She catches her breath, startled. “Rafe—Oh, God—I’m—”
I grin before she can finish and take her mouth with mine. When I roll her body again, she realizes where we’re headed and follows.
“That’s it. I’m right there. Because of you,Kasia.” I try to think of something to explain what being inside her feels like, how it’s beyond anything I’ve ever known but all that comes out is a hissed cry as she presses down against me, chasing my depth and fullness. “Fuck—”
I use a thrust as punctuation and she shivers in answer. I know she’s close from the way her breath hitches, her body arches, how every sound from her becomes smaller, caught and breaking. We fall apart together again, her face buried in the pillow, flushed like she’s run a marathon. Almost shy, embarrassed at how she didn’t want to stop, how far we pushed this, just so we didn’t have to let go. I pull her chin up, make her meet my eyes in the soft morning light, as if to saydon’t dare be ashamed of this.We lie there, both spent, shaking, somewhere between laughter and aftershock.
When she finally catches her breath, she starts to laugh, her back shaking against my chest, our skin tacky where it breaks apart and connects again with sweat. My hand finds her throat; I pull her closer, fingers spread under her jaw, kissing her nose, then her mouth. She tastes like blessed wine and a reminder of what we’ve just done, a stolen communion between sleep and the waking world.An offering to both.
The air is thick with the warmth of body heat and the stillness that follows chaos. Her breathing evens out against my chest; the city outside feels suspended, as if it’s giving us a few stolen minutes beforethe world starts again. I let my hand trace her arm, remembering the feel of her skin while I still can.
Eventually, I whisper, “We should probably get up. If we want to enjoy the morning before you head out.”
She nods, slow and sleepy, eyes half-open. We move around each other in the soft shuffle of routine, showers, toothbrushes, teasing over who’s hogging the mirror. It’s domestic, easy, the kind of rhythm that makes it feel like she’s been here forever. For a heartbeat, it feels like this could be every morning; I have to blink that thought away before it roots too deep. Every second is shorter than the one before.
I hand her a mug of coffee, still too hot, and gesture toward the terrace. “Come on. You should see London from up here.”
Outside, the wind cuts through the lingering heat. The skyline sprawls out in muted grays and golds, the city not quite awake yet. She steps out ahead of me, hair catching in the breeze, sunlight making everything around her glow. Even London looks softer in her light.
I sit down on the small bench and pull her gently into my lap. For a while we just sit there, her head resting against mine, the traffic below a distant, harmless murmur. The kind of calm that feels borrowed. When she finally looks down at me, the wind moves her hair across her face and I have to touch it, to move it back. My throat tightens before the words even form.
“I love you.”
It comes out quiet but certain. Her eyes widen just slightly, the sunlight reflected in them turning everything gold. For a moment, neither of us moves, the city, the clouds, even the sound of the wind all seem to pause, holding that single truth between us.
She starts to open her mouth, some reflexive protest forming, that kind of gentle, self-effacing instinct she has when she doesn’t know where to put her heart. I can see it already: the wordsyou don’t haveto say it backhovering there, the beginnings ofI didn’t expect—But I shake my head before she can. Just enough to stop it. Her mouth closes, her eyes searching mine.
“I told you I’d say it when we had proper time.” The words come easier than I thought they would. “It was stupid, the way I held back. Something in me thought I hadn’t earned it yet, or that if I said it, I’d never leave for the tour. That I’d stay.” I give a small laugh, more breath than sound. “Maybe I would have. I don’t know. But it was neveryou. Neverdoubt. It was just… me. The way I make everything fucking complicated.”
I pull her closer, my knees dipping to bring her level with me, and kiss her, something meant to anchor us both. When we part, there’s a glint of tears in her eyes, the kind that don’t fall but threaten to. I look at her, searching her eyes like she holds the answer to every question I've ever asked, and say it again.
“I love you. I don't think I've evertrulylet myself love anyone. Not until you.”
This time it feels final, certain, like I’ve handed her something that’s been waiting between us since the very beginning, and she knows exactly what to do with it. She laughs, soft, almost disbelieving and tilts her head back to the sky. The sound is caught somewhere between joy and heartbreak. She blinks fast, chasing the tears away before they have the chance to fall.
When she looks back at me, her eyes are shining. “Well,” she says, voice trembling just enough to betray her, “how am I supposed to leave now?”
I laugh, because there’s nothing else to do. “See? Nowyou’recomplicating things too.”
She shakes her head, smiling, and wraps her arms around my neck, pressing a kiss to my forehead that lingers, the kind that says more thanwords ever could. When she finally pulls back, her lips hover over my skin.
“What am I going to do with you?” she whispers.
I huff out a laugh, and lean back, catching her eyes with mine. “That’s something you could ask my parents, my managers, several exes, and probably the entire band. I don’t think any of them have an answer yet.”
Her breath catches in amusement, but I keep my gaze on her, serious now. “But they’d all say the same thing,” I add. “That you’re the closest I’ve ever come to being happy. If there’s such a thing for me…you’re it, Kasia.”
She just stares at me for a moment, eyes wide and wet and full of that light that always makes the world right again. And for once, I don’t try to fill the silence. I let it exist, like the city around us. London’s waking, the day is about to take her away, and I’mjust trying to commit to memory the way she looks when the sun hits her skin.
Chapter 60
Never On The Street
Rafe keeps his promise, he calls from every stop he can. Dublin, Manchester, Glasgow, the rhythm of cities falling into his voice. Sometimes I hear the crowd behind him, a low roar fading out as he ducks into a hallway. Other nights it’s just his voice in a dark hotel room, soft and sleepy, but still smiling when he says my name. Missing him feels like something sacred, somehow. A vigil my heart keeps. The days keep moving.Copenhagen. Stockholm. Munich. Madrid.Each city, another call, another photo, another reason to count down. Somewhere between the miles, merely thesoundof him starts to feel like home.When he reaches Warsaw, I can’t stop grinning. “Okay,” I tell him, pacing the kitchen, phone in hand. “You have to get Wedel chocolate, dark, the blue wrapper. Andkrowki,the caramel ones. They travel well, sono excuses. And pierniki, the gingerbread from Torun if you can find them. You’re bringing some back for me, Piotr, and Tata, or you’re not getting through the door, Ashton.”
He laughs, breath fogging in the Polish cold. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be smuggling half the country home.”
He walks through the streets with me on a video call. I watch the wet cobblestones gleam, neon signs reflected in puddles.
