I'd seen her happy before.
I'd seen her laugh until she cried, tease me until I gave up pretending to be mad, hold me like she was afraid I'd disappear.
But the way she'd been glowing lately — that quiet, effortless happiness that came from deep inside — that was different. That was peace.
And God, I wanted to keep it that way.
It was her fifth morning in Lisbon. She had already disappeared into one of her bakeries before sunrise, wearing a soft cream dress and her hair tied up like she meant business. I stood by the window of the café across the street, watching her in her element with her sleeves rolled up, clipboard in hand, giving instructions to her staff with a voice that was calm but firm.
The men and women around her looked at her with respect, not fear. That was the difference between Mira and everyone else who'd ever ruled something. She led with warmth, and people followed willingly.
