Her hand raised softly and cuffed the side of my face in the way only my mom would do to one of her boys. "Could being the operative word."
She then guided us toward a bench overlooking the river. The water moved slowly this morning, dark and glassy, reflecting the pale gray sky and the bare branches above. A thin skin of ice still clung to the edges of the bank where the current was weakest. We sat, and she turned to face me.
"Kael, this woman has been coming to your bakery every single morning for six months. Six months. She doesn't know you're from an old royal family. She doesn't know about the money or the family name or any of it. And she still shows up, every day, for you."
"For the pastries," I muttered.
"For you," she insisted. "Do you really think she's coming back day after day for a honey-ember tart? She's coming back because of the man who makes them. The man who remembers her order. The man who notices when she's had a rough day. The man who told her she was everything."
My throat tightened at the memory.
"Sabrina never saw you," my mother continued. "She saw a prince, a title, a stepping stone to the life she wanted. But this girl? Amara? She sees my sweet Kael."
A gust of wind moved across the river, rippling the surface. I watched the water for a long moment, turning over everything she was saying.
"And what if finding out about the rest of it ruins that?" I asked quietly. "What if she can't separate the two? What if she looks at me differently and I lose what we have?"
"What if you don't tell her and she finds out at the gala?" my mother countered. "In front of hundreds of people? How do you think that will make her feel? Ambushed? Humiliated? Like you were ashamed of her?"
The image made my stomach turn. Amara walking into that ballroom, probably already nervous in her new dress. Seeing me on stage with my family. The shock. The betrayal. The hurt in those bright brown eyes.
"I don't want to hurt her," I whispered.
"I know you don't. Which is exactly why you need to tell her now, in private, where she has space to feel whatever she needs to feel without an audience."
My mother reached over and took my hand, squeezing it gently.
"You promised me at the fitting that you'd tell her. I'm here to make sure you keep that promise."
"What if she walks away?"
The wind moved through the bare branches overhead, making a soft sound that settled into the quiet between us.
"Then at least you'll know you were honest with her. That you gave her the choice. That you respected her enough to tell her the truth instead of letting her be blindsided." She squeezed my hand again. "But I think you're underestimating her. And yourself. Six months of showing up, of building trust, of genuine connection? That doesn't disappear because you have a last name she didn't know about."
I wanted to believe that so badly it hurt. I needed to believe that Amara was different from the last person that had chipped at my self confidence.
"When should I tell her?" I asked.
"Tomorrow," my mother said firmly. "Or tonight if you can. Every day you wait is another day she could find out some other way. You need to be the one to tell her, Kael. On your terms and in private. Before the Valentine gala."
I nodded slowly, my heart hammering in my chest.
"And Kael?" She smiled. "After you tell her, assuming she doesn't run screaming, I'd very much like to meet her properly. Perhaps dinner at the house?"
The thought of Amara sitting at the Solas family dinner table made my dragon rumble with satisfaction and my human side panic in equal measure.
"One thing at a time," I managed to crack a smile.
She laughed and stood, smoothing her suit jacket against the chill. "Fair enough. But I have a good feeling about this, sweetheart. She's not Sabrina. Let her prove it."
We walked back to the bakery in companionable silence. The February morning had softened just slightly, the pale sun climbing higher and taking a little of the bite out of the cold air. By the time we reached the door, I felt steadier. Not less afraid, but more resolved.
My mother kissed my cheek before heading to her car. "Tomorrow, Kael. Promise me."
"I promise, mom."
I watched her leave and then went back inside. The bakery smelled like cinnamon and vanilla, warm and comforting against the cold outside. Marco looked up from the register.
