Am I being bullheaded?
Yeah.
Probably.
But I’m done with not being married to this woman.
Done letting technicalities and past mistakes keep us in limbo.
Done giving her any space to slip away again.
“Are you sure?” she asks quietly, her voice shaking just enough to cut through everything.
I finally look at her.
Really look.
Her eyes are wide.
Bright.
Vulnerable.
And something in my chest twists hard.
Because I know what she’s asking.
Not just about this.
About us.
About whether I’m going to hurt her again.
Whether this is real.
Whether I mean it.
I step closer.
Close enough that the rest of the world falls away.
“I’ve never been surer of anything in my whole fucking life,” I tell her, my voice low, rough, unfiltered. “I’m yours. And you’re mine, Esme. You are so mine.”
My thumb brushes over her knuckles.
“I want you every fucking way I can get you.”
Her breath catches.
“Yeah?” she whispers.
I don’t hesitate.
“Yeah. Yes. I love you,” I say.
The words hit harder than anything else we’ve done.
More dangerous.
