Page 72 of Dreams and Desires

I nod against his chest. I can hear his heartbeat. It’s faster than I expect. Or maybe mine is the one pounding.

I tilt my head up. His eyes meet mine. He studies me again, like I’m a puzzle he wants to learn by touch. He leans down and kisses my temple first. Then my cheek. Then—finally—my mouth.

The kiss is slow. Deep. Like a thought he’s been holding onto too long and finally lets out. There’s heat in it, but it’s not about hunger. It’s something else. A pull. A longing. A fear he’s not saying out loud. I feel his breath catch as he kisses me again, just a little firmer this time, and my hands slide up his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

I don’t know how long we stay like that. Kissing, breathing, holding on to each other like the motion of the plane is the only thing keeping us from floating off into something we don’t know how to name.

At some point, he drapes a blanket over us. Not to hide what we’re doing—there’s nothing scandalous happening—but maybe just to make the space smaller. Quieter. Just ours.

His hand strokes my back. My head drops to his shoulder. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and he kisses the top of my head like he’s sealing something in place.

“You feel real,” he says.

“So do you,” I whisper.

He holds me like that for a long time. No rush. No push. Just quiet understanding in the middle of a sky we both used to fear for different reasons.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Zade

As we step into Bergdorf Goodman, the grandeur of the store almost swallows us whole. The polished marble floors gleam under the warm lights, and the air smells faintly of expensive perfume and polished wood. Juniper’s eyes widen, her steps faltering as she takes in the opulence surrounding us. The chandeliers hanging above us cast a golden glow on everything, making it all feel just a bit surreal.

I catch the edge of her hesitation and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s find you something special,” I say, my voice gentle, yet laced with determination. She deserves this, every bit of it, even if she’s too humble to see it.

We’re approached by a saleswoman, impeccably dressed, her smile professional yet warm. She’s quick to notice Juniper’s uncertainty, the way her eyes dart around like she’s searching for the nearest exit.

“Good afternoon, how can I assist you today?” she asks, her tone smooth, practiced.

I step forward slightly, keeping Juniper close. “We’re looking for a dress for my girlfriend here,” I say. “Something stunning.”

The saleswoman nods, her eyes appraising Juniper for a brief moment before she gestures towards a section of the store. “Right this way,” she responds, leading us past mannequins draped in couture gowns, each more extravagant than the last.

Juniper’s gaze flits from one dress to another. I can tell she’s overwhelmed, but there’s a spark in her eyes that wasn’t there before—curiosity, maybe even a hint of excitement.

We reach a display of dresses, each one more beautiful than the last. The fabrics shimmer in the light, and I can see Juniper’s fingers twitch, like she’s resisting the urge to touch them. I smile to myself, pleased that I was able to bring her here, to show her this side of life.

As we browse through the racks, my eyes catch on a couple of Mac Duggal dresses that stand out from the rest. One is a deep olive green, the kind of color that would make her eyes stand out even more than they already do. The other is a vibrant raspberry, bold and striking, just like her.

“Try these,” I say, pulling them from the rack and handing them to her. The moment the fabric touches her hands, I see the conflict in her eyes—desire warring with practicality.

She glances at the price tags, her face paling slightly. “Zade, these are really expensive...”

I wave off her concerns, my tone firm but kind. “Don’t worry about the cost. Just try them on. I want you to feel as amazing as you look.”

She hesitates, then nods, accepting the dresses with a small, shy smile. “Okay,” she whispers, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the illusion around her.

As she disappears into the fitting room, I find myself pacing, anticipation building with each passing second. I want her to see herself the way I see her—to understand that she deserves every ounce of attention, every bit of admiration.

When the door finally opens and she steps out in that olive green dress, it takes my breath away. The chiffon fabric drapes over her curves perfectly, the neckline highlighting her neck and shoulders. The short flutter sleeves give her a soft, sweet look, while the ruched waist pulls everything in, showing off her figure. The ruffled skirt falls just above her knees, skimming over her hips with a grace that leaves me stunned.

“Juniper,” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away. “You look like a dream I never want to wake up from.”

Her blush deepens, and she looks at herself in the mirror, her fingers trailing along the fabric as if she’s trying to convince herself it’s real. “Really? I feel kind of... exposed,” she admits, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

I walk over to stand beside her, our reflections aligning in the mirror. “Look at yourself,” I urge gently but firmly. “You’re stunning, Juniper. More than stunning.”

She studies her reflection, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in the image staring back at her. “I guess it does look nice,” she murmurs, almost to herself, as if she’s still processingwhat she sees.

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