Chapter 24

Cecilia

"Home," he repeated quietly. "Where exactly is that supposed to be?"

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He looked at me, and there was something vulnerable in his expression that made my chest tight. "Where am I going, Ceci? Black Peak is empty. My mother made it clear I'm not welcome at the estate. And I don't—" His voice dropped. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

Oh.

"Black Peak, obviously," I said automatically. "It's your place, and—"

"It's our place," he corrected softly. "You grew up there. You have as much right to it as I do."

But he still wasn't moving, and I realized what he was really asking.

Do you want me there? Or are you just being polite?

"Or..." I tried to keep my voice casual. "We could go to my apartment. If you want. I mean, it's smaller, and the couch isn't great for sleeping, but—"

"Your apartment." The change in his expression was immediate, like I'd just offered him something precious. "Really?"

"Yeah." I squeezed his hand. "Really."

The smile that spread across his face was the first genuine one I'd seen in days.

We were almost to my building when Arthur suddenly pulled into a parking spot.

"What are you doing?"

He pointed across the street, and my breath caught.

"That's—"

"The Italian place we used to go to." His voice was soft. "Before everything went to shit. Remember?"

How could I forget? It was the restaurant where he'd first taught me how to properly twirl pasta.

Where I'd accidentally knocked over a wine glass and he'd caught it mid-fall without even looking.

Where we'd sat for hours, talking about everything and nothing, before the world decided we weren't allowed to be happy.

"You wanna get dinner?" he asked, almost shy about it.

My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and we both laughed.

"I'll take that as a yes."

The restaurant was exactly as I remembered it.

The owner recognized us immediately, his face lighting up.

"Mr. Winston! Miss Locke! It's been too long!" He ushered us to our old corner booth without asking. "The usual?"

Arthur looked at me, and I nodded.

"The usual," he confirmed.

It felt surreal, sitting across from him like this. Like we'd stepped into a pocket of time where nothing bad had happened, where we were just... us.

"I missed this," I said quietly.

"Me too." His hand found mine across the table. "I missed a lot of things."

The food arrived—homemade ravioli for me, carbonara for him, and a bottle of wine we definitely shouldn't be drinking on empty stomachs but fuck it, we'd earned it.

We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the kind of quiet that only comes with people who know each other well enough not to need constant conversation.

"I'm gonna go pay," Arthur said eventually, standing and pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Don't move."

I watched him walk to the counter, my chest warm with something I didn't want to name yet.

"Excuse me?"

I turned to find a guy standing next to the booth—early twenties, good-looking.

"Hi?" I said cautiously.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I just had to say—you're stunning." He slid into Arthur's seat without asking. "I'm Brad. Can I buy you a drink?"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"That's really nice, but I'm actually here with someone—"

"The old guy?" Brad glanced dismissively toward Arthur. "Come on. A girl like you shouldn't be stuck with someone who looks like he's about to keel over. You need someone with energy. Someone who can keep up with you."

The old guy? Arthur was thirty-four, not seventy.

"Look, Brad—"

"Besides, he's probably your boss or something, right? Taking you out as a business dinner?" Brad leaned closer. "Ditch him. Come get real drinks with me."

I was about to tell Brad exactly where he could shove his "real drinks" when a shadow fell over the table.

Arthur stood there, his expression absolutely glacial, and I'd never been so turned on by someone's capacity for violence in my life.

"Is there a problem?" His voice was deadly quiet.

Brad looked up, and I watched his confidence deflate in real time. "Uh, no, I was just—"

"You were just leaving." Arthur didn't raise his voice. Didn't need to. "Weren't you."

It wasn't a question.

Brad scrambled out of the booth. "Yeah, sorry, I didn't realize—"

"He's my live-in boyfriend," I said pleasantly, linking my arm through Arthur's. "We share an apartment. And a bed. So yeah, you should probably go."

The effect on Arthur was instantaneous. His entire posture changed, the icy fury melting into something warm and possessive as he looked down at me.

"Live-in boyfriend?" he repeated, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Well, as of tonight, anyway." I grinned up at him. "Unless you have objections?"

"None whatsoever." He pressed a kiss to me, his hand settling possessively on my waist. "None at all."

Brad had already fled.

We walked to my apartment hand in hand, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"Live-in boyfriend," Arthur mused as we climbed the stairs. "I like the sound of that."

"Yeah?" I unlocked my door. "What about it appeals to you? The 'live-in' part or the 'boyfriend' part?"

"Both." He followed me inside, immediately pulling me back against his chest. "Definitely both."

I turned in his arms, and the look on his face made my breath catch.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For today. For saving the company. For bringing me here. For—" His voice broke slightly. "For not giving up on me."

"Arthur." I cupped his face. "I'm never giving up on you. You're stuck with me now."

"Good." He kissed me, soft and sweet and full of promise. "Because I'm never letting you go again."

We stood like that for a long moment, just holding each other, until Arthur yawned so hard his jaw cracked.

"Okay, that's it." I pulled him toward the bedroom. "You're sleeping. Now."

"Bossy," he murmured, but he was smiling as he let me push him onto the bed.

I expected him to argue about sleeping in his clothes, or to insist on showering first, or to do any of the million controlling things Arthur usually did.

Instead, he just pulled me down beside him, wrapped his arms around me, and was asleep within minutes.

I lay there in the dark, listening to his steady breathing, feeling the weight of his arm across my waist, and thought about how much had changed in the last forty-eight hours.

My father's murderer was in custody. Arthur had chosen me over his family. I'd saved his company. We were together, really together, with no more secrets between us.

And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the eye of the storm.

Irene Winston's words echoed in my head: I will never support the two of you.

She wasn't going to let this go. I knew women like her—they didn't accept defeat gracefully. They regrouped, strategized, and came back harder.

But as Arthur's arms tightened around me in his sleep, as if even unconscious he was afraid I might disappear, I made myself a promise.

Whatever Irene threw at us, we'd face it together.