Shockingly, no tears filled her eyes. His words trod over her like little daggers, each one burying
itself deep in her heart. It was too much, too much agony, too much reality, too much shock.
Warmth surrounded her fingers. “Hey, you’re shaking. Evelyn, take a breath. Do you want some
water?”
She must have nodded, because he stood and returned a moment later with a glass of cold water.
She guzzled the entire thing and still was thirsty.
Where would she go? Back to her apartment, she supposed. But then what? She couldn’t go back to
that place where she and Lucian didn’t exist.
She’d become so dependent upon him being in her life. Shock was an agony she could cauterize.
She’d thought, after the last twenty-four hours, they’d reached a place of security and agreement.
He came for her, said he loved her, and she loved him. Love was all she could offer, but her ever-
present fear of not being enough cut her down quick, and she choked on a sob as everything she held
so dearly threatened to rip away.
“Maybe you should lie down. I should have waited to talk to you about this until after you rested.”
She had the instinct to run, but her body was so numb she feared she’d barely be able to stand. Her
throat was dry. It was work to swallow. When she managed to produce a normal amount of saliva in
her mouth, she asked, “Why?”
“Well, for one, I want you living under my roof. This nonsense of living apart is a step in the wrong
direction for us and—”
“Wait, what? I thought you were breaking up with me.”
His eyes widened as he drew back in apparent shock. “Why the hell would you think that?” He
actually sounded angry.
“Because you said it wasn’t working out, that you wanted more.”
“Yes. More of you! ”
Oh. As her mouth hollowed around the silent word, she blew out a shaky breath.
“Evelyn, I’ve told you, you’re not getting rid of me. Ever.”
A tumultuous smile stretched her lips as pure satisfaction purred from somewhere within her chest.
“Can we talk now?” he asked, face tight, reflecting a cross between amusement and suspicion.
Her confidence slowly reestablished itself. “Yes. Let’s talk.”
Watchfully, he nodded. “Like I was saying, I want more. I know things have . . . escalated between
us. I doubt either of us predicted falling in love, but I do love you and you love me. I’m not going to press for marriage until you let me know you’re ready, but I see no need for this distance. There are
certain things I need in life and you’re one of them. I want you here, by my side, always there when I
wake up in the morning.”
Images of her apartment broke away like figments of clay. Moments ago, the idea of having only
her apartment to return to seemed like the most desolate end. It was only an inanimate structure.
When she mistakenly thought she was losing Lucian, she realized how lifeless and empty her place
truly was without him. But she wanted them both. She wanted her independence and him. That
apartment symbolized more than four walls to her.
“I can stay over, but I won’t give up my home, Lucian. It’s important I have a place outside of what
you give me.”
“Why?” This obviously wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but he seemed to be open to discussion.
“Because I’ve never had such a thing, and I won’t give it up before the novelty wears off.”
“But you expect the luxury of having your own place to wear off?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what to expect. All I know is what I want. I want you and I want my
own home. If you want me, you’ll have to compromise and accept that this is something I need right
now.”
If she were being honest, she missed living with him as well. But this was an important stepping-
stone for her. She was proving she could stand on her own two feet. Lucian should understand that,
being that he held such high regard for control. He’d shown her firsthand how empowering control
should be, and she was finally taking charge of herself.
“Assuming we agree that you keep the apartment—”
“Accepting, Lucian. Because I am keeping it.”
Narrowing his eyes, he continued. “I still want you to treat my homes as yours. I’ll hire a decorator
and you can remodel the penthouse as you see fit. We can do the same at the estate and when we visit
my other homes, if you want to change them, you can do as you please.”
“Other homes?”
He smirked. “I have eight homes, Evelyn. My estate outside of Folsom; one in Aspen; one in the
Hamptons; another off the coast of Florida; a condo in Vegas; a small cottage in Carlingford, Ireland;
a mansion in England; and a brownstone in Manhattan. Huh, I guess that’s nine, actually, if you count
my home here at the hotel.”
She pushed every word away, not equipped to process such wealth and possession. Her mind