He looks satisfied.
He steps into the room and closes the door behind him.
"You found your gallery," he says smoothly, setting the briefcase on a chair.
"My gallery?" I choke out, gesturing frantically at the wall. "This... this is psycho! You’re a stalker! You’ve been watching me for months!"
"Six months, three weeks, and two days," he corrects me, walking around the desk.
He leans back against the mahogany, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement pulls the fabric of his shirt tight across his biceps.
"You went through my trash," I accuse, pointing at the sketch.
"I saved your art," he counters. "You have talent, Ivy. You shouldn't throw your work away just because it’s not perfect. Perfection is boring."
He pushes off the desk and walks toward me. I back up until I hit the corkboard wall. The pins dig into my back through the silk of the pajamas.
He stops inches from me. He reaches out and plucks a pin from the wall, right next to my head. He holds up the photo attached to it.
It’s the one of me sleeping on Christmas.
"Do you know why I took this one?" he asks, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.
I shake my head, unable to speak.
"Because you were crying in your sleep," he says. "You were dreaming about being alone. And I wanted to reach through the screen and wake you up. I wanted to tell you that you weren't alone. That I was right there with you."
He pins the photo back up. His hand lingers near my face.
"I left the key for you," he admits.
I blink. "What?"
"I dropped it on purpose. I wanted to see if you were brave enough to look." He traces the line of my jaw with his knuckle. "I wanted you to see the depth of my devotion. I want there to be no secrets between us, Ivy. This..."
He gestures to the wall, to the hundreds of stolen moments.
"...this is how much I want you. This is how much I own you. Does it scare you?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"Good."
He leans in and brushes his lips against my forehead. A chaste, possessive kiss.
"Fear keeps you sharp. Now come." He grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. "I brought you a croissant. And we have work to do."
"Work?" I ask, stumbling as he pulls me toward the door.
"Yes. We need to measure you for your wedding dress."
I dig my heels into the carpet. "My... my what?"
He looks back at me, his blue eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
"We’re getting married, little bird. It’s the only way to legally protect you from your father’s other creditors. And besides..."
He pulls me out of the room, shutting the door on the shrine of my past life.
