Page 83 of Teach Me to Fly

But he studies me for a beat longer, like he’s trying to see if I’m lying to myself. Then he turns back to the cashier and pays.

Outside, the sky is painted in deep purples and steel greys as Reign opens the passenger door for me. He waits until I’m in, then walks around and slides into the driver’s seat, the bag of snacks resting between us.

“I’m putting on Pride and Prejudice when we get back,” he says, starting the engine.

I glance over at him. “You remember my favourite movie?”

His jaw flexes. “I remember everything that matters.”

I squint my eyes at him. “I bet you don’t remember which version of Pride and Prejudice is my favourite.”

He gives me a look like I’ve insulted his intelligence. “The 2005 version with Keira Knightley.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise, and he scoffs in response. “I’ve been paying attention,” he mutters as he backs out of the parking lot and begins the drive home.

My throat tightens just a little as I smile. “I guess you have.”

He reaches over and runs his thumb along the inside of my wrist, like a grounding wire. Like he’s reminding himself I’m real, and that I’m here, and I’m his. As we drive through the darkening streets toward home, I realize something that hits deeper than panic or afterglow or consequence.

Reign doesn’t just want me. He claims me—quietly and completely—and I’ve never felt safer.

When we get backto the estate, he kills the engine, grabs the bag, and comes around to open my door like always. But this time, when I step out, he doesn’t let go of my hand. The minute we’re inside, I head straight to the kitchen and get a glass of water while Reign sets the bag down on the counter, unpacks everything, and places the Plan B packet down in front of me. I take the pill while he watches me swallow, and then he nods once like it settles something in him.

“Come on,” he murmurs, already walking toward the bathroom. “Bath’s next.”

He starts the water and pours a lavender-scented bubble bath into the tub, testing the temperature with his hand before stepping back. His gaze rakes over my naked body once, slow and appreciative, and then he leaves the room without a word.

I soak for a while, letting the warmth work into mybones. My thighs ache faintly, and my lower stomach feels a little off as I rest my head against the back of the tub and close my eyes, breathing in the steam, letting my muscles uncoil one at a time.

Before I step out of the tub, my eye catches on the razor I’ve used on my wrists. I stare at it for a moment, realizing I don’t have the overwhelming urge to cut anymore, as if being with Reign has satisfied that voice in my head that begs for the self-inflicted pain.

I step out of the tub and find a towel along with one of his hoodies and a pair of my underwear waiting for me on the sink. After drying off, I change into the clothes and walk barefoot into the living room.

The lights are low, and Reign has rearranged the couch with blankets and pillows. A mug of tea waits for me on the coffee table too, still steaming. He’s in the kitchen, putting popcorn in a bowl when he glances up and sees me. I watch as his eyes rake over my bare legs, but he looks away with restraint and crosses the room, placing the popcorn down, and gently tugging me toward the couch.

Reign settles in first, back against the cushions, legs spread slightly. Then he pulls me between them, guiding me to sit against his chest like he already knows I need to be held, and I let myself sink into him.

“You’re warm,” I murmur.

His arms curl around my middle, protective and solid, and then the TV turns on. The opening piano notes of Pride and Prejudice drift through the room and my chest squeezes. We stay like that—wrapped in blankets, our bodies pressed close, as Elizabeth Bennet walks alone through the fields.

Halfway through the film, Reign slides hishand under my hoodie, resting flat against my lower stomach, and his other arm tightens around my waist, drawing me closer. The pain never comes, but regardless, for the first time in a long, long time, I feel taken care of.

Chapter 29

Angelique

It’s just me and Reign in the studio today. Most of the company is out preparing for tonight’s gala. The mirrors stretch around us, and the floor creaks gently under our movements. The only other sound comes from the faint music looping from the speakers.

Ever since we slept together, I can’t stop thinking about him, his mouth on me, the sounds he makes when he’s close, and the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching. Every time he touches me now, even in rehearsal, it lights a fire low in my belly. Even now, as he places a hand on my waist to guide me into a turn, I need to bite down on my lip to stay focused.

"Again," Reign says, oblivious to the effect he’s having on me.

We move through the sequence, the same one from the estate studio weeks ago. I think of that day often and of how far I let it go. I wanted Reign’s body on me, even through my fear, but I had to stop it when I started seeing images of Alec pop up in my head.

I’m tired of letting Alec take up space that he doesn’t deserve. I’m tired of him owning places that should be mine. My body, my art, and my memories. This space belongs to me. Tous.

We reach the last movement of the sequence and Reign steps back slightly to reset. But I don’t move. Instead, I turn to face him, breathing hard as I step into his space, and he goes still.

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