Page 55 of Unholy Nights

"Remember what I said," he murmurs. "Seven more days."

I nod, trying to steal some of his certainty for myself.

Inside,the house is unusually quiet. No staff hovering, no Kendra lurking, no mother micromanaging every breath anyone takes.

"Kendra's car is gone," Cohen murmurs as we pass the window. "Your mother never lets her leave during the day unless she's at the office."

Which means my mother's gone too. All the tension bleeds out of me. I'm exhausted in a way that makes no sense—we literally just sat in his car for a couple of hours—but more than that, I'm starving. Like, ready to eat everything in sight starving, which is weird because I'm never actually hungry. Years of my mother's food rules kind of killed my appetite.

I follow him into the kitchen, unable to shake the thought of pancakes—the ones I always see the staff eating in the mornings, all golden and warm with melting chocolate chips. "Could you... I mean, is it hard to make pancakes?" The words come out rushed, like I'm confessing some horrible secret. "With chocolate chips maybe? I've never had them but they always smell so good, and my mother says I'll get fat and then no one will ever..." I trail off, my face burning at admitting one of my deepest insecurities.

"If I go above a size four, my mother loses her mind and I'm locked in my room without food until I lose enough weight that she's happy." The words taste bitter on my tongue, like all the meals I've been denied. Sometimes I wonder if that's why I barely feel hungry anymore—my body's learned that wanting food just leads to disappointment and punishment.

Cohen goes completely still for a moment, then he's in front of me, cupping my face in his hands. "Listen to me," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I don't give a damn what size you are. You could gain a hundred pounds eating nothing but chocolate chip pancakes and I'd still look at you exactly the way I'm looking at you right now."

"How's that?"

"Like you're everything." His thumbs stroke my cheeks as his eyes bore into mine. "Like you're the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins. Like I love you so much it physically hurts."

My heart stops, then restarts with a vengeance. "You love me?"

He actually laughs, not meanly but like I've said something ridiculous. "Baby, I married your mother just to get close to you. I've been planning our entire future since the moment I first saw you. Of course I love you." His thumbs catch the tears that start falling down my cheeks. "I've loved you longer than you've even known I existed."

"No one's ever..." I try to swallow past the lump in my throat but more tears just keep coming. God, what is wrong with me lately? I never cry. "I mean, my mother doesn't... no one's ever told me they love me before."

"Then they're all idiots." He kisses away a tear trailing down my cheek. "Because loving you is as natural as breathing. As inevitable as gravity. It's just... fact. Like the sun rising or water being wet. I love you. I will always love you. And anyone who's had the chance to love you and didn't take it is too stupid to live."

"I love you too," I whisper, and it feels like the most natural thing I've ever said. Like these words have been living in my chest just waiting for the right moment to break free. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"Don't be scared, little one." His smile is possessive and tender all at once. "Being mine is the safest thing you'll ever be." He wipes away the last of my tears with his thumbs. "Now, how about those pancakes?"

I hoist myself onto one of the barstools, feeling lighter than I have in... maybe ever. Like those three little words somehow changed everything and nothing all at once. I watch in fascination as Cohen moves around the kitchen like he does this all the time, pulling ingredients from cabinets I didn't even know held actual food.

"I didn't know we had chocolate chips," I say, mesmerized by the way his forearms flex as he measures flour into a bowl. The way he rolls up his sleeves should not be this hot, but here we are.

"The staff showed me all their hiding spots." That dangerous smile is back, the one that reminds me he's probably the most powerful man in Emerald Hills after the Savage Six. "There's a lot your mother doesn't know about what goes on in this house."

My stomach growls again, loud enough to make me blush. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm so hungry. Or tired." I try to stifle a yawn but fail spectacularly. "Must be all the stress from this morning catching up to me."

His eyes do this weird flash thing before his expression goes carefully blank. "Must be."

I rest my chin on my hands, watching him work. Everything about this feels... domestic. Intimate. Like we're just a normal couple making breakfast for dinner, not a stepdaughter and stepfather hiding from her psychotic mother.

"You're staring," he says without looking up from the griddle.

"You're pretty when you cook."

He snorts. "I'm always pretty."

And modest too," I say, but I can't help grinning. These little moments, when he lets his guard down and just... exists with me, they're like tiny miracles.

The first pancake hits the griddle with a satisfying sizzle, and the smell of butter and vanilla makes my mouth water. When he sprinkles chocolate chips over the batter in a pattern, I nearly fall off my stool.

"Are you making them into hearts?" I ask, delighted and embarrassed by how much I love it.

"Obviously not." He smirks, flipping the very clearly heart-decorated pancake with expert precision. "You're clearly hallucinating."

"Clearly," I agree, hiding my smile in my arms as I rest my head on the counter. My eyelids feel like they weigh about a thousand pounds each, but I don't want to miss this. Miss him being soft and sweet and... mine.

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