Page 401 of Black Reign

No plastic badges clipped to lanyards.

Blackwell doesn't need any of that.

The building knows who belongs before the elevator doors open.

Which is why I take a certain amount of satisfaction in walking through the lobby holding Xavier's hand.

Not sneaking.

Not hiding.

No wig.

No contacts.

No borrowed identity.

Just caramel curls, cornflower eyes, a cream sweater, black trousers, my wedding ring, and the very faint urge to wave at every invisible camera I've spent years insulting.

Xavier looks down at me.

“Don't.”

“What?”

“You're smiling at the cameras.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“They started it.”

“They are cameras.”

“Exactly. Arrogant little things.”

His mouth twitches.

The elevator opens.

Xavier puts one hand against my lower back as we step inside.

That still does things to me.

Ridiculous things.

We're married.

We've slept beneath the stars in my father's field.

I know what his mouth feels like against my skin and what his voice sounds like when he forgets English entirely.

And still one hand at the small of my back makes butterflies turn traitor inside my stomach.

Marriage is humiliating.

The elevator rises.