“You changed the diffuser,” I say.
“The cleaning crew did. I asked them to.” He watches my face, gauging my reaction. “Is that okay?”
I look around the space with fresh eyes. The blanket I always reach for is folded on the ottoman. A box of my favorite tea sits on the kitchen counter. Small changes, barely noticeable unless you're looking. Unless you're the person they were made for.
It feels like home.
“It's perfect,” I say, and mean it.
He drops my bags on the couch but doesn't let me linger. He takes my hand and leads me back to the elevator.
“Where are we going?”
“Down one floor.”
The elevator descends, and I step into a space I've never seen before. It's been renovated recently. I can tell from the fresh paint smell. New fixtures.
“I bought the floor below the penthouse,” Kai explains, guiding me down a hallway. “Part of it is for security. A team on call around the clock.” He stops in front of a door. “This part is for you.”
He opens the door.
I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. “Oh my God.”
It's a studio. An art studio. Natural light floods the space from windows that span the entire wall. A massive desk that looks like it can rise, lower, and tilt to any angle. Oversized monitors mounted on articulated arms. A drawing tablet that makes my current one look like a toy.
I look around, unsure what to check first. An easel in the corner. White canvases stacked against the wall. A cabinet that, when I open it, reveals rows of paints, brushes, pencils, charcoal, pastels. Everything organized by color and medium.
“Kai,” I whisper. “What is this?”
“Your space.” He stands in the doorway, watching me. “I asked Celeste what you might need. She helped me put together a list. I hope I got it right.”
I move deeper into the room, trailing my hands over surfaces. The smooth wood of the desk. The soft bristles of a brush. The cool glass of the monitors. I touch everything like I need to prove it's real.
“These pencils,” I say, picking up a set of Caran d'Ache Luminance. “These are... Kai, these are at least two hundred dollars a set.”
“Are they good ones?”
“They're amazing.” I put them down and move to the easel, running my fingers along its adjustable frame. “This easel, this is a Mabef. I've wanted one since art class. I used to stand in front of them at the supply store and just... dream.”
My voice cracks on the last word.
I spin in a slow circle, taking it all in. The quality of the light. The height of the ceilings. The way the room seems designed to inspire. Then I'm not spinning slowly anymore. I'm twirling like a child, arms outstretched, laughter bubbling up from somewhere deep in my chest.
“Emma?”
“It's perfect,” I gasp, still spinning. “It's so perfect, I can't—“ I stop, dizzy, and press my hands to my face. “Oh God, I'm crying. Why am I crying? This is ridiculous.”
I laugh again, but tears are streaming down my cheeks now. I can't tell where the joy ends and the overwhelm begins. I wander to the cabinet and pull open another drawer. Watercolors. Professional grade. Every color I could ever want.
“You got me Windsor & Newton,” I sob. “The whole set. Kaiden, this is too much. This is?—“
I can't finish the sentence. I'm laughing and crying at the same time, wiping my face with my sleeve while I open another drawer to find charcoals and pastels arranged like precious gems.
“Is this okay?” He asks from the doorway, sounding genuinely uncertain. “I can return things if I got it wrong. Celeste said these were good brands, but if you prefer something else?—“
I cross the room at a run and throw myself at him. He catches me, stumbling back a step, and I'm kissing his face everywhere I can reach. His cheeks. His forehead. The corner of his mouth. His jaw.
“I love it,” I say between kisses. “I love it so much. I can't believe you did this. I can't believe you got me a studio. I can't believe—“ Another sob escapes, and I bury my face in his neck. “No one's ever done anything like this for me.”
