My eyes burn as I lean in. And when his mouth touches mine, it isn’t a desperate claim. It’s a confession. It’s relief and hunger and grief and hope all tangled together.
I make a sound I didn’t mean to make, something small, broken, and Julian pulls back instantly, eyes searching my face like he’s checking if I’m okay, if I want this, if I’m sure.
I nod. Because I am.
Because I need him the way you need air after being underwater too long.
This isn’t gentle for long.
It can’t be.
There’s too much time between us. Too much fear. Too much want.
We come together like we’re trying to erase distance with skin and breath, like we’re trying to prove to our bodies that we’re real again.
Julian’s hands are everywhere.
My fingers dig into his shoulders like I’m anchoring myself to something solid.
He whispers my name like a prayer.
And when he finally says, “I love you,” it doesn’t feel like a bandage.
It feels like a truth we bled for.
I hold his face and whisper it back.
“I love you too.”
And this time he doesn’t freeze.
This time, he stays and shows his vulnerability. He is the Julian who is only for me.
Epilogue 1 - Julian
One year should not feel like this.
I’ve marked years by acquisitions, by expansions, by milestones that came with numbers attached. I’ve celebrated anniversaries with champagne flutes raised in rooms where everyone wanted something from me. I’ve measured success in margins, leverage, and power.
None of that prepared me for this.
For the way the date sits in my soul, heavy with meaning.
For the way my hands shake, not with fear, but with the awareness that I am standing inside something I once believed I wasn't capable of having.
One year of marriage.
I wake before Lucy does, because I like watching the morning find her. The city is still quiet, light barely touching the windows, and she’s curled on her side facing me, one arm tucked beneath her chin.
Her breathing is slow. Even. Peaceful.
I don’t touch her right away. I’ve learned that stillness can be a form of devotion.
I think about the man I was a year ago, sharp-edged, convinced that love was something you negotiated rather than trusted. A man who believed permanence was a liability. A manwho didn’t understand that choosing someone every day would become the most grounding force of his life.
Lucy shifts slightly, her brow creasing as she surfaces from sleep.
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice rough and warm.
