How to be loved

79 - Mama Nun

How to be loved

79 – Mama Nun

Becky's POV

The sun filtered gently through the sheer curtains, its golden warmth brushing across my face like a soft whisper. I stirred, squinting slightly against the light, and became aware of a dull ache in my arm—numb and tingling, pinned beneath something—or rather, someone.

I opened my eyes, blinking past the blur of sleep, and there she is.

Freen.

Her face is turned slightly toward me, her lashes resting in perfect stillness against her cheeks, her lips parted just enough to steal my breath away. And then it hit me, all over again, like a wave folding over itself in the calm after a storm.

She said yes.

My fiancée.

The word echoed in my mind like a secret I couldn't stop repeating to myself. My fiancée. She actually said yes. Last night, beneath the quiet hush of stars and trembling nerves, she agreed to marry me. I still couldn't believe it—I half expected to wake and find it had all been a dream. But no. She is here. Real. Soft. Mine.

I smiled, heart tight with something like disbelief and awe, and just... stared. Stared because I could. Because this is my favorite view in the world.

God, she is beautiful. Even like this—especially like this. Hair tousled, features relaxed into a kind of peace that felt almost sacred. I watched the rise and fall of her breathing, committing it to memory. There were a thousand things I wanted to say to her, but none of them felt big enough. Not for this.

I shifted slowly, trying not to wake her as I slipped my arm out from beneath her weight. It tingled with returning blood, but I didn't care. I turned to face her fully, one hand brushing a lock of hair away from her temple.

Without opening her eyes, she spoke, voice raspy and laced with sleep.

"It's a little early in the morning to be staring, isn't it?" she mumbled. "Am I that beautiful?"

I laughed softly, caught. "Oh, you know you are."

Finally, her lashes fluttered open. Those dark eyes met mine with the kind of familiarity that made me feel like I was home.

"Still," she murmured, her lips curving lazily into a smile, "you might make a habit of it."

"I already have," I whispered, brushing a kiss to her forehead. "And I plan on doing it every morning for the rest of my life."

Her smile deepened, but she didn't reply. She simply slid closer, tangled our fingers together, and nestled against me like she belonged there.

And maybe—just maybe—that was the best part.

Because she did.

She tucked her head beneath my chin, her fingers tracing slow, lazy shapes against my chest, like she had nowhere else to be. Like this moment was enough. Maybe it was. For once, we didn't have meetings, alarms, or flights pulling us apart. Just a sun-drenched room, tangled sheets, and the quiet rhythm of two hearts finally exhaling together.

"I still can't believe you asked," she murmured after a long stretch of silence. Her voice was soft, a little husky from sleep, but it settled over me like a secret she was giving just to me. "I mean, I hoped you would. But still..."

I turned her face gently with my fingers, brushing my thumb across her cheek. "How did I do?"

She smirked against my collarbone, lips brushing skin in a way that made it hard to focus. "You were so nervous," she teased. "You forgot to even give me the ring."