Page 187 of His Drama Queen

"Love you, Drama Queen."

"Love you too."

After we hung up, I sat there in the quiet of my room, processing. Dorian was downstairs cooking dinner—he'd taken over that responsibility this week, learning my favorite foods, trying to take care of me in ways that felt like partnership insteadof control. Oakley was at the gym. Corvus was in his office working late.

This was my pack. Messy. Complicated. Built on a foundation of trauma that we were slowly, carefully trying to transform into something real.

I didn't know if it would work. Didn't know if we'd make it past the showcase, past the opportunity Vivian Strasberg might offer, past the instant when real life intruded on this fragile peace we'd constructed.

But for the first time since Dorian had cornered me in that hallway months ago, I wanted to try.

I wanted to believe we could be more than our worst instants.

I wanted to build something worthy of the queen he kept calling me.

Dorianknockedonmydoorframe an hour later.

"Dinner's ready," he said. "If you're hungry."

"Starving." I closed my textbook. "What did you make?"

"That pasta thing you like. The one with the garlic and tomatoes."

He'd remembered. Of course, he'd remembered everything about me since the day we met, first as ammunition and now as love language.

I followed him downstairs, and we ate together at the kitchen table—the two of us, since Oakley was still at the gym and Corvus had ordered in to his office. Quiet. Domestic. Strange.

"Thank you," I said after a while. "For staying in the car today. For respecting that boundary."

"I didn't, though." He looked guilty. "I came inside. Watched you rehearse."

"I know. I saw you." I set down my fork. "But you left when I asked. That's what matters."

"Is it enough?" His ice-blue eyes searched mine. "Me trying? Is it enough?"

Loaded question. Was it enough that he was trying to change? That he respected boundaries most of the time? That he said he loved me and seemed to mean it?

"I don't know yet," I said honestly. "But it's a start."

He nodded slowly. "I'll take a start."

We finished dinner in comfortable silence. He did the dishes while I made tea. We moved around each other in the kitchen with the ease of practice, learning each other's rhythms.

When we finally went upstairs, he paused at my bedroom door.

"Can I stay tonight?" he asked. "Or do you need space?"

Another test. Another boundary to set. Another instant where he proved he could handle my answer, whatever it was.

"Stay," I said. "But no sex. I'm too sore."

"Just sleeping. Promise." He followed me in, and we got ready for bed together. Changed into sleep clothes. Brushed teeth. The mundane intimacy of a couple who'd been together far longer than we actually had.

In bed, he pulled me against his chest carefully. Holding me like I was precious. Breakable.

"I love you," he whispered into my hair.

"I know."