Sebastian studied her carefully. The color had drained from Bernice's face, leaving her pale and unsteady, her eyes a little unfocused as if the world had shifted under her feet.
He reached for her hand and drew a little closer, not because the instinct to pull her into him wasn't there (it was, fiercely so), but because he knew her eyesight was poor. He wanted her to see him clearly, to read the truth in his expression without doubt or distance.
"Bernice," he said softly, his thumb brushing over her cheek in a slow, grounding gesture. "The moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were the answer to a prayer I didn't even know I had." His voice lowered, steady and certain. "I'm not giving up on you… unless you hate me from the bottom of your heart."
He leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead—gentle, reverent, the kind of tenderness Bernice had rarely been given in her life.
