Chapter 62

Cecilia

I stared at my plate, my appetite gone, my chest aching with a pain I couldn't name.

"I'm sorry," I whispered finally, the words barely audible. "I'm so sorry, Arthur."

"What?" He leaned forward, his expression shocked. "Ceci, what are you—"

"I'm sorry that loving me means fighting your family. I'm sorry that being with me means dealing with all this drama and manipulation and—"

My voice cracked, and I felt hot tears spilling down my cheeks. "I'm sorry that I'm not Madison Hartley. That I don't have the right background or the right connections or the right—"

"Stop." Arthur was out of his seat in an instant, sliding into the booth beside me, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me against his chest. "Stop apologizing. None of this is your fault. None of it."

"But if I just—if I was just—"

"If you were anyone other than exactly who you are, I wouldn't love you," he said fiercely, his hand coming up to cup the back of my head. "Do you understand that? I don't want Madison Hartley. I don't want some society princess who knows all the right things to say and wears all the right clothes and makes my family happy. I want you. Messy, complicated, brilliant, fierce you."

I was crying in earnest now, great heaving sobs that shook my whole body, and Arthur just held me tighter, his hand stroking my hair, his lips pressing kisses to me.

"I'm so tired," I choked out between sobs. "I'm so tired of fighting, Arthur. Of proving myself, of trying to be good enough, of—"

"You are good enough," he interrupted, his voice rough with emotion. "You've always been good enough. More than good enough. You're—fuck, Ceci, you're everything."

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands coming up to frame my face, his thumbs brushing away my tears.

"I love you," he said, his eyes burning with an intensity that took my breath away. "I love you so much it terrifies me. And I am so, so sorry that I haven't given you the kind of love you deserve. The kind that's strong enough, certain enough, that you never have to doubt it. The kind that makes you feel safe instead of scared."

"Arthur—"

"No, let me finish." His thumbs continued their gentle motion across my cheeks.

"I let my family get in my head. I let their doubts become my doubts. And because of that, I hurt you. I made you feel like you had to apologize for being yourself, like you were somehow not enough when the truth is—" His voice broke. "The truth is I'm the one who's not enough. Not for you."

"That's not true," I whispered.

"It is." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine. "But I'm going to try to be. I'm going to spend every day for the rest of my life trying to be the man you deserve. The man who stands beside you without hesitation, who chooses you over everything else, who loves you so completely that you never have to doubt it."

He kissed me then, soft and desperate, and I tasted salt—my tears or his, I couldn't tell. His hands were trembling where they held my face, and I realized he was as scared as I was, as broken by all of this as I was.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing hard, our foreheads still pressed together.

"Take my hand," Arthur said softly.

I did, and he guided it to his chest, pressing my palm flat against his heart. I could feel it hammering beneath my fingers, wild and unsteady.

"Feel that?" he murmured. "That's what you do to me. That's what you've always done to me. From the moment you walked back into my life, my heart hasn't beaten normally. It only knows how to beat for you."

Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks, and I pressed closer, needing his warmth, his solidity, the reassurance of his arms around me.

"I want to go home," I whispered against his chest.

"Okay." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Let's go home."

The drive back to our apartment was quiet, neither of us spoke—there was too much to say and somehow nothing left that needed saying.

When we pulled into the parking garage, Arthur killed the engine but didn't move to get out. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, his hand still gripping mine.

"Arthur?" I prompted gently.

"I need you to know that," he continued, his voice urgent now. "I need you to understand that when it came down to it, when I had to choose between you and them—there was no choice. There's never been a choice. It's always been you, Ceci. Always."

I felt something shift in my chest, the tight knot of fear and doubt beginning to loosen. "Okay," I whispered. "Okay."

We got out of the car and made our way to the elevator, to our floor, to our door. Arthur fumbled with the keys, his hands shaking slightly, and I reached out to steady them, covering his hands with mine.

"I've got you," I said softly, and he looked at me with such gratitude, such love, that I felt my breath catch.

The door swung open, and we barely made it inside before Arthur had me pressed against it, his mouth finding mine with a desperation that stole my breath.

This kiss was different from the one at the restaurant—hungrier, more demanding, tinged with the fear of almost losing each other and the fierce relief of being together again.

His hands were everywhere—in my hair, on my waist, sliding down to grip my hips and pull me flush against him. I could feel every hard line of his body, the barely restrained need in the way he held me, the trembling in his fingers where they dug into my skin.

The dress pooled at my feet, and Arthur pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and hungry as they traveled over my body.

Then his mouth was on me again, and I stopped thinking altogether, lost in the sensation of his hands, his lips, the way he touched me like I was something precious and necessary all at once.

We made it to the bedroom somehow, a trail of discarded clothes marking our path. And when Arthur finally pressed me down into the mattress, his body covering mine, his eyes locked on my face with an intensity that made my heart stutter.

His voice rough with emotion. "Because I'm never letting you go."

And then there were no more words, just the two of us tangled together in the darkness, proving to each other in the most fundamental way possible that we were still here, still whole, still us.