Page 104 of Pride and Pregame

"I let you win in Portland."

"You did not."

"I was being chivalrous."

"You were being destroyed. There's a difference."

"This is why I married you. The constant mockery."

"You married me because you've been in love with me since I kicked your ass at cards in a hotel room. Your words."

"I'm already regretting telling you that."

"Too late. I'm going to remind you forever."

He laughed—the real one, unguarded and warm—and pulled her closer. “Deal. Mrs. D’Arcy.”

Outside, the first snow of December had started to fall, soft and quiet against the windows. Inside, the apartment held nothing but warmth and the particular peace of two people who had finally stopped pretending.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a brilliant woman in possession of her own career must still be in want of an equally brilliant partner who values her exactly as she is.

Libby had found hers.

And he was sitting beside her at midnight, wearing that soft smile she’d learned to treasure, and looking at her like she’d given him something he’d never thought to ask for.

Perfect endings were for fairy tales. This was better.

This was home.