Page 145 of Misery

Sable hair that holds paint like nothing else.

Balanced handles that fit my hand perfectly.

The kind I've dreamed of owning since art school.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me."

"Yeah, I do." I pull out a brush, test its weight. Perfect. Like it was made for my hand. "Saga told me what you said. To Magnus."

He goes still. That predator stillness that reminds me what he's capable of. "About?"

"About me being your ol' lady."

"I shouldn't have said it without talking to you first."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you? Or are you sorry I found out?"

He thinks about it. Actually considers the question instead of just saying what I want to hear. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you first. I'm not sorry for wanting it."

"At least that's honest."

"I'm trying to be. Always. About everything now." He sits on the couch, some distance between us.

Not too close to crowd me, yet not too far to seem cold.

He's learning my boundaries. "Do you want to be? My ol' lady?"

The formal question. The official ask.

In this life, it's as close to a proposal as some people get.

More binding than marriage in some ways.

Divorce exists.

But once you're someone's ol' lady, that's identity.

That's who you are in this world forever, even if you leave.

"What does that mean to you? Being your ol' lady?"

"It means you're mine and I'm yours. Means the club recognizes you as family. Means I protect you, provide for you, put you first." He pauses, choosing words carefully. "Means we're permanent. Or trying to be. Means when I'm gone, the club still protects you. Means you have a voice in this world."

"And what do you get?"

"You. However, you're willing to give yourself. Whatever you're willing to share."

"What if I'm never willing to share everything? What if there's always part of me that remembers the watching, the lying? What if I can never fully trust you the way I would have if we'd met normally?"

"Then I live with that. Earn what I can. Accept what I can't."

It's not a fairy tale answer.