By admin EMILIA
Liam sighs behind me, low and fond. “Do you ever listen when I tell you to stay put?”
I swipe at my face before turning around, hoping I don’t look as emotional as I feel. “I’m sorry. I tried,” I say with a half–hearted smile. “I really did.”
The moment he sees my face, his teasing drops away. He steps in close, one hand cradling my cheek, his thumb brushing just beneath
my eye.
“Hey,” he says softly, brows pulling together. “Why are you apologising?”
His eyes search mine, and I feel the air still between us.
“And why are your eyes red?” he adds, his voice quieter now, more careful. Like he’s afraid of the answer.
I shake my head before I can think too hard about it. He’s holding gift bags in one hand and draped over the crook of his other arm is the black dress – the one he made me try on weeks ago. I never took it home.
My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “You got me more stuff?”
The worry in his eyes doesn’t fade, but he doesn’t press. “Someone has to.”
I frown. “Liam.”
—
He doesn’t answer. Just steps closer and pulls me in, and I think he’s going to hug me. But then he exhales long and quiet realise he’s trying to peek over my shoulder.
“Is this what got you worked up?” His voice is gentle, not mocking. Just trying to understand. “The photo book?”
I don’t answer.
“Help me out, baby,” he murmurs. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know why it hurts.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” I lie, a little too fast.
“Sure, love.”
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and I
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I try to pull away, but his chin is already hooked over my shoulder, his arm banded around my waist like a seatbelt. I hear the pages flipping behind me, the soft sounds of him thumbing through the photo album.
“Liam, let go,” I yelp, twisting against him.
“No.” He flips another page. “You don’t want me to buy you things, and that’s what got you upset? Seriously?”
“I don’t want to be a burden,” I mutter. “I can take care of myself.”
He laughs quietly, not unkindly. A sound that vibrates against my back.
“I know you can. That’s not even a question. But I want to take care of you. That’s the part you never let sink in.”
I go still.
“I don’t buy you things to impress you,” he continues. “But if I see something that reminds me of you, I want you to have it. If I know something will make your life even a little easier, I want to do it. If I think something will make you smile, I want to be the reason you’re smiling. I like knowing you’re warm because of a hoodie I gave you. I like knowing you’re reading a book I picked out, even if you roast it halfway through. That’s what love looks like for me.”
I say nothing. But I’m trembling. A little. Enough for him to notice.
He lowers his head slightly, brushing his thumb along my cheek in a way that feels too gentle, too knowing.
“Now,” he murmurs, “are you ready to tell me what’s really going on?”
1 nod. Then hesitate.
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3:41 PM PP.
Chapter 117
“Any year now, love.”
The teasing in his voice is soft, coaxing. It earns the smallest laugh out of me – a short, shaky breath that makes his mouth twitch like he’s trying not to smile.
I press my lips together, trying to make sense of the knot in my chest. And then – softly:
“I just… “I stop. Try again. “I don’t do anything for you.”
He frowns, confused. “What?”
“You’re good,” I say, the words shaky and fragile. “You’re kind and thoughtful and you think about everything, all the time. You’re always doing things for me. And I-” I swallow hard. “I don’t do anything back. I haven’t earned this. I haven’t earned you.”
I feel the wetness on my face before I see it — before his hands are there, gentle and familiar, wiping the tears from my cheeks like it’s second nature.
“There you go again,” he whispers. “Thinking love is something you have to earn.” His palm cups my face, anchoring me like he’s afraid I’ll float away if he doesn’t hold me down. “You don’t have to give me anything back to make this worth it. I’m not keeping score. I love you, Emilia. That’s not conditional. That’s not something you earn.”
My knees nearly give out. I blink, but everything’s already gone blurry.
He steps closer, not pushing, just waiting. One hand cups my cheek like I might break if he’s too rough.
“I love you,” he says again, softer this time. Like a truth he’s been carrying for ages and finally set down. “Not because of anything you do. Just because you’re you. That’s all I’ve ever needed.”
I try to speak, but my throat’s tight. I shake my head. A few tears fall before I can catch them.
“I haven’t done anything to deserve that,” I whisper.
He leans in until our foreheads touch. His thumb brushes under my eye, gentle and steady.
“You breathe. You laugh. You exist,” he murmurs. “That’s more than enough for me. But if you really want to do something for me…” the teasing in his voice is back.
He lifts the black dress and gift bags with a grin so hopeful I groan.
“No.”
“Baby,” he says, like it’s the most reasonable plea in the world, “please.”
“You cannot seriously expect me to wear that in public.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s barely a dress.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You bought me lingerie with sleeves.”
Liam gasps, mock–offended. “That is a classy, elegant, completely restaurant–appropriate garment—”
“That would get me kicked out of most churches.”
He sighs dramatically. “You have the most gorgeous legs in the known universe and you’re depriving the world. Have you no heart?”
“I’ll wear it here,” I offer, folding my arms. “Parade around your living room if you want. But dinner? Absolutely not.”
He gives me a wounded look that almost makes me cave. Almost.
“You weren’t so against it when we picked it out,” he mutters, sulking now.
“That was before I looked at it for longer than five seconds.”
“I could just carry you into the restaurant.”
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3:41 PM P
Chapter 117
“You’d get arrested.”
“Worth it.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m laughing now that quiet, involuntary laugh that always makes his eyes soften like I’ve just handed him the world.
“I’d honestly rather go home, grab something less… scandalous. Maybe do my makeup too.”
Liam just shakes his head, exasperated but still smiling. “Where we’re going, no one’s going to care about that stuff.”
I narrow my eyes. “So it’s not fancy?”
“I promised you fancy,” he says, smug. “That’s all you’re getting out of me.”
I try prying, but his lips are sealed. A few kisses and a guilt trip later – paired with the kind of puppy–eyed expression that really should be illegal – I finally cave. He coaxes me into opening the gift bags and I immediately regret my life choices.
–
Heels that might as well be stilts. Accessories that look like they walked off a Vogue shoot. And makeup — my shades, my favourites, the exact colours I used on the cruise. He remembered every single thing.
At’s insane. Thoughtful. Infuriatingly sweet.
I sigh. “You really don’t play fair.”
He shrugs. “I just pay attention.”
There’s no winning. Not when he’s already done everything. Not when he’s looking at me like this night means something. So I relent.
“Fine. I’ll wear the dress.”
His grin could power a small country.
–
He guides me toward a bedroom and predictably–jokes about helping me change. I threaten to maim him and shove him out.
But just before the door shuts, he pauses.
Then, under his breath – almost like he didn’t mean to say it aloud:
“If you lived with me, you’d have a change of clothes here.”
My heart skips. It actually skips. I stare at the door, pulse hammering in my throat, and something warm spreads through my chest like
a sunrise.
Liam?” I call before he can walk away.
He turns back, all brows raised and faux–innocence. “Hm?”
I look at him – really look at him and feel the words tugging loose before I can second–guess them.
“I love you, too.”
His entire expression changes. Brightens. Like I just lit him up from the inside out. He grins – big, dimpled, devastating- and my stomach does a backflip.
“I know, love,” he says softly. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”
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