Page 317 of End Game

Not a grand speech.

Ronan looked at what I do.

Noticed what annoys me.

Researched it.

Fixed it.

My eyes start burning for the third fucking time in twenty-four hours.

He takes a deep breath. “Please don’t.”

“You bought me a robot tripod.”

“It is not a robot.”

“It follows me.”

“That does not make it a robot.”

“I love it.”

His expression softens. “I thought you would.”

I stand, and he watches me.

I wrap my arms around him.

He settles his hands at my waist.

And the words are there.

Suddenly.

Entirely.

Fuck.

I love him.

Obviously I love him.

Maybe I've known that without putting the sentence around it.

But there is no confusion in it now.

Just Ronan—the man who counted how many times I stacked books under my phone.

My heart starts pounding hard enough that I can feel it against his chest.

His brows pull together. “What?”

“I—”

My courage almost fails.

Which is ridiculous considering the things this man has done to me naked.