My heart quickened. He'd asked me twice before if I wanted him. The first time, in my hurt and confusion, I'd said no. The second time, I'd said yes, and then I'd left. But now, I saw what he was really asking. Apart from Charlotte and Walter, who'd filled in as many holes as possible in his life, he'd never felt truly wanted by anyone. He'd been needed by his brother, but rejected by every other person that counted. Yes, I wanted him. I wanted him to know he was worthy of being loved. Was I ready to give him my trust again though? And was he willing to give me his?

"I do, Grayson. I do want you. We just . . . in some ways we know so little about each other."

"I know what I need to know, and the rest we'll learn."

I smiled. He took my hand and we began walking along the path toward the front of the maze, the sounds of the party drifting to us on the faint night breeze. "What's your middle name?" he asked.

I laughed softly. "Isabelle, after my gram. What's yours?"

"I don't have one."

I turned to him. "No middle name? It doesn't seem right that someone should have no middle name."

He shrugged and smiled, his lips curving up into a soft, vulnerable smile. "No, I suppose not."

I let my eyes drink him in. Standing there under the stars, I saw him so clearly, not just his striking male beauty, but all of him: his intelligence, his loyalty and protective nature, his wit, and his deep sensitivity—the thing he let so few people see. And suddenly I felt awed. I was his wife. This beautiful man had chosen me. I wanted to love him, heal him, transform all his dark memories into light. I wanted to be worthy of him, and I longed for him to love me back.

"What made you realize how you felt?" I asked, glancing at him and lowering my lashes, suddenly feeling shy.

He smiled. "Charlotte helped me realize. She encouraged me to take a leap of faith—to let go."

"Ah. It's good advice."

"And you? Did you know before tonight?"

"I think I've known for quite some time now."

"You have?" The delighted look on his face said it all.

We stopped next to the entrance to the maze and I turned toward him, grasping his hands in mine.

"Here we are," I said softly, nodding my head toward the maze.

"Yes," he said, his eyes flickering away from the maze and back to me. "Here we are."

He moved closer to me, pulling me into his arms and whispering against my lips. "You bring me peace, little witch, and you put a fire in my blood." I smiled against his mouth.

"But do you trust me?" I asked, placing my palm flat against his jacket, running my hand over his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart beneath.

"Trust you?" A crease formed between his dark brows.

I ducked under his arm and he spun to face me. "Come find me, Grayson," I said and I ran into the maze.

"Kira," he called, a low edge to his voice, "what are you up to now?"

"Helping you let go of something," I said, turning a corner and then quickly turning another. I heard Grayson behind me, walking slowly as I ran. "If you can find me, I'm yours."

"Kira," he said, and despite the distance, I heard the warning tone, "I know this maze well—there's no hiding from me here."

Ah yes, but I knew that.

A thrill went down my spine as I turned another corner. "Really, dragon?" I called. "We'll see. I'm waiting." I was already hopelessly lost, simultaneously feeling a small thread of fear and sympathy for what Grayson must have felt being alone in here all those years ago, but also the tingle of excitement at the knowledge that he'd find me. The shrubbery was tall and untended, and as I ran by, holding the hoops of my skirt as close to my body as possible, my long dress trailing on the ground behind me, branches seemed to reach out and grab me. The moon and stars, and the glow of the house beyond, cast the only light.

He didn't say another word, but I heard him walking with purpose through the weeds and fallen branches, straight toward me as if he'd known where I would run. I turned one more corner and there in what seemed the middle of the maze was an old fountain in ruin and disrepair. Seeing a stone bench, I sat down and waited for Grayson to find me.

The distant strains of music and voices from the party took a backseat in my mind as I listened intently for his footsteps, my pulse quickening, my heart thumping.

"Where are you, little witch?" he asked, much closer now. But it didn't sound as if there was question in his voice. Yes, he knew exactly where I was. My heart rate increased.

He turned the corner at the far end of where I sat, and my breath stuttered in my throat. In the glow of the starlight, I could see his gaze was trained on me. I stood slowly and as he started to walk toward me, I held up my hand, motioning for him to stop so I could come to him. Because I suddenly understood that sometimes it's right to meet in the middle, but sometimes, the simplest act of grace is to meet the other person where they are. That, that is love. He watched as I approached, his eyes dark and fathomless.

As I drew nearer to him, it came to me that watching Grayson in front of the bank that day, I had fallen in love, but only in some romantic, girlish way. I had fallen in love with the idea of him. But here, in the deep, dark of the maze—where he had once been lost and frightened and alone—I reached out my hand, and I fell in love with the man. I fell in love with my husband.