Chapter 194 Chapter 194 Real Love
A year later and Liam Devereux still sends me flowers every Monday morning.
Not small bouquets either.
Massive arrangements that take over my office at Chessman Gallery and make my assistants complain they can’t see over the reception desk.
Roses, Lilies, Orchids, Sunflowers.
Always with handwritten notes.
Thinking about you.
Miss your voice.
Count the days until I see you again.
A year later and he still calls me every night when he’s away.
Barcelona.
Milan.
London.
Paris.
Different hotel rooms, different time zones, same deep voice in my ear after midnight while I sit curled up in bed with a glass of wine listening to him talk about his matches, his training, his family, my work, my kids.
My kids.
That’s the thing I never expected.
Liam loves them.
Not in the performative way famous men sometimes do when they date women with children. Not forced. Not careful.
Real.
He helped Constantine train all fall last year and now my son walks around like he personally belongs to FC Barcelona. Cat and Kat have him wrapped around their tiny fingers so tightly it’s honestly embarrassing. They FaceTime him constantly.
Liam, look at my drawing.
Liam, watch me spin.
Liam, Mama misses you.
Traitors.
And through all of it, somehow, Liam has remained patient with me.
Because I haven’t slept with him.
Not once.
God knows he could’ve had a thousand other women in this time. Probably a million. The tabloids still try pairing him with actresses and models every month, but he ignores all of it.
Instead he waits for me.
Weekly dates.
Long conversations.
Make out sessions, too heated for their own good.
Sweet promises whispered into my ear.
You deserve patience.
I’m not going anywhere.
I want all of you or nothing.
No man has ever pursued me like this before.
Not even Ivan.
Especially not Ivan.
Tonight is the first night in an entire year we are truly alone.
No kids.
No work calls.
No interruptions.
The girls are with Mason. Constantine is spending the weekend at a tournament in California with Ivan.
And Liam is standing in my kitchen in Vegas wearing black slacks and a fitted white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows while opening a bottle of wine like he lives here.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asks without looking up.
“I’m trying to figure out how your ego fits inside this penthouse.”
He laughs softly. “Barely.”
I smile despite myself.
The city glows outside the massive windows while soft music plays through the speakers. Liam cooked dinner for me because apparently superstar athletes are unfairly attractive and know how to make handmade pizza too.
Rude.
“You nervous?” he asks suddenly.
My eyes flick up to his instantly.
“No.”
“Liar.”
I take a sip of wine to hide my smile.
Maybe I am nervous.
Because this thing between us stopped being casual months ago.
Because when Liam looks at me now, it feels different.
Not lust.
Not conquest.
Something deeper.
Steadier.
And that terrifies me more.
He carries both our plates to the dining table before sitting across from me.
For a while we just talk.
About Constantine’s tournament.
About one of my new artists.
About Liam maybe retiring in a few years and what he would even do with himself after soccer.
“You’re too young to retire.”
“I’m tired.”
That surprises me.
Liam leans back in his chair, rolling his wine glass slowly between his fingers. “People think this life is glamorous all the time.” He smiles faintly. “Most days it’s pressure. Cameras. Expectations. Performance.”
“You’re good at it though.”
“I’m good at surviving it.”
There’s a difference.
The honesty in his voice pulls at me.
This version of Liam is the one almost nobody gets.
Not the arrogant playboy from headlines.
Just a man.
Tired.
Lonely sometimes.
Trying.
His eyes lift to mine.
“You know what my favorite part of the last year has been?”
“What?”
“You answering the phone every night.”
The air shifts.
Heavy.
Warm.
“You call every night,” I say softly.
“Because hearing your voice feels like peace.”
Jesus Christ.
No wonder I’ve been holding him at arm’s length. Men like Liam are dangerous because they know exactly how to make women fall apart.
Except somehow I don’t think he’s manipulating me.
That’s the worst part.
I think he means every word.
After dinner we move to the terrace overlooking the Strip. The desert air is warm tonight, the lights below glowing gold and white beneath the dark sky.
Liam stands beside me quietly for a while.
Then his fingers brush mine.
Small touch.
Electric reaction.
A year of chemistry crashes into me all at once.
Every kiss.
Every lingering stare.
Every late-night phone call where his voice turned soft and intimate.
Every restrained touch.
Every moment he waited.
I exhale shakily.
Liam turns toward me slowly.
“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly.
I can’t.
I don’t think I’ve been able to stop this for a long time now.
His hand slides along my jaw gently, thumb brushing my cheek. My entire body reacts instantly, heat blooming low in my stomach.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.
The look in his eyes nearly undoes me.
Not hunger.
Not ownership.
Wonder.
Like he still can’t believe I’m here.
I kiss him first.
Soft at first.
Tentative.
Then Liam’s hand slides into my hair and the restraint between us finally snaps.
His mouth moves against mine slowly, deeply, like he’s been thinking about this for months. Maybe a year. I feel him exhale against my lips when I move closer.
“Fuck,” he whispers softly.
The sound shoots straight through me.
I grip the front of his shirt, kissing him harder, and Liam backs me slowly against the terrace wall without ever breaking the kiss.
Heat.
Pressure.
Chemistry so intense it almost makes me dizzy.
His hands move carefully over my waist like he’s still trying to respect boundaries even now.
That tenderness nearly destroys me.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he admits against my mouth.
“Then why were you so patient?” I whisper.
His forehead rests against mine.
“Because you were worth waiting for.”
That does it.
Something inside me cracks wide open.
I pull him back toward me desperately and Liam groans softly into my mouth before lifting me effortlessly into his arms.
I laugh breathlessly against his lips. “Show off.”
“Absolutely.”
He carries me through the penthouse like I weigh nothing, kissing me the entire way toward my bedroom.
The city lights spill across us as he lays me gently onto the bed.
And for the first time in years, I don’t feel afraid.
I don’t feel betrayed.
I don’t feel compared to anyone else.
I just feel wanted.
Completely.
When Liam looks at me tonight, there is no distance in him.
No divided attention.
No lies.
Just a man touching me carefully like he already knows I’m something precious.
And when he kisses me again, slow and deep beneath the Vegas skyline, I realize something terrifying.
I think I’m finally falling in love again.