~ ROSELLE ~

Watching Ronan stand up for me in front of the Council, watching him defy tradition, authority, and his own mother for me... it was everything I could have asked for and more. Worse, it was terrifying.

I stood there, fighting back as many tears as I could, my throat tight and burning. Every word he spoke in my defense echoed through me like a vow carved into my soul. He has proven to me time and time again the lengths he would go for me. He didn’t just defend me; he chose me in front of the entire Council and his own mother. Even when they threw my muteness and my missing wolf in his face, he refused to bend.

He defended my worth when I couldn’t defend it myself. He stood there in that grand hall and told them that I matter, that my existence has value, that my voice, or lack thereof, doesn’t define my ability to lead. He did that for me.

When we finally arrive at the pack house, Ronan guides me inside with his arm wrapped casually around my waist. The moment the door closes behind us, he turns to me with a crooked smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Well," he said, shrugging off his ceremonial cloak, "that went better than expected. No one actually challenged me to a fight. I call that a win."

I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips despite everything. He was trying so hard to lighten the mood, and I loved him for it.

"I’m sorry," he continues, tossing his jacket onto the back of a chair and pulling me toward the couch. "I know that wasn’t easy. I know it was brutal, and I’m sorry you had to endure that. But we got through it."

He continued undressing, unbuttoning his charcoal shirt as he spoke. "I mean, I was half-expecting Elder Matthias to faint when I told them I’d proceed without their approval. The man’s face went three shades of purple." He chuckled, the sound warm and rich. "Next time I’ll bring popcorn so we can watch them squirm in real time."

I let out a soft huff of laughter, the sound barely audible but real. Ronan’s eyes softened instantly.

He pulls me down beside him, and I curl into his side, my head resting on his chest where I can hear his heartbeat thrumming heavily.

"You know what we need?" he asks, with an obvious smile in his voice. "We need to plan a wedding. Because regardless of what the Council thinks, we’re doing this, Roselle. We’re bonding, and we’re making it official."

I look up at him, my heart beginning to race.

"So, here’s the question," he continues, his fingers trailing lazily up and down my arm. "How do you want your engagement to be? Do you want something quiet and intimate? Just us and a few close friends? Or do you want to go big? Do you want me to be uncomfortable in a tuxedo while we dance in some ridiculous ballroom?"

He pauses, his expression growing more thoughtful.

"Or... do you want something completely different? Do you want to travel? I could take you anywhere in the world, Rose. Paris, Tokyo, New Zealand, the Maldives. Wherever you want. We could have a wedding ceremony on a beach at sunset, just the sound of waves and our vows. Or we could go completely out of my comfort zone and do something wild and spontaneous. What do you want, Rosie?"

His question is met with my silence, my head racking for an answer... I didn’t quite have much of a dream of an extravagant wedding or something of that sort... I just... something flashes across my head, and I realize; I can answer him now.

My heart is racing, my palms are sweating, and my throat feels tight. But I’ve been practicing this moment in my head since this morning, since Dr. Morrison helped me.

I take a deep breath, inhaling and then exhaling, allowing Dr. Morris’ words to sink into me... Think of the moments together, think of the good things, think of everything positive.

"Ronan." I breathe out, happy I didn’t fumble that. I didn’t...

He stills completely. His hand stops moving. His breathing seems to pause. When I look up at his face, his grey eyes are locked on mine with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat.

"Did you just..." he starts, his voice barely a whisper. "You... you called my name."

I nod, tears already forming in my eyes as I realize what I’ve just done. I knew I was going to do it, but I was scared I was going to fuck it up. But I didn’t.

"Say it again," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup my face. "Please, Roselle. I need to hear it again."

I take another breath, gathering the courage that’s been building inside me for weeks.

"Ronan," I say again, and this time the word comes slightly easier, slightly stronger. My voice is broken and raw, but it’s mine. It’s his name, and I’m giving it to him.

For a moment, he just stares at me. His eyes are shimmering with unshed tears, his jaw clenched with emotion.

Then he moves, scooping me into his arms with a soft laugh that sounds almost like a sob, and lifts me off the ground, spinning me around. I wrap my arms around his neck as the world blurs around us, his joy infectious and overwhelming.

"You called my name," he says again and again, like he can’t quite believe it. "You called my fucking name."

He settles me back down on the couch, his hands cradling my face with infinite tenderness. And then he kisses me—slowly, sweetly, with so much emotion and devotion that it feels like a vow in itself.

When he pulls back, his eyes are wet with tears, and he is grinning like a boy on Christmas morning, pure giddy joy lighting up his face.

"I’m never going to shut up about this," he declared, pressing his forehead to mine. "The first word you ever spoke was my name. I’m going to tell our children about this one day. Do you understand what that means to me?"

I shake my head, and he presses his forehead against mine.

"It means you trust me," he whispers. "It means you feel safe enough to give me your voice. It means you’re reclaiming your power, and you’re doing it for us. For me."

He kisses me again, quick and fervent, like he’s trying to brand his gratitude onto my lips.

"Okay," he says finally, pulling back with a giddy expression that makes him look younger, lighter, happier than I’ve ever seen him. "We’re doing this. We’re celebrating. Come on."

He stands and pulls me up, guiding me toward the bedroom.

"What are we doing?" I sign, confused.

"Movie night," he announces. "We’re blowing off steam the best way we know how. You, me, a ridiculous romantic movie, and way too much popcorn."

He orders from his phone, requesting two massive bags of popcorn, and within twenty minutes, we’re settled on the bed. He’s changed into soft sweatpants and a loose shirt, and I’m wearing one of his oversized hoodies that smells like him.

He pulls me against his side, arranging pillows so I’m cradled against his body, one of his arms wrapped securely around my waist.

"Now," he says, queuing up a movie, something with a ridiculous title about a fake wedding turning real—"we’re going to watch this terrible movie, eat approximately ten thousand calories of popcorn, and you’re going to say my name over and over again,"

I blush, burying my face in his chest.

The popcorn arrives, and he piles it into a large bowl between us, immediately grabbing a handful and shoving it into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.

I relax into his embrace, his hand strokes my hair absently, his other hand occasionally dips into the popcorn bowl, as his chest rises and falls beneath my cheek in a steady, comforting rhythm.

"You know," he says during a quiet moment in the film, "I’m going to make you say my name at least a hundred more times before the week is over. I’m obsessed with the way it sounds coming from your mouth."

I sign a laugh, pressing a kiss to his chest.

"I’m serious," he continues, his tone playful but tinged with emotion. "Say it again right now."

I look up at him, wondering why he’s so giddy just because I called his name.

"Ronan."

His entire face softens, and he leans down to kiss my forehead.

"Perfect," he murmurs. "Absolutely perfect."

We settle back into comfortable silence as the movie plays on. Outside, the sun has set, painting the sky in shades of purple and deep blue. The pack house is quiet around us, the world reduced to just this moment—his heartbeat beneath my ear, his arms around me, the sound of his breathing, and the knowledge that he chose me.