“I like it.” The quiet laughter in his chest vibrated against her, a phantom smile felt rather than seen. “It suits you.”
“No one’s called me that in nine years.” She pressed closer, her leg sliding between his.
“Then I’ll call you both.” He yawned, exhaustion finally winning. “Nell in public. Eleanor in private. When we’re like this.”
“Like what?” She tipped her head back to look at him.
“Naked.” His hand slid down her back, coming to rest possessively on her hip. “In my bed. Where you belong.”
“Bold assumption.” She raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile.
“Am I wrong?” He squeezed her hip, his eyes soft with certainty—and love.
She didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t wrong, though she did belong here. With him. In his arms.
“Sleep,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “You need rest.”
“Stay.” His arm tightened, holding her close.
“I’m not going anywhere.” She settled against him, her head fitting perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder.
“Promise?” His words blurred as sleep claimed him.
“Promise.” She kissed his collarbone.
His breathing slowed, deepened, evening out as he slipped fully into sleep. She watched him in the dark—this man who knew her secrets, who loved her anyway, who wanted her children as his own.
For the first time in nine years, she wasn’t afraid.
Not running. Not hiding.
Just here. In his arms. Where she belonged.
“I love you,” she whispered into the darkness, her lips brushing his skin.
Even asleep, his arm tightened around her.
She closed her eyes. And finally, peacefully, slept.
Twenty-Three
One week had passed since she’d told him everything. Seven days since she’d whispered her real name into the dark of his bedroom and waited for him to turn away. Seven days since he’d pulled her close instead and kissed her like she was something precious, something worth keeping.
Nell opened the shop that Tuesday morning and caught herself humming a low, lilting tune. She stopped at once, while she looked around the empty bakery like someone might have heard. The ovens crackled. The bread rose in its pans.
She was humming.
When had she started doing that? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d hummed anything. Not since before Gabriel, yet not since before the fire. Not since she’d become the kind of woman who kept her head down and her mouth shut, never drawing attention to herself.
But this past week, something had shifted. The world felt lighter, brighter. It was like someone had scraped the grime off a window she hadn’t realized was dirty. She woke up smiling; and she went to bed smiling. She smiled at customers who used to irritate her, at the weather that used to feel like a personal offense, and at the empty street that used to make her nervous.
It was terrifying.
Happiness never lasted. That was what life had taught her. Happiness was a trap, a lure, a pretty lie that made the fall hurt worse when it inevitably came. Gabriel had been charming once, too, but Gabriel had made her smile once, too.
But Dominic was not Gabriel.
She knew that now, knew it in the marrow of her bones, in the place where truth lived. Dominic was reckless and impulsive and maddening, but he was not cruel—and he didn’t weaponize kindness. He didn’t make her feel small so he could feel big. He looked at her as if she were the sun, and when she told him her darkest secrets, he’d held her closer instead of pulling away.
