Page 70 of Dr. Roz Harrington
Roz’s mouth curved into a smirk, her green eyes warming with a familiar glint of mischief. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”
The quiet humor between them felt fragile and precious, like sunlight filtering through storm clouds. Sam leaned her head back against the seat, glancing at Roz out of the corner of her eye. Despite everything—Evelyn’s judgment, the weeks of silence, the scars they’d left on each other—Roz was here. And so was she.
The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of stillness that came when words weren’t necessary, when the air between two people said enough.
After a moment, Roz reached out, her movements slow and deliberate. Sam felt the brush of Roz’s fingers against her hand, tentative at first, before Roz threaded them together, her palm pressing softly against Sam’s. The warmth was grounding, steady, and real.
Sam looked down at their joined hands, her thumb brushing lightly over Roz’s knuckles. It felt like a promise, silent but strong, one that Sam wasn’t ready to let go of again.
Roz’s voice broke the quiet. “I don’t know how this works. I don’t have all the answers.” She glanced at Sam, her expression open in a way Sam knew didn’t come easily for her. “But I know I don’t want to do this without you.”
Sam squeezed her hand, just once. “We’ll figure it out.”
EPILOGUE
The world outside was loud, demanding, and far too sharp.
But inside the suite, there was only quiet.
Soft lighting spilled from a bedside lamp, spilling golden shadows across rose-toned linen. The curtains were drawn, the room warm and still, the air scented with rosewood and something delicate that clung to the back of Roz’s throat like longing. She moved through the space barefoot, deliberately slow, checking every detail. The robe laid out neatly. The ribbon, curled just so. The music low and unobtrusive, instrumental strings, modern, nothing too precious.
Everything was perfect.
And then she heard the soft knock on the door.
Roz crossed the room and opened it without a word. Sam stood there, beautiful, tired, and already on the verge of letting go. Her coat was slung over one arm, a leather tote on her shoulder, but it was the look in her eyes that Roz felt most.
Relief.
That fragile, grateful kind that only appeared when someone stepped into safety. When someone finally didn’t have to perform.
Roz took her bag and coat with practiced ease, setting them aside, then closed the door gently behind her. She turned, stepping close, and brought her hand to Sam’s cheek.
“Color?”
Sam exhaled. “Green.”
Roz nodded. “That’s my girl.”
She leaned in and kissed her, soft and slow, until she felt Sam’s shoulders ease and the weight she always carried began to slip from her bones.
Roz pulled back and gave her a look that said “I see you.” Then she smiled. “Undress.”
Sam nodded, already slipping off her sweater. She folded each piece of clothing with care before laying them on the side table, then stood naked and still, arms loosely at her sides.
Roz drank her in with slow appreciation.She stepped forward and held up the robe, blush silk, soft as cloudlight. “Arms up, princess.”
Sam obeyed, and Roz wrapped the robe around her like it meant something. Because it did. Roz tied the sash, then lifted the satin ribbon from the table. Pale pink. Soft, cool to the touch.
“Neck,” she said gently.
Sam tilted her chin, eyes fluttering shut as Roz tied the ribbon just above her collarbones, neat and snug, but never tight.
She kissed the bow when she was done. “Now the outside matches what I already know.”
Sam opened her eyes. “What’s that?”
Roz’s smile was quiet. “That you’re my princess.”
