Chapter Forty-seven
The Language of the Heart
The spring rain had stopped, leaving the night completely still. Outside the high glass windows of the master suite, the lights of New York glittered like a million quiet stars, but inside the room, the world felt small, warm, and safe. There were no cameras watching us tonight. There were no guards standing outside the door to keep me inside. The only thing in the room was the soft glow of a single golden lamp on the nightstand and the quiet sound of our breathing.
Alexander lay on his side, his face resting on his hand as he watched me. For the past few weeks, he had kept his distance. He had slept on his side of the bed, never crossing the invisible line between us unless it was to press that gentle kiss against my forehead before sleep.
