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"I've wanted privacy. I've wanted room to make decisions without a committee attached to them. But I've never wanted to stop being a Kensington."

I nod slowly.

He looks at me. "Does that bother you?"

"No," I say, and I mean it.

What bothers me is everything around the answer.

I know Ross differently now than I did when this project started. I know the way he laughs when he forgets to be controlled. I know how he takes his coffee, how he sleeps, how he touches me when he's half awake, how he goes quiet when something matters more than he wants to admit. I know the man.

This week has reminded me how much comes with him. The family itself doesn't feel threatening. Eleanor has been kind to me. Sebastian has been warm. Charles has never treated me as though I'm beneath him. There's nothing cruel about the Kensington world. It's simply enormous.

That is what makes it heavy.

We don't talk much after that. Ross finishes his drink, and I finish my wine, and eventually he takes my hand and leads me upstairs without either of us saying it's time.

Later, I lie awake beside Ross longer than I expect. He's already asleep, one arm resting across my waist, and I stare toward the windows while the city lights throw faint reflections across the room.

For the first time, I let myself imagine what it would mean to belong here instead of merely visit. The thought feels too easy. That scares me more than anything else.

By morning, the apartment has settled back into something ordinary. Ross is already dressed when I come downstairs, standing near the kitchen with his laptop open and a cup of coffee beside it. I pour my own and settle into the corner of the sofa with my tablet while he works through emails at the dining table.

Neither of us needs to talk much.

Every few minutes, Ross gets up, crosses the room and touches me without thinking about it. His hand brushes my shoulder when he passes. He leans down and kisses the top of my head while reading something on his phone. At one point, he sets a plate beside me without asking whether I'm hungry because he already knows I haven't eaten.

Later, when he comes downstairs in a fresh shirt with his tie hanging loose around his collar, I set my tablet aside and stand.

"You missed a step," I say.

Ross looks down at the tie.

"I was getting there."

"No, you weren't."

He gives me a look but stays still while I knot it for him. My fingers move against the silk, and his hands settle lightly at my waist. I straighten the knot and smooth the front of his shirt.

"There," I say.

Ross looks down at me. "Useful."

"Don't get used to it."

"Too late."

I smile despite myself.

He kisses my forehead, picks up his jacket and goes back to his laptop while I return to the sofa.

For several minutes, I watch him work. This is the part that makes everything else dangerous. I can imagine this too easily; the quiet mornings. The shared space. His hand finding me as he passes. My things mixed with his. My life folding naturally into his without either of us having to force it. I can imagine loving Ross Kensington for a very long time. What I don't know is how much of myself loving him would eventually require me to surrender.

Chapter Fourteen

Ross

Blaire closes my laptop with one hand without taking her eyes off the television.