I stand, straightening my cuffs, my mind already on the next step. Tonight is important, and I know how I want to walk into that room.
Liliana will go with me.
I leave the study, crossing the hall toward her room. The door is open just enough for me to see her. She is seated near the window, the book in her lap catching the low light of the afternoon. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, her profile calm, her presence a stillness I find myself drawn to more than I should admit.
She looks peaceful here, untouched by the world I walk into every day. Which is exactly why I want her with me tonight.
She looks up when she feels me in the doorway, her eyes lifting from the book in her lap. The sunlight catches in her hair, the faint curve of her shoulders framed against the quiet of the room. There is a question in her gaze, soft and unspoken, one I have learned to read without words.
I step inside, my shoulder brushing the frame as I lean there for a moment, letting myself take her in. She’s fucking glorious. Every time.
My hands move in the space between us, measured and calm. How are you?
Her fingers pause briefly on the page before she closes the book. She signs back, a faint spark in her eyes. I’m well. And you?
My mouth curves slightly at her return question. My hands shape the reply with ease. Better now that I see you.
Her gaze softens, the faintest shift in her expression pulling something low in my chest.
I let the moment linger for a breath before my hands move again. I have a summit tonight.
Her brow shifts slightly, that subtle tightening I know well. She’s listening, already curious.
At the club, I add, crossing the room toward her. My movements are smooth, certain. I want you to come with me.
The smallest flicker of surprise crosses her face, her fingers lifting gracefully. Why?
I stop a few steps from her chair, my hands slipping into my pockets as I hold her gaze. Because it’s necessary. And because it’s time. My eyes remain on hers, letting the words settle before I sign again. I want to introduce you properly. As my wife.
Her lips press together, her expression caught somewhere between uncertainty and thought as she rubs her wrist before lifting her hand. Her fingers move more slowly this time, the shape of them deliberate. I don’t belong there.
You do, I sign back, my movements sure. You will be at my side. There is no need to be nervous. You will fit in, cara. You were born to rule beside me..
Her gaze lowers for a moment, the quiet between us stretching as though she is turning it over in her mind.
I take another step closer, my movements easing, my hands shaping the words with more care. Part of me being patient with her is to not force her into what she doesn't want. I tell her as much.
I will not force you. If you truly do not want to go, you can stay here. But I would like you there with me tonight.
She doesn’t answer immediately. Her fingers rest in her lap, still, her eyes lifting to meet mine again after a long pause. The faint crease remains between her brows, but there is something steadier now in the way she looks at me.
Her hands move at last, the signs deliberate, her gaze holding mine. Fine. I’ll go.
The words settle in me. The corner of my mouth lifts slightly, not a smile, but close enough to touch it. I step forward, the space between us narrowing until I can feel the soft rise of her breath against me.
I lean down, my hand brushing lightly over her hair as I press my lips to her forehead. I linger there, the warmth of her skin against my mouth sinking into me in a way that is both grounding and dangerous.
The quiet of her presence, the faint scent of lavender and something warmer beneath it, folds into the moment until everything else falls away.
Her breath catches almost imperceptibly, her body still beneath my touch. She doesn’t pull back. Instead, there is the slightest tilt of her head, as though she is letting me stay there a fraction longer. I feel it, the shift, subtle but real.
When I draw back, her eyes lift to mine, steady but not untouched. I hold her gaze, my hands moving slowly. Good. We leave in three hours. Maria will help you choose something.
Her chin dips in a small nod, the motion quiet but sure. There is something in her eyes, something that feels like a thread pulling taut between us.
I take a step back, not because I want to, but because if I stay, I will not leave. The air in the room is still warm from where she sits, carrying the faint echo of her presence with me as I turn and step away.
Three hours later, I am standing in the sitting room, dressed in a dark suit, the cut sharp, the fabric crisp against my shoulders. The tie is knotted tight, my cufflinks in place. Tomasso waitsnear the door, his expression patient, though I catch the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes.
