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But not yet.

For now, I just want to hold on to this—to him—for a little longer.

I slip out of bed and head to the closet, choosing a soft beige top and a skirt that falls just above my knees. As I run a brush through my hair, I gather it into a loose ponytail, securing it at the nape of my neck. I step into a pair of flats, smoothing my skirt with trembling fingers before heading toward the kitchen.

The moment I step into the hallway, a familiar scent drifts through the air—floral and delicate, something I haven’t smelled in this house since the day we married.

My steps slow as the fragrance intensifies with each step down the staircase. Lillies.

When I reach the kitchen, my pulse is a frantic rhythm beneath my skin.

And then I see it.

The long dining table is covered in bouquets—white, pink, and yellow lilies spilling across the surface in soft, elegant chaos. Their petals look impossibly delicate, yet vibrant, soaking the morning light and filling the air with their sweet, heady fragrance.

I draw in a shaky breath, my chest tightening.

It’s overwhelming. Beautiful. Too much.

Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them.

It feels like a lifetime ago when we had our first public dinner as a couple. The first question he asked me that night was about flowers. He said it was because he wanted to get to know me better, but I didn’t believe him. Not then.

Now, standing here, surrounded by lilies in every shade, I realize how much has changed.

A sound behind me pulls me from my thoughts. I turn—and there he is.

Leaning against the counter, watching me. His dark hair is slightly tousled, and his shirt is unbuttoned at the top, exposing just enough of his chest to make my heart stutter. He always commands the room without effort, but there’s something different right now. Something softer in the way he looks at me.

And just like that, I feel it.

Holy shit, I’m falling. Hard and fast.

“I heard women love flowers,” he says, his voice low, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

I can’t stop myself.

I move toward him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my face into his chest. He stiffens for just a second—probably because he didn’t expect it—but then he relaxes, his arms coming around me, holding me tight.

His warmth seeps into me, grounding me, wrapping around my heart like a promise.

I don’t want to let go. Ever.

But I force myself to pull back slightly, my eyes searching his. “Why?”

His fingers brush my hair back, gentle yet certain, and as always, his touch sends waves of warmth rushing through me. “Because I want you to know that you matter,” he says softly. “Everything you say, everything you do—it matters to me.”

Something tightens in my chest.

“It doesn’t matter what happened that day,” he continues. “Or what’s happened to you before. I want to keep proving to you that you’re special.”

He’s still trying to make me feel better, even without demanding answers. Since the night Marco betrayed me—since my world cracked open, leaving me stranded between past and present—Nicolas has done everything in his power to hold me together.

And I don’t deserve it.

Guilt claws at my throat, burning like acid. I force a smile, stepping back as he pulls out a chair for me. “Sit. Eat.”

I lower myself into the seat, my hands trembling slightly as I smooth my dress over my lap. The maids bring in scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and fresh-baked bread. A small plate of strawberries sits beside my glass of orange juice.