The teenager already wearing armor.
The man behind a desk too large for the room.
And then me. In the margins.
And finally, the pages I finished last night: Him, looking for me. Me reaching out to him. An embrace.
"I've been working on this for a while," I whisper, "Since we got married, actually."
His eyes are shining. "You saw me this way all along?"
"Yes," I say.
I cross the space between us and throw my arms around him, pressing my face against his chest. He freezes for half a second—shocked, maybe, or afraid this isn't real—and then his arms come around me and he's holding me like I'm the only thing keeping him upright.
I’m crying.
But this time it doesn’t feel like breaking.
It feels like breathing.
"I was so scared," I sob into his shirt. "So scared that you'd never actually let me in. That I'd spend our whole marriage loving someone who couldn't love me back because he was too afraid to try."
His hand moves to my hair, fingers gentle and trembling slightly. "I was scared too. Scared that if I let you all the way in, you'd see how broken I am and leave. Scared that the real me wasn't worth loving."
I pull back just enough to look at his face, and he's crying too. Not hiding it or trying to control it. Just letting the tears fall while he holds me.
"You're an idiot," I tell him, and my voice is half laugh, half sob. "A complete and utter idiot. I've been in love with you for weeks now. Maybe months. You should have just told me."
His eyes go wide, and I watch him process what I just said. "You still love me?" The question comes out stunned, like he can't quite believe it's possible.
"Yes, Seamus. I love you."
I reach up and cup his face, feeling the scruff of several days' worth of beard growth.
He hasn’t been taking care of himself.
The evidence is written all over his face.
"I love you," I repeat, making sure he can see the truth of it in my eyes. "All of you. Not just the easy parts."
He makes a sound that's half laugh, half sob, and then he's kissing me. Not the careful, controlled kisses we've shared before. This is desperate and honest and full of months of longing and fear and hope that we might actually make this work.
I kiss him back with everything I have, and it feels like coming home.
When we finally pull apart, we're both crying and laughing and holding each other like we're afraid to let go. Seamus presses his forehead against mine, and I can feel him trembling.
"Does this mean you'll move back home?" he asks quietly, and there's so much hope and fear in those words that I want to wrap him up and never let anything hurt him again.
"Missed me that much?" I tease, even though I'm crying too hard for it to land properly.
"Yes." He doesn't even hesitate, doesn't try to play it cool or protect himself. Just admits the truth like it's been torn out of him.
"The penthouse is empty without you. It’s exactly how it was before you moved in. And I hate it."
I brush the tears from his cheeks, even though mine are still falling. "No more pretending," I say softly. "No more contracts?"
"You don't have to sell me on this, Rose," he says, and he captures my gaze with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "I'm choosing you. Not because of the board or time limits. This time, I'm choosing you because I love you."
