Page 56 of The Heir's Defiance

The silence is warm now. Honest. And it belongs to us.

I nod slowly, eyes burning, voice steady. "Yes. I will."

He slips the ring onto my finger with a steady hand, fitting it into place. The gold is cool against my skin, the diamond catching the faint light from the sun. His palm presses to mine after, grounding us in the moment. There is no one clapping or watching, but the stillness around us feels earned.

This isn’t a spectacle. It’s real, a vow forged not from ceremony but connection. He looks at me, and for the first time since walking into that room, I feel like the future is ours to name.

31

CONNOR

Nora lines up the boxes on the counter, then rearranges them, then puts them back again. Her brows are drawn, her mouth set, and the entire kitchen feels like I'm waiting on a court ruling, not a wedding cake selection. Three bakeries. Four flavors each. She even made a spreadsheet last night—no joke. An actual spreadsheet. I watched her color code frosting textures like it was the fate of the world.

"You’re taking this seriously," I say, popping the lid off the box closest to me. "Which one’s supposed to be the winner?"

She levels me with a look and points a knife at my chest. "No winner until we’ve tasted every option twice. Blind. No opinions until the end."

"Twice?" I ask, turning to curl my arms around her. She snickers when I bite her neck and pushes me away.

"Yes. Once for flavor, once for texture." She's moving toward the stack of plates, and I chuckle at her overly serious demeanor. You'd think this was her last meal.

"You’re unbelievable." I chuckle, taking the knife from her hand.

She grins. "You’ve said that before."

I cut into the first cake—vanilla with something citrus swirled through—and hand her a forkful. She takes it like it’s a challenge, eyes closing dramatically as she hums. "Not bad," she says after swallowing. "You try."

It’s good, but not good enough to distract me from the way her mouth moves or the frosting clinging to the corner of her lip. I lean back against the counter, watching her drag her fork across the chocolate one without giving it a second glance.

"You’re ignoring the best one," I say.

She licks her fork and pretends not to notice. "Am I?" Her eyebrows lift and she shrugs a shoulder.

"Yeah. You’re pretending it’s not your favorite so I won’t fight you for it." I grab her by the waist, pulling her against my body, and she squirms, but she's smiling.

"Connor," she protests, palms on my chest.

"You’re cheating," I accuse playfully, but I let her go and watch her. There's something different about her lately, happier, lighter. And it's not just because we're not sneaking around anymore. She seems to glow with life and energy.

She shrugs and cuts another piece, piling chocolate onto her fork like it’s an afterthought. "Can you prove it?" she asks before plopping the cake onto her tongue and winking at me.

I take a step toward her. "You just ate half the square when you thought I wasn’t looking." My fingers work her sides at the most sensitive spots, tickling her.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," she says, smiling now. Her voice is syrupy, playful. Dangerous.

I reach past her to steal a bite, but she holds the box away from me.

"Not a chance," she says, backing up a step.

"That so?"

She nods. "You want chocolate, you earn it."

She turns her back on me—stupid move. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her flush against my body and feel the press of my swelling dick on her ass. "Say that again," I murmur against her ear.

"Earn it," she says, breath catching as I slide my hand beneath the hem of her dress and pull it up.

She spins in my grip and smears a dollop of frosting on my bottom lip. "There," she says. "Sweet enough for you?"

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