Page 114 of Terms of Exposure
He reached for my hand, our fingers lacing together.
And we walked out of the office palm to palm, the city night waiting beyond the glass doors.
Chapter thirty
Emma
Monday morning came bright and early.
And instead of tense muscles and nerves, I felt… calm.
Relaxed.
And I had no idea what to do with it.
"How are you feeling, love?" Damien asked as I stepped from the bathroom, skin still warm from the shower.
I reached for the lotion on the side table, pumping some into my hand. "So much better."
His mouth curved into a grin as I propped a leg up on the side of the bed, rubbing the lotion into my skin. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, gaze tracing my every movement.
"You're staring," I chided.
He didn't even pretend to look away. "I'm admiring. There's a difference."
I switched legs, propping the other one up.
The lotion, expensive and French, had appeared in the bathroom last week—another one of his subtle interventions. Like the blackout curtains in the bedroom. Or the weighted blanket that had materialized on the bed. Or the way the fridge was now perpetually stocked with actual food instead of my usual sad collection of condiments and questionable leftovers.
Two weeks of living our dynamic, and I was starting to recognize the pattern.
He didn't announce these things.
Didn't make a production of it.
It was there.
Like magic.
Purpose.
That's what he'd called it.
It didn't keep the guilt from flickering at the edges, but it was quieter now. Easier to name.
Easier to set aside.
"What's on the agenda today?" I asked, setting the lotion aside.
"Hospital this morning. Rosie wants to go over discharge paperwork."
He smiled at me, eyes crinkling. "She's already planning the menu for Sunday dinner and asking about your food allergies."
I grinned.
Somewhere in the past two weeks, Rosie had absorbed me into the family with the same force she applied to everything else. I had a standing invitation to Sunday dinners. A designated mug in her kitchen. A spot on the couch that no one else sat in.
"What are my food allergies?" I tested, padding toward the closet.
