.
I hit send and close the laptop.
When I look into the bedroom, she’s curled on her side now, hair fanning over the pillow, face softened in sleep. Even in rest, her arm remains curved over her chest like a shield.
Everything that makes her luminous also makes her a target. Not this time. I move back to her, kneel, and press a kiss to her temple.
“We build life,” I whisper against her skin. “They build fear. Let’s see who lasts longer.”
City sounds flare beyond the glass, creating a type of white noise. She doesn’t stir.
I remain there, vigilantly monitoring the woman whose body is transforming into a sanctuary and a silent revolution, while also thinking about the war brewing at the boundaries of our tranquility.
CHAPTER FIVE
CLAIRE
One week later…
Leander opened the shop for me this morning and texted a proud photo of the balanced till plus the delivery truck already logged. I love that I didn’t have to open this morning. Erik said he arranged it “just in case I needed the day,” and now I understand why.
I’m still wrapped in Erik’s towel when he carries me back to bed, his hands warm against my thighs, his breath steady against my shoulder. My chest is fuller, heavier, and more alive than it has ever been, and I can’t stop touching the spot where the first drops of milk appeared two days ago.
He sets me on the mattress, strips off the towel, helps me into a clean pair of panties, and places the towel under my breasts, then helps me settle back into the bed. He reaches to tuck the blanket around me; something stubborn rises in my chest.
“Moving in feels so fast,” I blurt. “It’s just… you asked me the other day, and…”
His hand pauses. “I barely know how to be someone’s girlfriend,” I whisper. “I’m still figuring out this whole dynamic between us. I don’t want to rush something and ruin it.”
He doesn’t get angry. He doesn’t flinch. He simply gazes at me, slow and deliberate, as if he's perceiving every minor tremor beneath my skin.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
I go without thinking, uncurling myself and moving closer to him. He pulls me into his lap, one hand on my hip, one on the base of my spine. The position is grounding, unavoidable, and intimate in a way that makes my breath tremble.
“Say what you really mean,” he says quietly. “Not the fear version.”
My voice breaks. “I’m afraid you’ll change your mind.”
His jaw goes tight. “No. I’m not that man.”
“You say that now…”
“I say that always.”
I swallow. “What if moving in changes things?”
“It will,” he says, brushing his knuckles down my cheek. “That’s the point.”
My heart stumbles. “What if I’m too much?”
He leans in until our foreheads touch.
“You’re not too much,” he murmurs. “You’re mine.”
Something inside me melts.
“And,” he adds, his voice dropping into something deeper, “your body made the decision before your mind did.”
