A rap on the door stops this useless internal debate.
My gaze jerks toward the source of the sound. Electricity buzzes throughout my body. My cock strains to be inside her.
Every part of me is drawn to Elowyn.
Maybe I was and still am second on her list. Maybe she’s sticking around for the money.
She might still hurt me.
Nothing changes the fact that I can’t stop loving her.
There’s no bottling up these feelings anymore. The ones I thought had been buried under heaps of pain.
She’s mine.
Today. Tomorrow.
For-fucking-ever.
Another rap on the door.
I clear my throat that’s thick with emotion and say, “Come in.”
Mary appears in the gallery first, gesturing for Elowyn to follow. Together, they head toward the pedestal.
Elowyn’s gray eyes scan the room.
She can’t see me, but fuck me, do I see her.
The silk bandages fall from the collar of her dress in narrow veils, exposing curves meant for worship.
Her shoulders set back. Her entire demeanor exudes power.
When I made this dress for her, I never imagined she’d look like this.
These bandages are what I use to brace a fractured painting while the glue beneath them sets. They were meant to turn her into what I believed we’d been over the past decade—cracked. Broken.
Nothing feels broken about how badly I want her now.
It feels right.
I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve looked past my hurt and realized that the moment Elowyn was within reach, my heart would claim what it wanted. And it wants her.
Despite everything—and because of it—I choose this. I choose us.
At last, she’s on the pedestal. Mary is gone.
“Elowyn.”
“Duncan?” She sounds less confident than she appears. “Where are you?”
“Over here.” I’m not sure why I stay in the shadows. I definitely don’t need a moment to catch my breath. Not me. “Don’t move.”
“I won’t, but where are you?” Her head turns left and right, long locks swishing with the movement. “You promised we’d talk.”
“I did.”
And it won’t be about my feelings. My wounds. The hours, weeks, and months I spent waiting for her to call.
