Page 109

“This is nice,” I whisper.

“Really nice,” he agrees, arm bent and fingers tracing nonsensical patterns on my skin.

I settle against him—and maybe…maybe I finally settle into myself, finally become the version of Violet I want to be.

Not the Violet of my childhood. Not the Violet of my bio family. Just…me.

Because Ace makes it easy to be that.

And I want to make it easy on him too.

Make him understand that the weight of his past relationships isn’t all on him.

Not his parents’ relationship—strained because he’s a great fucking hockey player and that took money and resources and time that were a stretch for them while he was growing up. Resources some of his brothers resented him having when they didn’t because they’re good but not great like Ace is, same as they resented the opportunities that came from Ace’s talent and hard work and access to those resources.

Not in the locker room, losing games and—worse—a Cup that wasn’t all on him, especially in his rookie season, even though I’ve heard that his coaches made their disappointment in him not doing more to bring the victory home known far and wide.

Not in love—with women who didn’t work out and those who never would. With his only crime being that he’d partied hard and lived good and fucked around…like most every other person in their twenties. But now that he’s older and wants something different, he’s stuck in the same shit as the rest of us.

Trying to figure it all out.

Learning a little more about himself as each day passes.

And taking too much of things going wrong on his shoulders.

But I don’t know how to say all that and still keep the perfectness of this moment.

So, I decide to hold that card close to my chest, to play it later when it won’t tarnish the beauty of a secret, romantic interlude he clearly went to pains to arrange.

And…I go for light.

“No yelling. Not a single crisis in sight we need to manage. Nothing but quiet and delicious cake and champagne and moonlight and a hot hockey player.” I grin up at him. “And his many, many skills.”

His lips twitch.

“I try.”

“You know you’re hot.” A beat. “And skilled.”

A shrug, but the man is smirking, silently telling me he knows exactly that.

I trace his smile and give him just a taste, just a tiny bit of that easy. “Thank you for the cake and the champagne and all of”—I sweep my hand out—“this.” I press my lips to the corner of his mouth, settle back against his chest and sigh in contentment.

“Baby?”

“Mmm?” I say, reaching for my glass of champagne and wondering if I can drink it without moving from my current position.

I like being curled up against Ace.

“You missed.”

My brows drag together. “What⁠—?”

But then he explains.

Physically.

He rolls us, plucks the flute out of my hand, and…he doesn’t just kiss the corner of my mouth.