Page 73 of Shameless Royalty

“For… being like this. For doubting you. For thinking you wouldn’t fight for me,” I mutter, my throat tight and my face burning. “I don’t know how to stop being scared.”

I shake my head and try to turn away, try to hide, but he doesn’t let me. He forces me to stay in his arms, his chest solid against mine, his warmth wrapping around me like a fucking lifeline.

Connor breathes out harshly, pressing another kiss to my temple, then my cheek, then lower, near the corner of my lips. “Don’t you ever apologize for feelin’ the way you do.”

I let out another broken sob, shaking my head. “I don’t know how to stop it.”

His hand slides up to cup the back of my neck, his thumb brushing against my skin. “Stop what, baby?”

“My mind.” My voice is barely a whisper, hoarse and wrecked. “It—it won’t fuckin’stop. It keeps telling me I’m a fuckin’ idiot for thinkin’ this can work. That you’ll get tired of me. That your father will kill me. That no matter what you say, no matter how much you want this, I’m still just a fuckin’ problem you have to deal with—”

“Malachi.” Connor’s voice yanks me out of my spiral just enough to make me snap my mouth shut. “Look at me.”

I shake my head, my throat tight. His hand slides to my jaw, his thumb brushing along my cheek. “Babyface, look at me.”

I let out a ragged breath and finally—finally—drag my gaze up to his.

Connor’s hands frame my face, his thumbs brushing away the wetness on my cheeks. “You are not a problem,” he says, his voice steady, unyielding. “You are not a burden. You are not somethin’ I have to‘deal’with.”

My bottom lip trembles and I try to look away again, but he doesn’t let me.

“You are mine,” he repeats, voice dropping lower. “And that means I will fight like fuck for you. That means I will never get tired of you. That means whatever is in your head right now—whatever lies it’s tellin’ you, whatever doubts it’s feedin’ you—it’s wrong.”

I swallow hard, my whole body still trembling, my fingers curled tightly into his shirt like I need something to hold onto. His arms tighten around me again, and I hate how much I fucking need it, how much I sink into it, how much I want to believe every word that’s coming out of his mouth.

Connor brushes his lips against my temple. “But I’ve got you,” he whispers. “No matter how chaotic your head gets, baby, I’m not given’ up on us.”

A fresh wave of tears spills over, and I don’t fight it this time. I just let him hold me.

“Connor—” I start, but his lips are on mine, cutting off whatever protest I was about to make.

The kiss is slow, his mouth moving against mine with that same infuriating confidence he always has. His hand slides up to the back of my neck, his thumb brushing the skin there, and I feel myself melting into him despite every voice in my head screaming at me to push him away.

When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, my chest heaving as I try to piece together a single coherent thought. He doesn’t look smug this time, though. His green eyes are serious, searching mine like he’s trying to figure me out.

“Why do you keep denyin’ this?” he asks softly, his voice quieter than I expected. “Why do you keep denyin’ yourself?”

The question feels like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of me. I look away, my throat tightening as shame crawls up my spine. “I’m not—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts. “Don’t lie to me. I could see it even before you got your meds, you were denyin’ what I made you feel.”

I swallow hard, my hands curling into fists where they rest against his chest. The weight of his gaze is suffocating, and I can feel the words stuck in my throat, clawing to get out.

“Malachi,” he says, his voice softer now, his hand moving to cup my cheek. “Talk to me, please. What are you so afraid of?”

I laugh bitterly, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “What am I afraid of? Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he says firmly. “And don’t try to dodge the question.”

I let out a shaky breath, my chest tight as I glance back at him. His eyes are steady, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m being seen. Really seen. It’s terrifying.

Without thinking, I turn slightly, turning enough to gesture toward my back. I can’t bring myself to say it, can’t form the words, but the meaning is clear. The scars. The fucking scars.

Connor’s expression darkens immediately, his jaw tightening as his hands move to steady me. “Was it him?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

I don’t need to ask who he means. I nod, my throat burning as the memory threatens to surface.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Connor mutters, his grip tightening on my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “He did this to you because—because you’re—”

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