CHAPTER 28
Caroline
I stretch, a soft hum slipping from my throat as I surface from sleep, the rare kindness of manageable jet lag wrapping around me like a light blanket.
My mind does the math automatically- eight, maybe nine in the morning in London.
My hand drifts toward my phone, still clumsy with sleep, when a quiet, familiar laugh carries through the room.
I turn.
Edoardo stands beside the bed, all warm and devastatingly handsome in the soft light. And just like that, I’m fully awake.
“Kitty cat,” he murmurs, leaning down, his mouth brushing mine in a slow, lingering kiss that feels like a promise rather than a greeting. “Good morning.”
Right. I texted him last night, half delirious from travel, telling him I’d land early enough and that I wanted to see him. We talked every day while we were apart, and somehow the first thing I did after asking him to come over was to fall asleep before he even arrived.
“Good morning,” I say, pushing myself up on my elbows, hair a complete mess. “What time did you get in? I’m sorry, I completely passed out.”
He studies me like he’s memorizing my face. “Around eleven. After my work dinner. You looked too peaceful to wake. Coffee?”
“Yes, please. And water,” I say, rubbing my eyes. Then softer, because it matters more than I want it to, “You should have woken me. I wanted to see you. Properly.”
He reaches for the tray and pours, the quiet domesticity of the moment hitting me unexpectedly.
Our fingers brush when he hands me the cup, and I catch myself staring, really staring, like I’m trying to memorize the exact curve of his mouth, the faint crease near his eyes.
We were apart just over a week, but the distance stretched, elastic with missing him.
“I was exhausted too,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, close enough that our shoulders touch. “After a shower, all I wanted was to lie down and hold you. I figured the morning would be ours.”
There’s a softness in his smile that makes something in my chest tighten.
We sit shoulder to shoulder, sipping coffee in companionable silence.
Therapy, time, endless late-night conversations with Connor - they’ve loosened something inside me.
The grief that once felt like wet concrete filling my lungs is still there, but it no longer pins me down.
I can breathe without counting each inhale. I can feel without bracing for impact.
I set my cup aside and slide closer, wrapping my arms around Edoardo’s waist, pressing my face into the warm hollow of his neck.
He smells like soap and warmth and something that is simply, unmistakably him.
His hand slips into my hair, fingers combing slowly, absentmindedly, like it’s the most natural place for them to be.
“I missed this,” I murmur against his skin. “I missed being near you. It’s… different on the phone.”
He goes still for a heartbeat, then kisses the top of my head. I lift my face, and our eyes meet - his dark gaze steady, open, holding mine like he has no intention of looking away.
“I missed you,” he says, voice lower now, quieter, like the words carry weight. “Not just the calls. Not just the time. You. I don’t want you to go to work today.”
The simplicity of it lands deeper than any grand declaration ever could.
I said I missed being with you.
He said I missed you.
And something inside me shifts, finally settling into a truth I’ve been circling for weeks. Connor, Ethan, Adam, and so many conversations untangling the knots in my head. And the answer, now that I’m looking at it, is almost embarrassingly simple.
I’m falling for him. I always was. I just refused to name it.
“I missed you too,” I whisper, the words fragile, like they might crack if I say them too loudly.
It isn’t fear of judgment that makes my voice soft. It’s the magnitude of the admission, the realization that he’s slipped past the walls I spent years building, past the careful distance I perfected.
I’ve dated brilliant men, charming, great men. But Edoardo - steady, calm, quietly commanding without ever trying to cage me - has woven himself into the rhythm of my life without asking permission. And somewhere along the way, I started leaving space for him without even noticing.
His eyes flicker, something tender and almost vulnerable passing through them, and he pulls me closer with a care that makes my throat tighten, like I’m something fragile he refuses to mishandle.
“I’ve missed you more than words can explain,” he says, thumb brushing slow circles along my arm.
Warmth spreads through me, slow and dizzying, reaching places I didn’t realize were still cold. I’ve always spoken my mind without hesitation. Yet with him, every honest thought feels like stepping into open air, letting him see parts of me I usually keep locked away.
And maybe that’s what scares me. Or maybe… it’s what makes me want to stay.
“But,” I say, nudging his shoulder, trying to reclaim a sliver of my usual composure, “don’t call me Kitty or Kitty cat. Unless you want to be punched like Ethan was yesterday.”
A low laugh rumbles through him. “I’ll risk it,” he murmurs, brushing his lips just below my ear. “You’re worth every bruise.”
“Really?” I pull back to look at him, narrowing my eyes playfully. “You think I’m bluffing? Ethan can testify. I don’t bluff.”
“Oh, I believe you,” he says, smile widening. “But tell me, did you punch him because of the nickname, or because he tried to talk sense into you?”
I blink, caught off guard by how easily he reads between the lines, and before I can answer, his arms tighten around me. His nose brushes the curve of my neck, his mouth trailing soft, lingering kisses there, unhurried, grounding.
When he speaks, his voice is low, steady, threaded with something that makes my pulse stumble.
“You, me, us.” His hand slides up my back, warm and sure.
“I know it’s not easy for you to say what you feel.
To define this. But I feel you every day.
In the way you look at me, the way you come back to me.
” He lifts his head just enough to kiss the corner of my mouth.
“I’m not going anywhere. I want you. Only you.
I’ll be right here, every step of the way. Together.”
There it is, Edoardo says it. Not pressure. Not a demand. Just certainty.
And I feel the honesty in every word, the steadiness he’s always offered without asking for anything in return. He’s been ready for me, patient without making a show of it, giving me space without ever stepping away.
And maybe that, more than anything, is what makes my chest feel too full, my breath too shallow.
Maybe that’s why, instead of wanting to run, I find myself leaning in.
Maybe that’s why I want him even more.