River Thorne

“On a porch, in June, with the creek and the birches and our daughter watching and a cat asleep in a patch of sun. Not the kind of kiss that belonged in a movie. The kind that belonged in a life, soft at first, then deeper, his hands on my face, my hands on his chest, and every person on that porch disappeared until it was just us. The way it had always been just us, even when the world was loud and the family was terrible and the contract was way too long.”
― River Thorne, The Heir