Page 111 of Unrequited

“I am,” she whispers. “So tired.”

“All right,” I murmur, brushing her hair back. “Then what I want you to do is close those pretty eyes and try to sleep some more, okay? We’ve got a busy day ahead of us, and I want you to get your beauty sleep. Be my good girl who rests when she’s told.”

“All right,” she says, the words already slurred, fading fast. “I will.”

“We’ve got that tropical beach in our sights,” I whisper against her temple, pressing a soft kiss to her skin like a promise I can’t guarantee.

“Okay,” she breathes out, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. “Done.”

And a few minutes later, I know she’s really out this time.

And god help me, I want to believe in that dream right along with her.

“Zoya,” I whisper… but she doesn’t answer.

No response, no movement, not even the twitch of a finger. Just the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing, heavy and deep. Her body finally letting go, finally giving itself permission to rest.

I stay right where I am, wrapped around her like armor, letting her warmth seep into me, like maybe it'll fill all the cold, cracked places I’ve kept hidden.

And as I hold her, I start to make my plan.

My plan to secure what’s mine.

To lock down my kingdom, brick by bloody brick.

To protect her from everything that’s ever tried to break me.

To save us both, no matter the cost.

I bring her hand to my lips, one knuckle at a time, kissing each one with the reverence of a vow I’m too much of a coward to speak aloud.

She softens even more, her body melting into mine like some part of her already knows. Already trusts. Already believes I’ll do it.

She sleeps.

I close my eyes and try to follow her into that quiet place, but I can’t.

Not yet.

My thoughts are a storm, wild and restless. Schemes twist through my mind like smoke from something already burning. So instead of sleeping, I plot. I prepare.

I wait for the sun to rise.

So I can finally move.

So I can finally begin.

Chapter 20

ZOYA

I wake to warmth.His warmth.

The early light spills through the curtains, soft and blinding. His arm is draped over my waist, heavy and grounding. His breath brushes the back of my neck in soft, even bursts.

For a fleeting second, I keep my eyes closed and let myself believe we’re normal.

Ordinary.