I hug him a little tighter, pressing my body firmly against his. If I could, I’d bury myself beneath his skin.
His breath hitches, and for a moment he stops walking, and I can’t help but grin against his neck.
Sol spreads his wings, moving through the penthouse, and I begin to actually pay attention to the space around us.
The hallway is wide—wide enough for Sol's impressive wingspan to extend fully without touching the walls. The ceilings are at least twelve feet high, maybe more, clearly built to accommodate someone his size.
The walls are painted in a soft dove gray, just like the bedroom, soothing and neutral. In fact, everything in this house is in a neutral tone—taupe, warm whites, gentle beiges. The furniture is plush, with throw blankets on several pieces that all look perfect to cuddle into.
It's beautiful. Peaceful. The kind of space that’s so cozy you never want to leave. But something about it bothers me.
Sol carries me past an open doorway, and I catch a glimpse of what must be the living area—massive windows currently covered by heavy curtains, a sectional that could seat ten people, everything in those same soothing tones.
"This place is fit for a king," I murmur.
Sol's arms tighten around me slightly. "It's not for a king."
I look up at him, and there's something vulnerable in his expression as if he’s both scared and hopeful at the same time.
“What do you mean? Don’t you live here?”
“I… didn’t make it for me.”
I pull back slightly but he refuses to meet my gaze. And that's when it clicks.
The neutral colors, the blankets, the softness, the care and consideration in every nook of this place, it doesn’t fit him. If I had to imagine a place for Sol, it would be with dark colors, navy, forest green, wood textures, concrete countertops—masculine—but this? Outside of the wide and open spaces nothing about it feels like him. It feels perfect for a woman.
"Sol," I say softly, cupping his jaw, to make him look at me. "What do you mean?"
Gently, he sets me on my feet, then kneels in front of me to meet my eyes. “I made this place… for you.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
For me.
The thought seems impossible, but the proof of it is all around me. All of this... all of it was designed for me.
A stranger he'd been searching for. Someone he'd never spoken to, never touched, never heard laugh or seen cry. And yet he'd spent a year preparing a home for me.
My throat tightens. Tears burn my eyes. "Sol..."
"I know it may not be right.” He fidgets, then runs his hand through his long black hair. “You may not like some of it, any of it." His voice trembles slightly, as if he’s scared that it’s both too much and not enough.
How could he ever believe that? Ever think that when this is the greatest gift someone has ever given me?
“I know I shouldn’t have presumed, but I couldn’t help myself.” He takes in a shaky breath. “Every night I’d come back from searching for you, from failing to find you, and I just... wanted to do something for you. Something to show you that you were always on my mind, always my priority. I thought about what you might need, what might make you comfortable and happy.”
His hands flex at his sides, as if he wants to reach for me. "I wanted you to have a place that was yours. Where you felt safe. Where you could smile and be warm. Be at peace. Not because you’re mine, or because I want anything from you, or even because I hope that in the end, you’ll choose me. But because this is the least of what you deserve. I want to provide for you." he says, and there's not a shred of doubt in his voice. "I’d give you the world if you ever asked me for it."
The tears spill over before I can stop them.
My parents wanted me to fit their image. James wanted me to be convenient. Aubrey wanted me to take care of her. And me? I wanted to be needed.
But Sol? Sol doesn’t need me. He wants me. He’s choosing me.
He cups my face with such gentleness it makes me cry harder. But his expression shifts—something dangerous sliding behind his eyes as he wipes mine so carefully.
My lips and throat suddenly feel dry, and I can't help but turn away from him as shame and embarrassment fill me.
