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I told him that was the most arrogant excuse I’d ever heard. He smirked, kissed the side of my neck until my knees went weak, and told me I was welcome to sleep on the sofa downstairs if the bed was too grand for me.

I never once slept on that sofa.

And no matter how wide that mattress had been, we always ended up tangled together on one side anyway, my head buried in the hollow of his shoulder with his heavy arm locked across my ribs like he was afraid I might slip away in the dark.

I walked toward the new bed, my boots sinking into the plush rug beneath it. The furniture had changed, but somehow the room still carried enough of him to make every memory feel close.

I pressed my lips together, feeling heat rise to my cheeks even as tears stung my eyes.

Six years of distance, six years of trying to move on, and my body still remembered the exact weight of him on this mattress.

I remembered once when Caspian came home around four in the morning after handling some dangerous street business. I’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, furious, with an entire speech prepared about his reckless lifestyle. He walked into the room smelling of rain and cologne, took one look at my face, and came straight to me. Instead of saying anything, he stepped between my knees, wrapped both arms around me, and pulled me against his chest until my cheek rested against him.

He didn’t argue or make excuses. He just held me there for a minute, one large hand moving slowly up and down my back until some of the fight started leaving my body. Then he eased back enough to cup the side of my face, looked straight into my eyes, and kissed me until my fury dissolved into something softer and far more dangerous.

That night, he made love to me slowly, like he was trying to apologize with every touch without ever saying the words. By morning, my anger was gone, drowned in the sheer intensity of the way that man loved me.

“Caspian...” I murmured.

A broken laugh escaped my lips, then fractured into a sob.

I sank down onto the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped beneath my weight, the memory of him so overwhelming it felt like the walls were closing in.

I looked across the room toward the dresser.

Sitting right there beside a marble tray was a framed photograph of the two of us, with a small, folded note propped against the corner of the frame.

I reached for the note first.

Lakelyn,

I left this here because I thought it might make the room feel a little more welcoming. This was always one of my favorite pictures of you two.

Love, Henrietta

My throat tightened before I even picked up the frame.

The picture had been taken at Henrietta’s all-white fifty-fifth birthday party.

Caspian stood behind me with one arm locked securely around my waist, dressed in crisp white tailored slacks and a fitted button-down that hugged his broad shoulders and chest like it had been made specifically for him. The first few buttons were left open, just enough for his thick gold chain to rest against his skin, and a heavy gold watch gleamed at his wrist. His shoes were spotless, his waves were laid, and every part of him looked expensive without trying too hard.

He was the flyest man there, no lie… and he knew it.

In the photo, Caspian was looking into the camera with that serious expression he wore whenever he had me tucked against him, like even in a room full of family and friends he was still guarding what was his. I was pressed into his side, laughing so hard my eyes were nearly shut, glowing with the kind of happiness that only existed when you’re convinced that nothing in the world could touch you.

I finally picked up the frame, tears finally spilling over and tracking down my cheeks.

“God, I miss you so damn much. I really do,” I choked out. “I just want to know where you are.”

The words sounded small and helpless.

I rubbed my palms hard against my thighs, trying to steady my breathing, but the dam had broken.

“How does a man like you just vanish? One morning you were in my bed, holding me, telling me you were coming back... and then nothing.”

I wiped at my cheeks, but the tears kept coming.

“I called you thirty-eight times that night, Caspian… thirty-eight times. I kept thinking your battery died. I kept thinking you got caught up in some meeting.”