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“Why not?”

The question is barely more than a whisper.

And maybe it’s the cold medicine.

Maybe it’s exhaustion.

Maybe I’m simply tired of protecting myself from something that’s already happened.

I love him.

And two things can be true at the same time.

I can be angry with him and I can love him. I can be hurt and love him. I can refuse to excuse what he did and still love the complicated, controlling, infuriating man sitting beside me.

So I stop hiding.

“Because, Mr. Knight,” I whisper, “I love you too.”

Mitchell doesn't move.

Doesn't blink.

I frown.

“Did the billionaire finally run out of words?”

“Say it again.”

My heart stutters.

“What?”

His free hand comes up and cups my cheek.

Possessive.

A little demanding.

And reverent.

That last one matters the most.

“Please. Say it again, Firecracker.”

That almost destroys me. His whispered please.

I lean into his palm.

“I love you, Mitchell.”

His eyes close. And the breath that leaves him sounds like he’s been holding it for a fucking week.

Maybe he has.

God knows I have.

When his eyes open again, they're shining.