bite.
“What kind of travel kit.”
