On the drive home, his fingers danced along the steering wheel. His phone buzzed in the passenger seat, the message popping up on the infotainment screen.

  summer ? home? ?

  A simple word. A beacon.

  Andy replied without thinking: ? not yet. soon ?

  summer ? I saved you a blanket. And I bought the good ginger beer. If you want ?

  Andy grinned and turned off on her exit. He didn't even have to say yes. When he let himself in, Summer was stretched on the couch with a blanket over her feet, dozing with some video game stream playing low. At the sound of the door, she looked up — then froze.

  Her eyes widened, mouth parted in breathless awe. He still wore the tailored waistcoat, deep navy brocade with intricate silver buttons, and the ruffled shirt that peeked delicately at his throat and cuffs. His makeup was flawless — sharp cheekbones accentuated by shadow, a dark berry stain on his lips, eyes ringed with smoky liner that made them even more impossibly blue.

  "Wow," Summer breathed, sitting up.

  Andy gave her a tired little smirk, letting the act linger for one breath more. "Miss," he said in that rich, affected voice, offering a deep, courtly bow. "Forgive the intrusion. I was told there would be tea and blankets."

  Summer laughed, but the sound had a tremor in it. She stared a second longer — at the theatrical, decadent creature in her doorway — and then blinked hard, as if shaking off a spell. "You're — God, you look like you stepped out of a dark fairytale."

  Lord Ashbourne’s smirk slid into Andy’s soft smile. "Forbidden library rendezvous," he said, voice low and warm. "Very dramatic. I might've seduced a duchess."

  "Lucky duchess," Summer murmured.

  Andy tilted his head, a smile playing faintly at his lips. "I take it the look is a success?"

  Her eyes flicked over him again. "That's... yeah. That's something." But then her expression shuttered, softened — her practical tenderness kicking in. She kicked the blanket off and got to her feet. "You must be exhausted. Did you eat? Do you need to shower? Wait — hold on, I'll get you a drink."

  He blinked, a little dazed by the shift. "Summer," he said, voice warm and low, "you can stare a little longer if you want."

  "I did," she murmured. "Now let me take care of you."

  He opened his mouth to protest, but she was already turning away, her hair swinging with the motion.

  Andy sank onto the couch, unbuttoning his waistcoat slowly. The brocade whispered under his fingertips. The makeup, the costume — it had done its job. But now it clung to him like a mask he couldn't quite remove.

  Summer came back with a cup and shook out the blanket, draping it over his lap like she was tucking in something precious. She handed him the cup — ginger ale, the kind made with real ginger, just the way he liked it. Her fingers brushed his. She didn't flinch from the smudged makeup or the tiredness behind his eyes.

  "You don't have to — "

  "Shh," she said gently, not unkind. "You take care of everyone. Let someone take care of you."

  Andy looked up at her, overwhelmed by the simplicity of her words. Not a patron. Not an admirer. Just her. "Summer," he said softly, setting the cup aside. "You saw me like this and didn't run screaming."

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  "I mean, maybe if you'd added fangs," she teased, brushing a lock of hair back from his forehead. "But no. I didn't run."

  "You pushed everything down instead. You do that." He caught her wrist lightly. "Let yourself feel things too, sunshine."

  Her face softened. She curled up beside him on the couch, nestling against his side, one arm over his waist. "I'll feel things tomorrow. Right now, do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

  "Later," Andy murmured. "Right now I just want to pretend this is where I live."

  She kissed his jaw. "You basically do."

  The stream came to an end, and she sat up with a sleepy groan. "I should get ready for bed." She eyed him, still in his costume and makeup, with a determined little frown, then reached for him.

  Andy let out a quiet, amused hum as Summer tugged gently at the knot of his cravat. "You do realize," he said, voice a little rasped from the evening, "this is supposed to be the part where I slowly disrobe you."

  Summer rolled her eyes, even as she focused on loosening the elaborate fabric. "You're exhausted. And rumpled. Let me."

  His smirk softened. "Bossy."

  "Caretaker," she corrected, easing the waistcoat off his shoulders, brushing her fingers over the ridge of his spine with more fondness than she meant to show.

  Andy let her. It was rare, the letting. His line of work meant always performing, always seducing or soothing, leading or submitting — but always with intention. This, though, was different. Quiet. Intimate in its ease.

  She unbuttoned the ruffled shirt next, slipping it off carefully. Then she hesitated at his belt.

  Andy cocked an eyebrow. "You've literally ridden me into the mattress."

  "Still different," she mumbled, cheeks warm. But she got it undone and stepped back so he could shimmy out of the rest.

  "You're getting good at undressing me," he said, stretching languidly as he stepped out of his trousers. "I may start charging you."

  Summer snorted and turned toward the bathroom. "I can't afford you. Come on, glamour boy. You need steam and soap and possibly to be hosed down."

  He followed, laughing under his breath, the sound low and unguarded.

  The bathroom filled quickly with warmth. Summer shed her own clothes — still a bit shy, despite the nights spent wrapped around each other — and stepped into the shower first. Andy joined her, blinking against the spray as she gently coaxed him beneath the hot water.

  He closed his eyes as she lathered her hands and worked the suds into his shoulders and chest. Her touch wasn't clinical — it was reverent, quiet in a way that said 'I see you' and 'you're mine, no matter how tired or painted you are'.

  "I feel like a pampered cat," he murmured, voice drowsy.

  "You purr like one," she replied, fingers combing through his hair to rinse out the last of the product. "And you've been working all night. You deserve this."

  He opened his eyes just enough to look at her — close, wet, glowing faintly in the steam. "So do you," he said. "But let me be selfish tonight."

  "Maybe tomorrow, you can return the favor."

  Andy's arms curled around her waist beneath the spray, the water pattering gently around them like a shield from the rest of the world. His voice was barely audible over it, but Summer heard it all the same — soft, unguarded, truth slipping out without drama or hesitation.

  "This is why I love you," he murmured into the crook of her neck.

  She went very still in his arms.

  Andy noticed immediately. He pulled back a little, enough to see her face, water dripping from his dark lashes. "Too much?"

  Summer blinked up at him, lips parted, confusion flickering in her eyes like someone who'd stepped through a door into a different season and didn't know how. "You... love me?"

  Andy didn't look away. His expression was open and utterly unguarded. "I know it's early. A few weeks. Maybe it's reckless. But yes. I love the way you look after me like I'm worth more than what I give. I love the way you see me — even when I'm tired, even when I've been someone else all night. You make me feel... " He stopped, teeth catching briefly on his lip before he smiled, small and certain. "Real. Wanted. Safe."

  Summer's hand came up slowly to press against his chest, over the rapid thrum of his heart. "I — Andy, I didn't think you — " She broke off, exhaling in a rush. "I thought maybe this was just... beautiful, but temporary. I didn't expect — you to love me."

  "I know," he said gently. "I'm not trying to buy you, or trap you, or guilt you. I just needed you to know. I didn't know I'd need to say it until I felt your hands on me tonight, and I — God, Summer. You make me feel like I'm not a product."

  She searched his face, stunned and searching and somehow fragile in her disbelief.

  "Do you want time?" he asked, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone.

  Summer nodded, eyes wet now for a whole different reason. "Yes. No. I don't know. I just... I want you. Even if I don't know all the words yet."

  "That's enough for me," he whispered, and kissed her — long, slow, nothing desperate in it.