Page 96 of Safe Place

Of course they’d say that. I’d say that too, if I were them.

“She’s just not what I imagined,” one adds with a small, amused laugh.

A voice interrupts—smooth, loud enough to be heard. “Funny, I heard he’s getting married to her.”

The women turn.

Grant leans casually against the wall with a crooked grin. “Apparently it’s pretty serious.” He catches my eye and gives me a wink. “I heard they already moved in together.”

The women excuse themselves quickly, but Grant follows, matching their pace, filling them in on venue details for a wedding that exists entirely in his head.

Part of me wants to laugh, but the ache underneath it wins.

Micah finds me a few moments later, before I can spiral too far into it.

“There you are,” he says, instantly placing his hand back on my waist like he can feel the shakiness under my skin. He sees it—whatever’s on my face.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, but it’s too quiet to be convincing. “I’m just not sure if I belong in a place like this.”

His brows pull together, and he tilts his head like he’s trying to make sense of a sentence that doesn’t compute. “That’s nonsense,” he says, voice low. “You’re the most beautiful person here.”

I look down, cheeks heating, but he lifts my chin.

“I mean it,” he says. “I’ve introduced you to dozens of people tonight. Every single one of them saw you, and they know this won’t be the last time.”

I lean up and press a kiss to his cheek. He turns slightly, catching my face in his hands, and looks at me.

“Come with me,” he says quietly.

We move through the hallways quickly, past closed doors and candlelit corners until one finally opens. A closet—dim, quiet, and tucked away from everything. He pulls me inside, shuts the door, and locks it.

For a moment we just stand there in the dark, close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off him, the soft sound of the gala muffled behind the door like it belongs to a different world.

Then he kisses me slowly, like he's been saving it. His hands delicately cup my face. His thumbs brush along my jaw, and the tenderness of it does something to my chest that the grandeur of this entire evening hasn't.

“Your world is so different than mine,” I start, against his mouth.

“It’s not my world,” he says. “It’s all fake.”

“Micah—“

“Every single person here has an agenda.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, and even in the dark his gray eyes are clear. “I should too. But I’ve been too distracted all night.”

“By what?”

“What do you think, Sophie?” he says, slipping down one shoulder strap of my dress. His thumb traces my cheekbone, light as a question. “Do you trust me?”

I think about how many times I've asked myself that. How carefully I've turned it over, looking for the catch.

“Yes,” I say. And I mean it completely.

He kisses me again, deeper this time, one hand sliding to the small of my back and drawing me in until there's no space left between us. I feel the solid warmth of him, the quiet certainty of his arms around me, and I stop hearing the voices from the hallway. I stop calculating whether I belong here or not.

“Lift your dress, babe,” he says, his voice low. “That’s my agenda.”

“This dress is too expensive, Micah. I’m not going to risk ruining it.” I press my forehead to his shoulder, and he rests his chin on top of my head.