Page 26 of Power

Sunlight spilled over her shoulders, each ray threading through her hair until it glowed like burnished gold. When she turned and smiled, her eyes curved into perfect crescents, and something in my chest clenched so tight I thought I’dstop breathing.

I pressed both hands flat against my thighs and drew in a measured breath. Let air fill my lungs. Released it without trembling. The confident businessman I’d rehearsed in my head dissolved when she caught my eye.

Instead, I felt like a schoolboy—knees weak, voice stuck behind a shuttered door. Even so, an odd calm settled beneath the chaos, a comfort I’d never known.

Cali led me down a sweep of stone steps, each slab worn smooth by untold footsteps. Vines marched off at the hilltop into the haze, with neat rows disappearing beneath distant pines.

A wrought-iron bistro table stood under a green umbrella, but Cali shrugged off her heels and sank onto the grass. She tucked her knees under her chin, and the two dogs flopped onto either side, noses nudging her hands.

“This is my favorite spot,” she said, watching birds flicker between branches.

I eased down beside her, the grass cool against my suit trousers. A breeze carried a hint of jasmine from her perfume, the same scent from the last time we met, and I barely resisted the pull to lean in, to let that fragrance fill my senses.

“It’s a beautiful view,” I said, doing my damnedest to sound normal. “The vines look like ribbons laid out by careful hands, and those hills hold every story this land has ever told.”

Cali tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Sometimes I spend hours observing the curve of each branch andlistening to sparrows argue. My sisters tell me I’m wasting my time, that daydreaming leads to nowhere.”

I remembered hiding in my grandfather’s closet to escape chores, my eldest brother’s exasperated sigh when I couldn’t keep still. The ache of missing them tightened around my ribs.

“Isn’t it every older sibling’s duty to fuss over you?” I asked. “Mine drove me mad, but I’d give anything to have them back.”

She turned toward me, expression open. “You miss them,” she stated, not as a question but a fact.

Her honesty caught me off guard. Most people skirted around my family, as if speaking their names might break a fragile peace. I swallowed hard.

“I still reach for my phone to call my mother about the smallest thing, then remember she’s gone.”

Cali slid her hand over mine, palm warm against my knuckles. The grass whispered beneath us. “I understand,” she said. “I miss my parents too.”

A hush settled over us. She rested her fingertips against mine, and a warmth spread from the base of my palm to my collarbone. It felt like sinking into a familiar armchair after a long day, yet electricity raced beneath my skin.

Comfort pulled me inward as a thrill pushed me outward, two forces tangled until I could not tell one from the other. I pressed into the swirl of feeling, letting each pulse of wonder and surge of longing sweep through me.

I imagined every secret moment we might share in a sunlit kitchen, every quiet evening by a cracklingfire.

If this marriage to Cali brought such wonder and peace, I would stand at the altar today. My chest ached with the closeness between us, raw and honest, grounding me in a truth I could not name but recognized without question.

I made a wish as her thumb traced my palm. When she was ready, I hoped she would choose me. Together, let us weave our lives into something enduring—a space filled with warmth and new memories created side by side.

I pictured her smile greeting me at dawn, familiar as sunrise, something I would crave each morning.

“I know you’re thinking about it,” she said, finally breaking the silence.

I cocked my head to the side. “What are you talking about?”

Her emerald gaze darkened. She pressed her lips together until they flattened. “My kidnapping. Everyone is curious. So go ahead and ask. It’s fine.”

My throat tightened. Words collected like stones in my chest before I found them.

“I’ve heard fragments of what you went through.” I chose each word as if gathering pebbles in my hand. “But this”—I swept a thumb across her knuckles—“is your story. You share it only when you choose. I would never ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

Her entire demeanor radiated strength as she smiled at me.

I knew what she was feeling. I’d spent years after the deaths of my family members trudging uncomfortablythrough awkward conversations with well-meaning friends and colleagues.

There were times when I felt like I never wanted to discuss it again, but then that would feel wrong too. It was a delicate balance between needing to express your feelings and love for them and finding a way to move on once you’d been left behind.

To my surprise, Cali took the hand she’d laid on mine and turned it over, interlacing her fingers with mine before speaking.

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