Without a word, he reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a bit of green twine. He held it out to her.
Cecilia blinked. “What is this?”
He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “A trinket,” he said simply. “From one of the stalls. I saw it and I thought of you. Thought it might please you.”
She took it slowly, her fingers brushing his as she did, and untied the twine with deliberate care. Nestled inside was a small trinket box, polished to a soft gleam. The lid was inlaid with mother-of-pearl, forming the delicate shape of a lily. It looked far too lovely to have come from the fair. Her breath caught as she turned it over in her hands, the smooth wood warm against her palm. Of all the things he could have chosen... this felt thoughtful. Personal. Almost intimate.
More than the fact that Valentine had chosen a beautiful gift for her, what made her even more excited was that he had thought of her. He had chosen it for her.
Valentine shifted beside her. “Cecilia…”
She glanced up at him, the gift still cradled in her hands.
“I know I haven’t said much. About Helena,” he began. “Perhaps I never will in the way you want me to. But that doesn’t mean I intend to shut you out entirely.”
She didn’t move, didn’t interrupt.
“I’m trying. I just need you to trust that when I can, when I’m able, I will speak of it. But for now…” He paused, exhaling as though each word cost him something. “For now, I would like to carry it alone.”
Cecilia looked at him, at the flicker of vulnerability so rarely permitted to surface in his expression. He had bared a piece of himself, and somehow, he had done it with more honesty than she had expected.
Cecilia stepped forward. She hadn’t meant to. It simply happened, like breathing. The trinket box remained cradled in one hand, but her other rose of its own accord, drawn not by logic, but by something older, something instinctive. Her fingers brushed the fine fabric of his lapel, pausing there for only a moment before venturing upward.
She didn’t stop to think.
Her thumb found the base of his throat, just at the hollow where his breath caught. Slowly, almost reverently, she traced upward, feeling the soft give of his skin over the strong column of his neck, the slight rasp of stubble brushing the pad of her finger. When she reached the sharp edge of his jaw, her touch lingered there for a split second, then continued.
Valentine didn’t move. He watched her, unmoving, breath shallow.
Her hand slid along the line of his jaw, up to the corner of his mouth. Then her thumb pressed, softly, deliberately against hislips. She could feel the heat of his breath and could even taste the kiss before it even happened.
It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t even brave.
It simply was.
She rose to her toes once more, closed the remaining distance, and kissed him, not with the soft uncertainty of earlier, but with a subtle hunger that had long been waiting its turn.
Valentine inhaled sharply against her mouth, startled, but he didn’t pull away.
His hands rose, one to her lower back, drawing her in, the other sliding up her spine with a slow, open-palmed possessiveness that made her knees tremble. He kissed her back with a kind of stunned reverence, as though trying to map each breath, each tilt of her lips against his.
The kiss deepened, grew warmer.
His mouth parted under hers. His hand cradled her jaw as his thumb grazed her cheekbone. His body leaned into hers just enough for her to feel the tension caged inside him. Yet he was careful. Always careful. As if he didn’t want to take too much, even now.
But then, without breaking the kiss, he shifted, gently guiding her backward with slow, deliberate steps. Her back brushed thewall, just as his body settled in, shielding her. One of his hands braced beside her head, the other still firm at her waist, and the weight of him, his warmth, his presence, pressed against her like a promise he hadn’t yet made.
Cecilia’s fingers curled into the fabric at his chest, holding on. Her breath came faster now, not from fear but from the way he kissed her. He had taken control away from her.
His chest rose and fell against hers, and in that space between them, she could feel the storm gathering inside him. Still, he kissed her, and although she wasn’t sure how long she could keep matching his energy before she ran out of breath, she kissed him back.
Then he moaned. Low. Deep. Probably unintended.
The sound reverberated through her like a tremor, as if it had reached into her very bones and stirred something loose. Her pulse rioted in her throat. Her knees buckled. Every nerve in her body sparked to life at once like she’d touched lightning.
It stole her breath. All of it. She was unraveling.
She gripped his coat as her body pressed closer, desperate for something to tether her, and yet it wasn’t enough, not with the way he kept touching her, not with the way his hand had curved around the back of her neck like he wanted her closer still.
