“I love you.” He says it simply, directly. Those three words floating like motes of dust in the moonlit air between us. “Just you, Rowan St. Clair. I don’t deserve you, but I love you anyway.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away, determined not to crumble.
“And if I can’t love you back?” I ask. “If this arrangement is all we ever have?”
“Then I’ll respect that, too.” His voice is steady, though I can see what it costs him to say it. “I’ll honor your boundaries. I’ll be whatever you need me to be—husband in name only, co-parent, protector. Even if you never let me back in.”
I gulp against a newfound tightness in my throat. “Why now?” I ask again. “Why tonight?”
He moves back to the chair, sitting down heavily. “Because tomorrow, in front of everyone, you’ll become
