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I don’t know when I started crying. I’m not making a sound, but my tears are hot on my cheeks. I want to say I don’t deserve this. I want to tell him I’m not right.
But he knows exactly who I am. He knows the woman he brought home from Debasement, the one too shy to ever dream of asking for what she needs. He knows the woman who murdered a man in his dining room. He knows the woman who went back to her darkest nightmare, who tried to drag him down amid the muck. He knows the woman who nearly lost herself to an angel who was never really there.
He knows me.
He knows me, and he’s kept me, and I’ll be his forever.
“Yes,” I say. “Oh my God, yes.”
He stands then. He pulls me so close I can feel his heartbeat through his T-shirt. He spreads one hand on the back of my head, and the other on the small of my back, and he kisses me so long, so hard, so deep that I’m drowning among the waterlilies.
“Princess…” he finally says.
I don’t have any words. But he holds me until I stop shaking. He laughs when I ask to hold the rock. He waits till I stop crying.
And then he says, “So teach me. Tell me about these paintings. That is, if you don’t mind missing the conference on cybersecurity.”
“Who cares about a fucking conference?” I ask.
And he laughs as I start to tell him about the art.
* * *
