I set down my glass and force myself to meet his eye.
“You don’t have to believe me right now,” he adds. “But I’ll prove it to you, and with time, I’m determined to show you that you can always rely on me.”
My cheeks heat. From the wine as well as the rawness of his confession. I’ve always settled for less. But Alaric’s unwavering desire to see all of me sinks into the deepest layers of my subconscious and soothes the jagged, broken pieces I long ago accepted I’d always have to hide from the world.
As I work to steady my breathing and collect myself, he stops rubbing my foot and smooths his hand up my calf.
“Was that too much?” he asks, brow furrowed.
Relief and warmth and giddiness wash over me as I consider the irony of his question.
“It was just right,” I whisper. Once again, his assurances and the way he handles me with such care overwhelm me.
He gently removes my feet from his lap, then slowly stands and reaches out. “I’d like to take you home now, if that’s all right.”
I slip my hand in his, wanting that more I’ve ever wanted anything.
CHAPTER 39
ALARIC
We’re quiet on the ride home. I had the good sense to schedule a car, knowing the wine would be incredible. Between that and the tension thrumming between us, I’m unfit to operate a motor vehicle.
As we wind through the streets of Monaco, Evangeline watches the lights blur past.
I simply watch her.
She’s stunning, her beauty consuming me more with each passing second. From the elegant extension of her neck to the perfect slope of her nose, she’s a work of art, and it’s a privilege to be near her.
Then there’s her authenticity.
She talks about the way she processes the world around her like the approach is a hinderance, but honestly, her self-awareness is potent and formidable.
A genuine strength.
She’s proven to me that when she speaks, she’s telling me the truth. It’s impressive how well she knows herself and how sure she is of what she wants. Her candor is extraordinarily simple yet undeniably rare. I’ve never met anyone like her. Not once have I caught myself wondering what she’s thinking or questioning how she really feels. My desire to know her on an even deeper level—to fortify our connection and be the person she grows to rely on—is voracious.
To be needed and wanted by her is my ultimate dream.
I stroke the top of her hand softly. Not to force conversation but to remind her that I’m here.
As the car comes to a stop, she looks at me, blinking, as if startled to no longer be in motion.
“We’re home.”
She breaks into a soft smile, which I take as reassurance that I’m not coming on too strong. She wants to be here as much as I crave her company.
I help her out of the car, nodding to Nigel, the doorman, as he holds the door and tips his cap.
We’re quiet on the elevator ride up, and the silence continues as I unlock the door and usher her into the condo.
I gave her a quick tour when we arrived, but we had little time to do more than a rushed walkthrough before changing and heading out again.
This time, I lead her in slowly, and in the middle of the living room, I turn and pull her into my chest.
Her belongings are in the bathroom attached to the primary bedroom, and as much as I’d love for her to sleep in there with me, it’s been a long day. If she’s overstimulated or exhausted and would prefer to stay in one of the guest rooms, I’ll play it cool.
“Would you like to leave your bags in the primary, or would you like me to move them to a guest room? If you’d rather have your own space tonight?—”
