“Would you like to see it?”
I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my head at her. “I thought that was against your rules.”
“It’s not. It was a move, Louis. It gave me time to pivot, if needed.”
My mouth parts. “Really?”
“Yeah. I don’t give a fuck if anyone sees what I’m painting,” she says with a laugh, pulling the cloth off and showing me a canvas.
“Addison,” I whisper.
It’s us at the waterfall, tangled together in the water, my forehead pressed against hers. The colors are soft and dreamlike. Blues and greens bleed into each other, but I can feel the magic in the fireflies floating around. The emotion in it is unmistakable.
This isn’t just a painting. It’s a moment, an artistic love letter.
“I woke up around three a.m., wide awake from the time difference, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that night. About you. So, I painted it so I’d never forget.”
“You did this in a few hours?”
“In about eight. Rage is extremely motivating, Your Highness.” She shrugs like it’s nothing, like she didn’t pour her entire heart onto a canvas while the rest of the city slept. “You were taken from me. I was pretty sure that was how my villain origin story began.”
I chuckle, completely understanding anger like that. “I felt the same. Just … wow. I’m impressed.”
Her hands settle on my waist. “I know how royals are. It’s good to hold some cards back and not show them all.”
This makes me laugh. “You’re so damn smart.” I kiss her. “My mother has no idea who she’s dealing with.”
“No.” Addison’s smile is confident. “She doesn’t. And that was her first mistake.”
I kiss her again, pouring everything I feel into it. She matches myenergy, her fingers gripping me, pulling me closer. When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“I love you,” I tell her.
“I love you too.”
She takes my hand and leads me toward a doorway on the opposite side of the loft. Her bedroom faces east, and every morning, she must wake up to the sunrise. More canvases lean against the walls, and there’s a stack of books on the nightstand.
“Wait,” she says, dropping my hand.
She moves around the room, dropping the tall blinds. Then she lights candles on the dresser, the windowsill, and the nightstand. The flames flicker to life until the space glows. When she turns back to me, the light dances across her face. I forget how to breathe.
“Moody,” she says.
I close the distance between us and kiss her, letting myself sink into the feeling of her mouth against mine. There will be no interruptions, no guards outside the door, and no clock counting down to the end. Just us and this room that’s full of candlelight.
My hands find the pearl buttons on her sundress that I’ve been staring at all afternoon.
I undo them, and each button reveals more skin, more of her. The dress falls open, and I push it off her shoulders, letting it fall to her feet. She’s standing there in pale blue lace and candlelight, and the sight of her makes my chest ache.
“You’re so beautiful.” I breathe out.
“So are you.”
She reaches for the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head. Her hands spread across my chest. Warm palms rub against my skin, and I close my eyes, enjoying her touch. Soft fingers trace over my muscles, finding the bruise on my ribs, where a guard caught me.
She leans down and presses her lips to it. “Does it hurt?”
“Not when you do that.”
