“If my mother finds out, she’ll kill us both,” Brahm warns.
“Then she mustn’t find out.”
“And if you decide you want children?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we reach it.”
Brahm nods, letting me make the choice. He raises my hand and slides the ring over my finger. It feels like a promise, solid and substantial. Not a leash, not a shackle—a gift of love, freely given.
“It’s not as lovely as your grandmother’s,” he says regretfully.
I admire the way the twisted silver gleams. “It’s perfect.”
Stepping back, Brahm takes my hand. “We’ll leave as soon as we return to my estate.”