Chapter 29 #3
“I know.” His forehead rests more fully against mine. “And you did not run. You did not bow your head and say, ‘take it, it is easier.’ You said, ‘this is mine.’ You pushed their wheel with your bare hands. That is… more courage than many men in the arena ever found.”
A sob punches out of me—small, involuntary.
His thumbs catch fresh tears.
“Look at me,” he says gently.
I open my eyes.
He’s right here. So close I can see the tiny flecks of gold in his irises, the faint lines at the corners where laughter and pain have both etched themselves over the years.
There is no joke on his face now.
No mask. No Jester.
Just him.
“You hear me, Sophia Vitale,” he says. “Whatever those people decide in their quiet room… I am proud of you. You did not let them make you small.”
Something in my chest finally, finally gives.
“I love you,” I whisper.
The words slip out before I can run them through any of my usual filters. No pros and cons list. No analysis of timing or impact. Just the truth, raw and unedited.
Time does a strange thing.
For half a heartbeat, he goes utterly still.
Not frozen. Not recoiling.
Like a man who’s just been hit somewhere he didn’t armor because he didn’t know he needed to.
My brain starts to panic, to fill the silence.
Too much. Too soon. Wrong moment. He just watched you cry snotty academic tears; you should have waited until you looked less like a raccoon—
“Sophia,” he breathes.
My name sounds wrecked in his mouth.
His eyes close for a moment, and when he opens them again, they’re shining in a way I’ve never seen.
He doesn’t say ‘I love you’.
He says, “You are home. My home.”
It’s barely sound. Almost a confession to the space between us rather than to me.
But every cell in my body hears it.
His hands tighten slightly on my face, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
“In my time,” he continues, voice scraping like it’s digging through old stone, “men like me did not get… this. Someone who sees all the broken places and does not turn away. Someone who walks into the worst story I carry and stays.” A breath, jagged.
“If I had known a word like your ‘love’ back then, I would have carved it into my bones so I did not forget it. I do not need to carve it now. You put it there yourself.”
My vision blurs completely.
He leans in that last impossible fraction and presses his forehead more firmly to mine.
It feels like a seal. A vow. Like something ancient and feral and tender all at once.
His thumb strokes the corner of my mouth, catching salt.
“I cannot say all the right words in your language,” he whispers. “But know this: there is no world where I do not choose you. No arena. No Sanctuary. No quiet room full of small men with big titles. You hear me?”
I nod, sobbing and laughing at the same time.
“Hey,” he murmurs. One hand leaves my face long enough to press against my sternum, warm and steady. “Breathe with me.”
We do.
Four in. Hold. Six out.
Our foreheads stay pressed together the whole time.
Slowly, my shaking eases. My heart rate drops from hummingbird to merely overcaffeinated.
“I love you,” I say again, because now that the dam is broken, the words want out. “I love you so much it feels… unreasonable.”
A huff of almost-laughter ghosts across my lips.
“Good,” he says. “Reasonable love is for men who have not fought death.”
I let out a wet snort.
He smiles. A small, soft thing just for me.
He presses his forehead to mine once more, slow and deliberate, like a benediction.
“Te amo,” he whispers. “In my language, I can say it. In yours…” His hand settles over my heart.
“In yours, I show you instead. Every day. In every choice. I am not leaving. Not when things are easy. Not when they are hard. Not when the wheel turns in ways we do not like.”
The panic that’s been perched on my ribs all morning loosens its claws.
He doesn’t have to say the exact syllables.
I feel them anyway.
I pull in a long breath and let it out slowly, my hands rising to cover his where they rest against my face.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay.”
He eases back just enough to see me clearly, but doesn’t let go.
“You fought,” he says. “It is over now. Whatever comes next—letters, delays, bad news, good news—you already did the hardest part.”
“Existing?” I say weakly.
“Refusing to disappear,” he corrects. “That is always the hardest part.”
I nod.
The breeze shifts, carrying in distant sounds—kids laughing, a horse snorting, someone shouting about sunscreen. Life, oblivious.
For the first time since this started, the uncertainty doesn’t feel like a cliff.
It feels like a road I’m walking with someone beside me.
“Will you…” My voice comes out small. I clear my throat. “Will you stay with me today? After this? I’m not sure what my brain is going to do with itself.”
“Try to plan six possible futures all at once,” he says dryly.
“Yes,” I admit.
“I will stay,” he says simply. “We will eat. We will walk. Maybe you will let me fix the bad places in your shoulders again. And when your thoughts run too far ahead, I will pull them back here.” His fingertip taps lightly against my chest. “To now.”
My entire body exhales.
“Okay,” I say again. “Deal.”
He releases my face only to take my hand, lacing our fingers carefully together.
“Come,” he says. “You need food. Even warriors of truth must eat.”
We step into the corridor. My legs are still shaky, my heart still too fast, uncertainty still wrapped around my future like a fog.
But his hand is warm in mine.
And for today—just today—that is enough.
We walk toward the main hall, toward food, toward whatever the rest of the day might hold. Not talking much. Just… together. Letting the world settle.
And for the first time since this started, the road ahead doesn’t terrify me.
It feels like something I don’t have to walk alone.