“You breathe. You laugh. You exist,” he murmurs. “That’s more than enough for me. But if you really want to do something for me…” the teasing in his voice is back.
He lifts the black dress and gift bags with a grin so hopeful I groan
“No.”
“Baby,” he says, like it’s the most reasonable plea in the world, “please.”
“You cannot seriously expect me to wear that in public.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s barely a dress.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You bought me lingerie with sleeves.”
Liam gasps, mock–offended. “That is a classy, elegant, completely restaurant–appropriate garment-
“That would get me kicked out of most churches.”
He sighs dramatically. “You have the most gorgeous legs in the known universe and you’re depriving the world. Have you no heart?”
“I’ll wear it here,” I offer, folding my arms. “Parade around your living room if you want. But dinner? Absolutely not.”
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He gives me a wounded look that almost makes me cave. Almost.
“You weren’t so against it when we picked it out,” he mutters, sulking
now.
“That was before I looked at it for longer than five seconds.”
“I could just carry you into the restaurant.”
“You’d get arrested.”
“Worth it.”
–
I roll my eyes, but I’m laughing now — that quiet, involuntary laugh that always makes his eyes soften like I’ve just handed him the world.
“I’d honestly rather go home, grab something less… scandalous. Maybe do my makeup too.”
Liam just shakes his head, exasperated but still smiling. “Where we’re going, no one’s going to care about that stuff.”
I narrow my eyes. “So it’s not fancy?”
“I promised you fancy,” he says, smug. “That’s all you’re getting out of me.”
I try prying, but his lips are sealed. A few kisses and a guilt trip later paired with the kind of puppy–eyed expression that really should be illegal – I finally cave. He coaxes me into opening the gift bags and I immediately regret my life choices.
–
Heels that might as well be stilts. Accessories that look like they walked off a Vogue shoot. And makeup my shades, my favourites, the exact colours I used on the cruise. He remembered every single thing.
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It’s insane. Thoughtful. Infuriatingly sweet.
I sigh. “You really don’t play fair.”
He shrugs. “I just pay attention.”
There’s no winning. Not when he’s already done everything. Not when he’s looking at me like this night means something. So I relent.
“Fine. I’ll wear the dress.”
His grin could power a small country.
–
He guides me toward a bedroom and — predictably — jokes about helping me change. I threaten to maim him and shove him out.
But just before the door shuts, he pauses.
–
Then, under his breath — almost like he didn’t mean to say it aloud:
“If you lived with me, you’d have a change of clothes here.”
My heart skips. It actually skips. I stare at the door, pulse hammering in my throat, and something warm spreads through my chest like a
sunrise.
“Liam?” I call before he can walk away.
He turns back, all brows raised and faux–innocence. “Hm?”
–
—
I look at him – really look at him — and feel the words tugging loose before I can second–guess them.
“I love you, too.”
His entire expression changes. Brightens. Like I just lit him up from the inside out. He grins – big, dimpled, devastating – and my stomach
–
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does a backflip.
“I know, love,” he says softly. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”
LIAM
—
I swear I’ve lived a decent life. Not perfect – there’s definitely a parking ticket or three collecting dust in some glove box – but I’ve helped my siblings, paid my taxes, smiled at strangers when I had it in me. Basically, nothing to warrant divine punishment.
So why does it feel like the universe is actively trying to end me when the door creaks open and Emilia steps out?
I freeze. Fully freeze. Like every part of me short–circuits at once.
—
I’d just finished buttoning the last cuff on my shirt no tie, collar open, black dress pants tailored just enough to make my agent raise an eyebrow. The jacket’s black, double–breasted, sharp and quiet like I wanted. It’s the kind of look I never wear unless I have to. But for her?
I didn’t think twice.
Now I’m staring like I’ve never seen a woman before.
The dress fits her like it was made for her and no one else. Like the fabric itself wants to worship her skin. It’s short enough to threaten my sanity, and those heels are not helping. But it’s the way she looks at me uncertain, a little shy, like she doesn’t realise she’s just redefined my concept of beauty – that hits the hardest.
–
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