He went quiet for a second, his thumb rubbing small circles into my hip. "When I couldn't find you tonight... I realized I don't care about the family or the optics as much as I care about you being safe. You're the only part of this life that feels real to me right now."
I looked up at him, his eyes weren't guarded or cold; they were open and filled with a quiet, aching sort of love that hurt to look at. In the stillness of his room, we were just two people trying to hold onto each other while the world outside tried to pull us apart.
The sunlight was streaming through the heavy velvet curtains, casting long, golden bars across the dark wood of the floor. I blinked, my head heavy with the kind of deep sleep I hadn't had in weeks. For a second, I didn't recognize the ceiling—until the scent of expensive sandalwood and the sheer size of the bed hit me.
