Page 144 of Suite 7

“Sunday,” he says.

“Sunday,” I say back.

He nods, then releases me and steps back.

I step into the elevator and turn to face him as the doors close.

He’s watching me. Still. The doors close between us and the lobby indicator clicks on. I lean against the back wall and close my eyes.

26 Kane

Sunday morning. Vera’s curled against my side, one leg thrown over mine, her hand resting over my heart. Her breathing deep and even. Peaceful.

Beautiful.

I’ve been lying here for an hour. Watching her. The way her lashes fan against her cheeks. The way she instinctively presses closer even in sleep.

I love you.

Not yet.

Her eyes flutter open. Find mine immediately.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi yourself.” I brush hair from her face.

“You’re watching me sleep. That’s creepy.”

“Can’t help it. The way your lashes look against your cheeks.”

She makes a soft sound, burrowing closer. Then goes still. “Today’s the day.”

Not a question. A statement.

“Today’s the day,” I confirm.

“I’m terrified.”

“Me too.”

She lifts her head, searching my face. “But we’re doing this.”

“We’re doing this.”

“Good.” I pull her closer. “The plan still works. You go to brunch. I show up at two. We tell her.”

“What if she⁠—”

“Don’t.” I cup her face. “We’ll handle whatever happens. Together.”

She nods. Takes a breath. “Okay. Together.”

“We have a few hours,” I say. “Just us.”

Something shifts in her expression. She lets her hand drift to my chest, fingertips light, and looks up at me with that curl at the corner of her mouth.

I catch her wrist. Then the other. Roll her back into the mattress and pin both hands above her head.