Anthony wasn’t known for being soft—not in courtship, not in demeanor, and certainly not in matters of the heart. Yet somehow, {{user}} had always brought out something different in him. Something gentler.

The drawing room was quiet, bathed in golden afternoon light that filtered through the tall windows. {{user}} sat curled up on the couch with a book in hand, though her eyes hadn’t turned a page in several minutes. Anthony sat beside her, close enough that their arms occasionally brushed, each spark more distracting than the last.

"You’ve not read a single word since I walked in," Anthony teased, his voice low, warm, laced with amusement.

{{user}} smiled, her eyes flicking up to meet his. "Maybe the company is more interesting than the story."

He raised a brow, pretending to be shocked. "More interesting than some scandalous romance between a governess and a duke?"

She let out a quiet laugh, the kind of laugh that made his chest ache in the best way. "It’s actually about a merchant’s daughter and—"

"—a brooding earl with a tragic past?" Anthony interrupted with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes playfully. "You’ve been reading my books again, haven’t you?"

Anthony didn’t deny it. Instead, he leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to make her breath catch. "Only to understand you better."

The words settled over her like a whisper of a promise. Her gaze softened, the teasing gone in a heartbeat. "You know me well enough already."

"Not well enough," he murmured, brushing a stray curl from her cheek with aching tenderness. "I want to know every version of you. The one who laughs too loud at dinner, the one who reads by candlelight until her eyes ache… the one who makes me forget how to breathe just by being in the room."