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Finally, she nods. “Okay.”

I cross the room with slow steps, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. She doesn’t. When I reach for her hand, she allows me to take it, placing her other one on my shoulder as I rest my free one on her waist.

We’ve never danced together before, but holding her like this feels so damn familiar. Like we were always meant to be here.

Like we were always meant to be together.

Our gazes hold, something unspoken passing between us.

There’s no music playing. But we don’t need it. Our bodies move in perfect harmony, like they have since that first night together.

The longer we sway, the more the space between us disappears, until her body is flush with mine. I’m not even sure she’s noticed it. Proof the connection between us is as innate as breathing.

“Do you feel this?” I whisper. “The way our bodies fit together? The way we move together?”

She doesn’t answer. Just keeps her eyes glued to mine, as if too scared to respond.

“This isn’t something you find every day, Wynter. This is rare. And real. And despite knowing what your answer most likely will be, I couldn’t let you walk away without a fight. Without reminding you what you stand to lose. Is that really what you want? To go through the rest of your life feeling numb? To never feel this again?” My voice cracks, and I shake my head. “Because I sure as hell don’t want to.”

“I…” She blinks, her eyes turning glossy as she inches her mouth toward mine.

“Yes.” I lean toward her.

“I…,” she repeats.

“Yes,” I say again, my lips a whisper from hers.

But I refuse to erase the last remaining space between us. I can’t.

This needs to be her choice. Her decision.

I can’t make it for her.

“I…,” she exhales, her breath dancing on my lips.

“Yes.” I close my eyes, bracing for her kiss.

But it never comes. Instead, she presses a hand to my chest and pushes away.

I snap my eyes open, momentarily disoriented.

“This…,” she begins, her breathing labored, “this can’t happen. I’m married.”

“To someone you don’t love.”

She flinches but doesn’t argue the point. She knows I’m right. She admitted it herself. Claimed she was relieved when she learned Wyatt had been cheating on her. Which is why I know she’s not trying to work things out between them because she wants to. But because she thinks she has to.

“You claim you want to raise your baby in a loving environment. But is that what you’ll get with him?”

She parts her lips, but again no response comes.

Because, again, she knows I’m right.

“I do love you. And I know you love me. Please. Let me love you. Give us a chance.”

Her eyes shine as they meet mine, and she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Joshua. I just… I can’t.”

She spins around and hurries toward the door. I knew she’d most likely respond this way, but it still doesn’t make it hurt any less. Still doesn’t stop my chest from caving in on itself.