The barest trace of a sad little smile toys with the corners of Ana’s lips. “But I want to see you.”

Her fingers lace with mine, a pleasant warmth spreading from our connected palms, all the way up my arm, dispersing through my chest and into every part of my body. It’s a bit like drinking a cup of milk that’s just this side of too hot. It’s soothing when it doesn’t burn. And even when it does, you don’t quite mind.

“I want to see you too.” I don’t know if it’s the right thing to say, but I know that I have to say it. It is the truth, after all. And we have promised each other that at least. The truth, always.

Ana’s gaze turns downward, as if the study of our joined hands is far more interesting than anything she would find on my face. “You don’t mean that.”

A flicker of indignation cuts through me, sharp and hot, but I swallow it down before it can pick my words for me. This isn’t about me. “I do. I absolutely do.”

The little hum under her breath is anything but convinced.

“But more than that, I want you to feel comfortable,” I go on. “I want you to be safe and happy. Always, but especially right now.”

Her eyes rise, slowly, to meet mine. A little wrinkle forms between her brows as she furrows them. “Why?”

I can’t help it. A small laugh bubbles from my lips before I clamp them down tight. Her frown deepens. Her fingers loosen their hold on my hand and start to slip away. My other hand comes down, sandwiching her hand between both of mine, holding her close. “You’re lucky you’re beautiful because sometimes you can be rather daft.”

She shakes her head again. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

This is ridiculous.

“Am no—”

I cut her off with a kiss.

It is every bit as heady and overwhelming as every kiss that has come before. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it. I sincerely hope that I do not.

When I pull away, I make sure to meet her eyes. I want her to look into mine when I ask what I am about to next. I want her to see what I’m feeling. My hands hover in the air between us, awaiting permission.

“May I…?”

After a moment, she offers me a single, slow nod.

She’s so still under my hands. If not for the warmth radiating from her skin, one might mistake her for a statue. Her breathing is almost too measured as I reach for the ties at the throat of her shirt, as if she’s counting each inhalation and timing it to match every exhale in perfectly even beats.