66 | It's hope
The morning light spills through the curtains, painting the bedroom in golden hues.
I'm standing inside the walk-in closet, my eyes fixed on Aurelia, watching her move like she's a dream I'm afraid to wake from.
Last night, I bared my soul to her. I told her that I love her, that she's my everything, my reason, and she didn't answer, didn't give me the words I'm starving for.
But she didn't run either, didn't slip away in the dark like I feared she would.No, she stayed, lying beside me through the night, her breath syncing with mine, her touch a lifeline I clung to.
She's still here, and that's enough, more than enough for now.
We're getting dressed together, a ritual we've done before but never like this.
There's no pain today, no questions hanging heavy between us, no weight of the past. Instead, we move with an ease that feels new, like we're learning each other all over again.
She's standing by the mirror, slipping into a light pink dress that reaches her knees, the fabric hugging her waist in a way that steals my breath.
She looks beautiful, radiant, like she's carved from sunlight, her red hair cascading over her shoulders, catching the glow.
I could watch her forever, memorize every curve, every motion, and it still wouldn't be enough.
I'm half-dressed myself, a dark suit tailored to my frame, but I'm fumbling for a tie, my fingers clumsy because my focus is on her, always her.
The door creaks open and a maid steps in, It's a young woman, her eyes darting between us.
"Let me help you with that, sir," she says, her voice timid, and she reaches for the tie in my hand, her fingers brushing too close.
"Don't touch me," I snap, my voice sharper than I mean it to be, and she freezes, her hand hovering in the air.
"My wife is the only one allowed to touch me."
The maid's eyes widen, fear flashing across her face, and she stumbles back, trembling.
"I—I'm sorry, sir," she mumbles, before bolting out the door, the sound of her footsteps fading fast.
I know she was just doing her job, know I scared her, but I can't help it.
The thought of anyone else's touch, anyone but Aurelia, makes my skin crawl, like it's burning, like it's wrong on a level I can't explain.
Only her hands feel right, only her touch soothes the chaos in me, makes me feel whole.
Aurelia turns, her dress swaying slightly, and her golden eyes meet mine, sharp and curious, no trace of judgment.
"Do you want my help?" she asks, her voice soft but teasing, a spark in it that makes my pulse jump.
I grin, a slow, crooked thing, my heart lighter than it's been in weeks.
"Never thought you'd ask," I say, holding out the tie like an offering, my eyes never leaving her.
She steps closer, her bare feet silent on the floor and takes the tie from my hand, her fingers brushing mine.
The contact is electric, a jolt that sears through me, and I have to fight the urge to pull her against me, to lose myself in her right here.
She loops the tie around my neck, her movements steady, practiced, but there's a softness to it, a care that makes my chest ache.
I watch her, drinking in every detail, her lips, full and slightly parted, tempting me to close the distance; her golden eyes, flecked with warmth, focused on the knot she's tying; the freckles dusting her cheeks, a constellation I'd trace with my lips if I could.
God, she's beautiful, and I'm so fucking gone for her it hurts.
Her fingers work the tie, smoothing it against my chest, and I can't stop staring, can't stop feeling the pull of her, like she's the gravity holding my world together.
"You're staring," she murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, and she glances up, catching me.
"Can't help it," I say, my voice low, rough with the truth. "You're too damn perfect."
Her cheeks flush, a soft pink that matches her dress, and she shakes her head, but there's no hiding the way her eyes soften, the way she leans into the moment.
Her hands linger on the tie, her fingers brushing my collar, and I feel her deliberate touch, claiming me in a way no one else ever could.
I want to tell her again, want to spill every obsessive thought, how I'd kill for her, die for her, how her presence is the only thing keeping me sane.
But I don't. I'm scared that I will make her run away.
I just watch, my heart pounding, as she steps back, inspecting her work, her head tilting like she's judging a masterpiece.
"Looks good," she says, her voice light, but her eyes are on mine, and I wonder what she sees in me.
I step closer, closing the gap she made, and reach for her hand, my fingers lacing with hers.
"You look better," I say, my voice dropping, a vow wrapped in want. "Always do."
She laughs and it's a sound I'd bottle if I could.
I lift her hand, pressing my lips to her knuckles and her breath catches, a small sound that lights me up inside.
I'm hers, and I'll spend every moment proving it, tying her to me with every look, every touch, until she's as lost in me as I am in her.
We're dressed now, ready to face the day, but I don't want to leave this room, this bubble where it's just us, no lies, no blood, no fear, no doubts.
I keep her hand in mine, my thumb tracing her wrist, feeling her pulse.
She hasn't answered my confession, hasn't said she loves me, but she's here, her golden eyes locked on mine, and it's a start.
It's hope.