I can see this is hurting him, and I understand. The gravity of this, of choosing me, is far greater for him than it is for me.
My dad doesn’t rule me. But Drago has an alliance with him.
“It’s fine, Drago. We can do that. I can be discreet. I do have one rule, though.”
His eyebrow raises. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yep. You have to sleep with me every night. Even if it means you sneak in during the night and then disappear before the sun rises.”
He chuckles. “I can do that.”
I tap my chin. “Are we allowed to…”
“Have sex?” he smirks.
I nod, blushing. “Yes. That.”
He leans in, running his tongue along the column of my neck, and a moan escapes from my lips.
“You think I can keep my hands off you for twelve whole days? Impossible. You’ll just have to be really, really quiet, baby. Can you do that?”
I laugh.
I watch the world blur past the window as Drago weaves us through traffic, his focus steady. One hand grips the wheel, the other rests firmly on my thigh. Mine settles over his, our fingers fitting together like this is how they’ve always belonged.
I sigh.
Because I’m content. Because I’m happy. Because I canfeelthe difference in him now that the truth is out.
The tension he carried for years has eased, just a fraction, like a man who’s finally allowed himself to breathe. Knowing he was there that night… that he saw me at the worst moment of my life and still chose me—it settles something deep inside my chest.
He saw my brokenness. And he still fought his demons to get me back. He’s still willing to risk everything for a chance with me.
He made me safe enough to live again. Safe enough to enjoy the ballet again. Safe enough to feel powerful in my own skin.
He deserves this second chance. He deserves my heart—whether he believes it or not.
While my parents disappeared from my life, he stayed. In the shadows. Bleeding quietly to keep the world from hurting me again.
“Hey, Drago,” I whisper.
“Yes, baby?” his voice is soft, attentive.
I bite back my smile. “Did you know I was looking for that aftershave?”
He hesitates, just barely, then squeezes my thigh.
“Yes,” he admits. “I knew. I just couldn’t work out why.”
I nod slowly. “Is that why you stopped wearing it?”
“No.” His jaw tightens. “I stopped the day after the ballet. Because it reminded me of that night. Of how much pain you must have been in.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I tighten my grip on his hand, anchoring myself.
“Would you start wearing it again for me?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t hesitate this time. “For you, I’d do anything.”
