THE PROXY BRIDE: His bride. Her Secret.
he asked quietly, his voice a gentle tether, drawing her out of her spinning thoughts.
“Yes,” she said, almost automatically, but the truth was layered. She was more than okay. Her chest fluttered with an unexpected awareness, and her mind replayed every accidental touch, every shared look, every detail of the brief collision like it was poetry written just for her.
Julien smiled again, faint, almost imperceptible, as if acknowledging a secret only they shared. “Good,” he said. “Accidents aren’t always bad, you know.”
Amara allowed herself a small, private smile. Maybe he was right. Maybe collisions—messy, unplanned, chaotic—could be beautiful.