Page 61 of Gilded in Blood

The strong column of his neck, the broad shoulders, the way his lashes rest against his cheeks… he’s devastatingly handsome even while sleeping. Peaceful. Almost vulnerable. I’ve never seen him like this before.

My hand moves before I can stop it. I lightly trace my fingers along his jaw, feeling the faint stubble there. He doesn’t stir.

He brought me to his bed last night because I broke down. The realization makes my chest tighten. I shouldn’t be here.

The last thing I want is to come off as needy or weak, especially when he’s made it clear he doesn’t do the soft, staying-in-bed-together part.

I should go back to my own room before he wakes up.

Carefully, I start to shift, trying to lift his arm without disturbing him. It tightens around me for a second, like even in sleep he doesn’t want to let go.

I manage to slip free, rolling toward the edge of the bed as quietly as I can.

Before I can sit, his hand reaches out and catches my waist, pulling me gently but firmly back against him.

His voice is deep and sleepy. “Where do you think you're going?”

I freeze, cheeks warming. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just… heading back to my bedroom.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then his arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer until I’m tucked against his chest again.

“Stay,” he murmurs.

The single word surprises me. I thought he didn’t want me in his bed like this. I thought last night had been an exception. A moment born out of grief and exhaustion.

“Okay,” I whisper.

We lie there in comfortable silence for a while. His fingers brush lightly across my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“How are you feeling?” he asks quietly.

I swallow. “Better. Thank you… for being there for me.”

He continues to stroke his thumb across my cheek again. “You don’t have to thank me. And you shouldn’t blame yourself for what happened to Maria. It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes bad things just happen, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”

I feel tears prick my eyes again, but I blink them back. “Yeah… I just wish bad things didn’t happen to good people.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “It’s a fucked-up world we live in. If only good things happened every day, it would be paradise. But we don’t live in paradise. The bad comes with the good. That’s what makes life… life. It’s what makes it interesting. Sad sometimes. Happy other times. You take the good in good faith, same as the bad.”

I smile softly, surprised by his words. “Look at you being a philosopher. I had no idea.”

He smirks, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Only for you.”

I almost ask him about what my brother told me. The religious camp, the atheism. But I hesitate. I’m not sure I should bring it up right now.

Instead, my eyes drift to the cross tattoo on his chest. I reach out and lightly trace it with my fingertip.

“When was the last time you went to church?” I ask softly.

He raises an eyebrow. “What are you, Christian police?”

I laugh a little. “No, I’m not judging. It’s just… I haven’t been in the longest time myself.”

“Same,” he says. “It’s been a long time.”

I hesitate, then ask, “So… do you still believe? In religion? Christianity? Or have you become an atheist now?”

He looks at me strangely for a second. “If I was an atheist, why would I have this?” He gestures to the cross on his chest.