And I was grateful. I didn’t know what love was supposed to feel like anymore, but I knew what safety felt like. And Preston made me feel safe.
I stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around me, steam curling into the room. My hair dripped down my back, leaving wet trails along my skin. I froze when I saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, his sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, like he’d been waiting for me.
His gaze lifted, and for a moment, he just stared.
Like I was something divine.
“Zoe…” he breathed, standing slowly, like he was afraid he might scare me away. His eyes burned as they trailed over me, lingering on the droplets of water sliding down my collarbone. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice low, like a confession. “You take my breath away every time I look at you, but right now…” He exhaled, stepping closer, but still not touching me. “Right now, I’m wondering how I got lucky enough to call you my wife.”
My heart twisted painfully, and I clutched the towel tighter. I wanted to believe him. But after everything, words like that felt foreign — like they belonged to someone else.