Page 93 of The Hotel Room

His hand cradled the back of her head, the other splayed wide across her back, as though he could physically shield her from every ache, every hurt.

And in his voice, so raw and unsteady, was nothing butpain.

“I’m so sorry. God, Kate, I am so sorry. I hate that I did this to you. I hate that I’ve hurt you this much.”

The tears wouldn’t stop. She feltweakand messy and raw—

And somehow,hefelt steady.

“I love you,” he whispered, his lips pressing into her hair. “I love you more than I ever knew how to say. And I’m going to protect you, Kate.Body and soul.For the rest of my life, no matter what it takes.”

Kate didn’t respond.

She couldn’t.

But she felt the sincerity in his words.

Felt the ache in the way he held her.

And for a fleeting moment—

She let herself believe him.

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Kate stood in the center of the room, barefoot on the cool floor, her easel set up in front of the massive window.

The late afternoon light streamed through the tall window, bathing the studio in golden warmth. Dust motes danced lazily in the beams, and the faint scent of fresh paint lingered in the air.

Her heart pounded as she stared at the unfinished canvas propped against the wall.

The angry strokes and chaotic swirls of color glared back at her, full of jagged edges and harsh contrasts. It was the canvas she’d started weeks ago, back when her emotions felt like they were too big to contain.

Confusion. Fear. Rage.

All of it poured out onto that piece, layer by messy layer, raw and unfiltered.

But now?

Now, standing here, in this space James had created for her, with the soft hum of the garden outside and the faint murmur of birdsong in the distance—

It didn’t feel right anymore.

She reached out tentatively, running her fingers over the uneven texture of the paint. It was rough beneath her fingertips, the edges still sharp and unforgiving.

She’d carried that sharpness inside her for so long, letting it harden into armor.

But the weight of it was unbearable now.

Kate exhaled, setting the unfinished canvas aside.

Her eyes drifted to the blank canvas waiting on the easel, its untouched surface both daunting and inviting.

She hesitated, her fingers tightening on the palette knife.

What now?

Her mind flashed back to the night before, the warmth of James’s arms around her, the way his voice had broken as he promised to protect her.

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