Chapter 220: Penny
He kisses me again, soft and slow, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my smile. Like he’s trying to steady his breathing ton: And if I didn’t know Ly better didn’t know how carefully he guards the storm behind his eyes I would almost swear there’s a flicker of something wet, something glawy threatening to rise.
Tears.
Happy ones, maybe. Or ones too complicated to name.
But he just kisses me one more time, then pulls back and clears his throat like it’s nothing. Like I didn’t just give him a piece of a man he lost and loved.
He pushes to his feet, barefoot and shirtless and still somehow the most composed man I’ve ever seen, and heads for the Christmas tree. There’s something unhurried in the way he moves, the same quiet confidence that always makes my stomach twist – the one that says he’s thinking free steps ahead, and I’m only on one.
He bends down and grabs the two boxes with my name on them.
The first one is large and flat, wrapped in thick silver paper, his name scrawled across the tag in bold, slanted handwriting that makes me smile even before I start tearing it open.
He hands it to me with a shrug. “Start with that one.”
I sit up a little straighter, curl my legs under me, and pull at the ribbon. The paper falls away easily.
And then I see it.
I gasp. Out loud. I cover my mouth and stare down at the contents of the box.
“No way,” I whisper. “No freaking way.”
It’s…
It’s the leotard.
Not just a leotard. The leotard. The one I tried on weeks ago during spring gala costume tests. The one that Mira said wasn’t confirmed yet. The one that made me feel like I could float.
White at the center, but almost iridescent blue when the light catches it. Tiny crystals scattered like falling stars. A gradient spreading outward to dark midnight–blue sleeves, and at the wrists the faint shimmer of celestial embroidery. Like a constellation stitched just for me.
My throat tightens.
I blink, trying to make sense of it. “Asher… how did you-?”
He’s watching me with that low, smug smile he only uses when he knows exactly what kind of chaos he’s caused.
“You’re not the only one who can pull strings,” he says, casual, as if he didn’t just hand me actual magic. “I might’ve convinced Mira I was asking on Madame Loretto’s behalf. Took a bit of groveling. She doesn’t scare easy.”
I run my fingers along the sleeve, gentle like it’s made of spun sugar. The material is new –
“Wait–this is in my size now.”
He nods once. “Took it to a place near the base. Told them it was for someone… important.”
I swallow. Hard. “It’s perfect.”
retouched, maybe. Tailored.
He doesn’t say anything just watches me take it in and then reaches forward to slowly turn the leotard inside out at the sleeve.
1/3
Chapter 220: Penny
There, just near the seam, in tiny, silver threaded script, is a message embroidered to subtly you’d only see if if you looked closely.
“There’s no one stronger than you when you decide to be.”
My throat tightens again. A single tear slides down my cheek before I can stop it.
“You remembered,” I say. “That’s what you said to me. The day after-”
He nods, but he’s quiet.
And then I laugh, wet and breathless, because the next words out of his mouth are: “And Loretto approved the edit.”
“What?”
“She made me send a picture of the embroidery before she signed off.”
I shake my head, laughing harder. “God, you’re unbelievable.”
He grins. “That’s not the word she used.”
I lean forward and kiss him, because there’s not enough language in the world to thank him for seeing me like this for believing in me like this.
When we pull apart, he slides the leotard box aside and reaches for the second one.
This one is small.
Tiny, actually. Fits in the palm of his hand. Wrapped in deep green with black velvet ribbon.
He doesn’t hand it to me right away.
Instead, he looks at it, Like it weighs more than it should.
His expression shifts – something tightens behind his eyes. His jaw ticks just once before he stretches his arm out and places it in my lap.
And then he sits back, arms crossed, spine straight, that familiar wall back in place. The mask. The one he wears around everyone else, when he’s pretending not to feel too much.
The one I used to think meant he didn’t care.
But now I know better.
Now I know it means he cares too damn much.
I glance down at the box, then back at him.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease me this time. He just says, quietly, “Open it.“–
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