Page 92 of Kept


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“You’re quiet,” I say.

He sets down his fork. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

He leans back, arms folding casually across his chest. “Taking you out of the penthouse.”

I freeze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I want you to have freedom again. Not just guarded hallways and guest rooms.” His eyes are steady. “I want you with me.”

“With you where?”

He shrugs slightly. “In the city. On my arm. Where people can see you. No more secrets.”

My breath catches. “That’s a big change.”

“It’s the truth,” he says simply. “You said you didn’t want to be hidden. Fine. I’m done hiding you.”

“And Francesca?”

His jaw tightens. “I told you. I’ll handle her.”

Something trembles in me. It’s not fear but something more dangerous. Hope.

I should tell him this is all too fast and definitely too risky.

But instead, I whisper, “Okay.”

A slow smile curves across his mouth. Not smug. Certain. Like he already knew I wouldn’t say no.

“Okay,” he repeats, standing and offering me his hand.

We leave the cozy little café behind, stepping into the crisp morning air. The city hums softly around us, the holiday buzz still lingering in the frost-tipped streets. For once, there’s no motorcade, no shadows lurking just behind us. Just him. Just me.

“Want to take a stroll before we go home?” he asks, and it hits me how gently he sayshome.

It’s all so normal—dangerously, heartbreakingly normal—and I find myself smiling up at him.

“I’d like that.”

He tucks my hand under his arm like it belongs there, and we start walking past shuttered boutiques and window displays filled with leftover Christmas glitter.

A street sign catches my eye, and I pause.

“Wait… is tonight New Year’s Eve?”

“It is,” he says, glancing down at me like he’s amused I lost track of time.

I hesitate. “Are you doing anything?”

“I was supposed to attend a formal event. But I decided I’d rather stay home with you.”

I don’t need to ask who he was supposed to go with. I already know. Francesca. Glittering gowns. Champagne toasts. Public appearances.

And still, he chose me.

The thought burns and soothes in equal measure.