Chapter 147 Being bold

Chapter 147 Being bold
Violet,

My breath hitched when he leaned closer, the space between us shrinking until I could feel the warmth of him without touching. His hand rose slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted to, and then his fingers rested against my cheek. The touch was careful, almost reverent, his thumb brushing just beneath my eye as though he were memorizing my face, every line and shadow.

The kiss followed just as gently.

It wasn’t rushed or demanding. It was slow and deliberate, as if he needed to understand what this meant before allowing himself anything more. His lips lingered against mine with a quiet intensity that made my chest tighten. The world narrowed to that single point of contact, to the steady press and release that felt like a test of reality. As though he was grounding himself in something solid, something undeniably real.

Cyrus wriggled free from my lap with a small laugh, already distracted by the familiar corner of the room. He ran toward the little tent and the scattered toys waiting for him, his soft footsteps fading into the background. The sound of him playing drifted back to us in bursts of quiet excitement, a gentle reminder that life was still moving forward around us.

Knox noticed it too.

The moment Cyrus slipped away, Knox’s hand slid to my waist, pulling me closer. The movement was instinctive, unforced, as though his body recognized what his mind still struggled to place.

His gaze shifted briefly toward the sound of Cyrus’s laughter. Something softened in his expression, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little, as if the sight anchored him to the present. When he looked back at me, there was no confusion in his eyes this time. Maybe it was relief. Maybe certainty. Whatever it was, it made my throat tighten.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to really see me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. Only the rhythm of our heartbeats and the distant sound of Cyrus’s giggle filled the room. His thumb traced a slow line along my jaw, stopping just beneath my chin, tilting my face up gently so I couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t possession. It was reassurance. As if he needed to confirm something he couldn’t yet put into words, something he didn’t fully understand himself.

“Why did you stop?” I asked softly, leaning in to place a light kiss on his cheek. My heart drummed against my ribs, loud enough that I wondered if he could hear it.

“You want more?” he asked. His eyes darkened, the question carrying weight rather than challenge.

I nodded without shame. Maybe it was years of longing, maybe the need to have him entirely with me in this moment. I couldn’t name it, only feel it. I wanted him close. As close as possible.

“You don’t realize what you’re asking of me,” he said quietly.

“I do,” I replied without hesitation. “I’m asking you to be mine. Whatever way you want. Mafia, playboy, anything. But everything has to be mine.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That feels harder somehow.”

I nodded. “Because it’s real. Because I can be more than just a wife to you.” A teasing spark surfaced despite the tension. “Not even a hundred girls could satisfy you the way the different versions of me could.”

He exhaled slowly, a breath that seemed to carry weeks of restraint with it. Then, carefully, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into his chest. I felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of him seeping into me. My cheek rested against his shoulder, and without thinking, I closed my eyes.

He didn’t hold me too tightly. Just enough to let me know he was there. His hand rested at my back, firm and steady, fingers splayed as though he feared I might slip away if he loosened his grip.

“I don’t remember loving you,” he said softly, his voice vibrating against me. “And that makes it hard.”

My fingers curled into his shirt. “Does it feel wrong being this close to me?”

He was quiet for a moment, his breath warm against my hair. Then he spoke. “No. It feels familiar. Even if I don’t understand why.”

“That’s enough for me,” I whispered. Then, before I could stop myself, insecurity slipped out. “Or perhaps I’m not attractive enough for you to love me.”

He pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on my arms. His gaze moved slowly over my face, lingering on my eyes, my lips, as though he were committing me to memory all over again.

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to you,” he said finally. “I won’t look at anyone else. Not because you asked. But because I don’t want to.” His jaw tightened, a possessive edge flickering through his restraint. “Honestly, I feel like I want to cage you and never let anyone else see you.”

My chest tightened. I smiled, small and genuine. “That’s all I ever wanted.” Then I added lightly, a spark of mischief returning. “Do you want to cage me?”

From the corner of the room, Cyrus let out an excited shout, proudly holding up one of his toys. The tension between us broke, replaced by a quiet warmth that settled into my bones. I laughed softly, the sound easing the fragile intensity that had wrapped around us.

Knox glanced at him again, then back at me. “I might not remember how to be a husband,” he admitted. “Or a father.”

I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “Then we’ll learn together. Slowly. No pressure. No expectations. After all, we have a long way to go.”

His grip tightened around mine, not in fear but in resolve.

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. It wasn’t fiery or consuming. It was protective. The kind of touch that promised presence rather than possession.

“Want to go to my private bedroom?” I whispered. My face burned with a mix of embarrassment and desire, heat rushing to my cheeks.

His eyes widened slightly. “What about Cyrus?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” I replied quickly. “Mirah is here. He’ll be fine.”

I couldn’t even finish my words before he suddenly lifted me into his arms. The movement stole the breath from my lungs.

“Which way?” he asked, his voice dropping, low and dangerous in a way that made my pulse race.

I buried my face against his shoulder, heat flooding me. I was too embarrassed to look at him, too aware of what I had asked for and what it meant. I hadn’t planned to say it, hadn’t meant to be so bold.