Page 165 of Dangerous King
Just him and me.
Being seen. Being wanted. Beingknown.
Eventually, I shift just enough to look at him. He's watching me already, of course. He always does, like he's memorizing me in case I disappear.
"Do you think we'll ever be normal?" I ask quietly.
He laughs softly. "No. But we'll be something better."
I nod, curling tighter against him. He holds me the way you hold something precious you didn't know you'd get to keep. And I let him. Because after everything—every betrayal, every wound, every ghost—I've found the one place I never expected to belong.
His arms.
His heart.
His life.
There are still questions.
Unfinished business.
A name we haven't uncovered.
A shadow still moving behind the scenes.
But not tonight.
Tonight, we sleep.
Tonight, we love.
And tomorrow?
We rise. Together.
EPILOGUE
Afew weeks later…
The house is quiet. A breeze brings in the scent of roses from the garden outside. Now and then, I hear the faint creak of old wood settling. The shuffle of paws down the hallway announces Shadow's on his midnight patrol.
It's the kind of quiet that feels safe—the kind I never used to trust and can now fully enjoy.
I pour a little more tea into my cup, wrap the throw tighter around my shoulders, and settle deeper into the chair by the window. The pool glows; someone must have left the lights on, either that or they're still swimming, it's hard to tell from here. Some days I wonder how it would be living in a house alone with Enrico—just him and me. But then I run into Izzy or Eliza, or even Enrico's brothers, and I know I'd miss them too much. I'm used to a large family now. Strangely, Enrico's family feels closer to me now than mine. It might not be fair, but that's how I feel. We're still working on making it better.
Behind me, the door creaks open. "You're not in bed," Enrico states softly.
I smile without turning around. "Neither are you."
A beat. Then the floor groans under his weight as he walks to me. He sets a hand on my shoulder, his fingers warm and grounding. I reach up to hold them.
"You okay?" he asks, because he always does.
"I am." I tilt my head up to look at him. "You?"
His smile is small, but real. "I am now."
He bends to kiss my forehead, then sits on the ottoman in front of me, still shirtless, hair rumpled from sleep. I run my fingers through it without thinking. We're finding our rhythm.
