I lace my fingers through his where they rest on my stomach. Feel his heartbeat steady against my back.
The night quiets, us tangled up, breathing in sync, his thumb stroking lazy circles over my knuckles until my eyes get heavy. I'm half over him now, head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to something calm and sure.
"You okay?" he asks his fingers dragging up and down the middle of my back. Voice rough from everything.
"Yeah." I tilt my head to see him. "You?"
He exhales slow. "Never better."
We’re lying in bed, and he shifts so we're face to face. Hand cups my cheek. "No regrets?” he asks. Soft. Vulnerable.
"None." I cover his hand with mine. "I'd know if there was. This feels steady. Safe. Like I finally landed somewhere real."
His thumb strokes my cheekbone. "Steady after blowing up your whole world and ending up in my bed?"
"Yeah. Because it'syourbed. Because you didn't push me here. You waited. You let me choose."
He swallows. "I was scared you'd walk out the second the adrenaline wore off."
I lean in, kiss him slow. "I'm not going anywhere." His eyes search mine. "Because you see me. All of me. And you don't flinch. You don't try to shrink me or own me. You just… want me here. Next to you."
He goes still. Breath catches. "You have no idea what that does to me," he says quietly.
"Then show me."
He rolls us so he's partly over me, forearm braced, other hand still cradling my face.
"You're building something with me," he says. "You know that?"
"So are you."
"I don't do half-measures. Not with you."
"Neither do I."
"Then say it."
His voice is barely above a whisper. "I want you, Roman. Because you're the one who makes me feel like I can finally breathe. Like I'm enough. Exactly like this."
His eyes go liquid. He kisses me again slow, deep, like he's sealing something. "You're staying," he murmurs against my lips.
"Yes."
"With me."
"Yes."
He pulls me closer, tucks my head under his chin, arms wrapped tight. "Love you," he says so quiet I almost miss it. First time he's said the words out loud.
My heart slams. I press my lips to his collarbone. "Love you too."
He exhales like he's been holding it for years. Kisses the top of my head. "Sleep. I've got you."
SIXTEEN
ANYA
It’s beentwo months since the gala that changed everything. Since then, my life has felt like something I never would have dared to write for myself. Not perfect. Not calm. But solid in a way I didn’t know I was allowed to want.
