Page 576 of Bad Prince
Just enough to put the exclamation point where it belongs.
When we break apart, she’s looking at me like I’ve done something bigger than a press conference.
Maybe I have.
Maybe the whole point of an HEA is that eventually the grandest thing a man can do is simply stop being afraid to be seen loving you correctly.
She touches my face.
Just once.
Then smiles through the remains of the day and says, “Okay.”
I brush my lips to her forehead.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
A breath.
A brighter smile.
“I think that fixed it.”
And God.
Maybe it did.
Because standing there with her in my arms and the old wound finally answered in the exact language it was made in—public, visible, undeniable—I feel something settle for good.
No more almost.
No more explanation.
No more shrinking the truth until it looks safer.
Just us.
At full volume.
