He pressed a kiss to the back of my neck, still inside me, softening slowly.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words raw, unguarded.
“I love you, too,” I answered, turning my head to find his mouth.
We stayed tangled like that for a long time, hearts slowing, bodies cooling, the quiet of The Sanctuary wrapping around us.
Later, we stood in the quiet, windows open to the low hum of Paris. The city didn’t feel like a temporary backdrop anymore. It felt like a witness. A place that had seen me arrive uncertain and then change.
I leaned against the counter, watching Connor move with that same contained awareness that had first undone me. Even in rest, he moved like a man who understood gravity. Purpose. Weight.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“I’m cataloging,” I replied.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Dangerous habit.”
“It’s how I fell in love with you.”
That stilled him for a beat. Just a fraction. Enough that I saw how carefully he held moments like this, as if joy were a language he was still learning to speak without an accent.
He crossed to me, his hands settling at my waist, steady and warm.
“This place looks different with you here,” he said.
“It feels different,” I corrected gently. “You just notice it now.”
We stayed like that, breathing each other in, as if proximity were still a miracle we hadn’t adjusted to yet.
We couldn’t get enough of each other.
And then he said, casually, like it wasn’t about to rewire my entire life:
“Get dressed and come with me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is this where I ask if I should brace myself? Because I’m still emotionally recovering from the last mysterious destination situation.”
He studied me. “Do I need to reassure you that this is not an orgy?”
I laughed. “Just checking.”
“Good,” he said. “Because this is worse.”
“Worse how?”
“Permanent.”
The way he said it sent a quiet shiver through me.
We took a moment before moving. The air between us was still warm, still heavy. I reached for my clothes first, slipping into them slowly, deliberately.
Connor followed, tugging on his shirt, watching me with that quiet attention that always made me feel both seen and protected. When he took my hand again, our fingers fit like they’d never known another place to rest.
Instead of leading me downstairs and toward the exterior door, Connor turned us down one of the quieter corridors of The Sanctuary. I hadn’t spent much time on this side of the building yet. It carried a different energy—anticipation.
He took my hand, his grip firm and grounding, and guided me forward.
“You trust me?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder.
