Page 150 of Rush
A black-and-white photo.
Of me.
Sitting on a windowsill in Sweden, wearing nothing but his white dress shirt—half unbuttoned, shoulder bare, knees pulled to my chest, staring out at the view.
You can only see the side of my face. It could be anyone.
But it’s the kind of photo no one was ever supposed to see.
Part of me feels ashamed and overexposed, but another part is yanked back to that moment when I shared the most vulnerable parts of myself with him.
His caption is simple:EJM.
My initials.
What the fuck.
The comments flood in, hot and fast:
“Is that Elena Montgomery?”
“Did they get back together?!”
“What about Madison?”
“What does this mean?”
“Omg I KNEW they weren’t over.”
My stomach twists.
It’s been months since Alex and I were photographed together at the Hamptons.
Weeks of pretending that call didn’t exist. Weeks of trying to cauterize the memory. And now—here he is, ripping me back to that moment in time?—
His arms wrapped around me from behind as I sat on the window ledge, small flakes falling from the sky, peppering the forest as they danced in the wind.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
I leaned into him, feeling his warmth. “It’s beautiful here.”
“You’re beautiful here, darling,” he whispered, planting a kiss on my bare shoulder that sent a shiver down my spine.
“I wish I could bottle this feeling,” I sighed as he kissed his way up to my neck.
“What if we just stayed here, the two of us?”
I turned my head just enough to meet his eyes. His fingers traced lazy circles over my bare thigh.
“I’ll think about it.”
Before I could offer another teasing remark, he pressed his lips into mine, consuming any doubt—every stroke of his tongue convincing me of his perfect, impractical proposal.
The two of us. No noise. No obligations. No pressure. Just us.
My heart swelled, so full it could burst.
Pulling away, he cradled my face in his hands, gazing at me with pure devotion. It was enough for me to throw everything away. For him. All for him.
