Page 60 of Drunk On Love

“My mom died on this day.”

She stilled.

No gasp. No apology. Just… a soft shift of her body as she pressed closer, her arms tightening around me, grounding me with a silence more comforting than anything I’d ever been offered.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words cradling the hollow space inside me.

I shook my head. “It was a long time ago.”

But it wasn’t.

Not really.

Her thumb brushed gently over the back of my hand. “You don’t talk about her much, do you?”

“No.” I paused. “She… she had a tumor. Found out when I was born.”

Kiara didn’t move, didn’t speak—just listened.

“She could’ve gone through with surgery, but there was a one percent risk she wouldn’t make it. So she… stayed. She chose to live with it. To spend a few more years with me.”

“She loved you so much,” Kiara whispered, as if she could feel the ache I’d buried for years.

“So did I,” I said quietly. “But no one told me how bad it was until the end. And then… it was just too late.”

Her hand moved to cup my cheek, her eyes wide and brimming.

“In her last days, she wrote me letters—ones she never got to explain in person,” I added, voice nearly breaking.

“Did you read them?”

“I didn’t want the letters. I wanted her.”

“Do you still have them?” she asked.

“They’re at The Cape House.” The place I hadn’t stepped into in years. The place that still smelled like her.

Kiara didn’t say anything. She just pulled me closer, like she was trying to hold together every broken part of me without demanding I put it back together all at once. And in that silence—wrapped in the scent of vanilla, grief, and something dangerously close to hope, I let her.

I didn’t sleep.

But for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I had to stay awake just to survive the night.

15 ♥? Kiara

Holy God.

I’m sleeping inManav Oberoi’sarms.Big, muscular, unbelievably cozy arms.

He has absolutely no right to make me feel this comfortable.I am ruined for life. His hands are wrapped around me like I’m some kind of lifeline, and his perfect nose—yes,perfect nose—with that steady, warm, and utterly intoxicating breath, is brushing against my forehead.

This isn’t just unfair; this is downright evil. No man has the right to smell this good while being this unimaginably perfect.

I should move. Ishould.But how can I? Every inch of me is melting into this moment, and if I move even slightly, I’ll ruin it.

My entire body is on high alert.

I tried—tried—to slip away, but the universe had other plans. He muttered something in that deep, husky voice of his and, without warning, pulled me closer.