Catherine’s fingers curled into the fabric of Maximilian’s shirt, holding on as though the simple act might steady the storm gathering inside her.
To say his na... It should have been easy.
She had whispered it before, in monts no one else had seen, when the world had been quiet, and it was just her thoughts keeping her company. She had said it like a secret, like a prayer, like sothing she wanted to beco real. She had called for him in dreams she could barely rember upon waking, but still felt lingering in her chest.
And yet now...
Now that he was here, real and solid beneath her touch, now that it mattered...
She couldn’t.
She leaned into him instead, resting her head against his shoulder, her arms wrapping around his waist with a quiet urgency. It was such a simple thing he had asked of her. Just his na.
But it felt like crossing sothing invisible. Like stepping into a place she couldn’t return from.
Her hold on him tightened.
"I’ll have to say your na when we say our vows," she murmured, her voice softer than before, as though she were trying to reason with herself more than him.
The thought lingered, unfolding in her mind in ways she hadn’t allowed herself to fully confront until now. Maybe... maybe everything that ca after: the closeness, the intimacy, the vulnerability of it all... wasn’t sothing she needed to fear so much. Maybe it didn’t have to be overwhelming, not if it was with him.
She pressed herself closer, as if she could hide in the warmth of him, in the steadiness he seed to carry so effortlessly. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t opposed to it, that she wanted this, wanted him, but the words stayed caught sowhere between her chest and her throat, tangled in a fear she couldn’t quite na.
Everything felt too perfect.
Too fragile.
Like saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing, might break it.
He slled warm, familiar, grounding in a way that made her chest ache, and suddenly, without warning, her vision blurred.
She wanted to cry.
Maximilian exhaled slowly, his hand settling at her back, feeling the way she clung to him, holding on too tightly for it to be anything but fear.
"Do you not trust ?" he asked quietly.
Catherine pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes already glistening.
"No," she said imdiately, her voice trembling. "No. Never. I trust you."
The answer ca too quickly, too honestly to be mistaken.
"I’m just..." Her words faltered, and before she could stop herself, she turned slightly, as though retreat might be easier than explaining sothing she didn’t fully understand.
But he didn’t let her go.
His hand closed gently around her wrist, stopping her, not forceful, just enough to keep her there.
"What is it, Catherine?" he asked, softer this ti.
She hesitated.
And then she turned back.
"I’m scared," she admitted, the words finally slipping free, bare and unguarded.
There was no pretense in it. No attempt to soften it or dress it up into sothing else.
Just the truth.
"I’m scared to do anything wrong," she continued, her voice unsteady but determined. "I want us to work... so badly, I’m willing to do anything."
The confession hung between them, fragile and heavy all at once.
Because it wasn’t just fear of him. It was fear of losing sothing that already ant too much.
And in that mont, she wasn’t the composed, thoughtful woman everyone saw.
She was just... soone who cared too much to risk getting it wrong.
Maximilian pulled her into his arms without hesitation, holding her close, one hand steady at her back, the other resting gently against her head as though shielding her from sothing unseen.
For a brief mont, he had wondered if it was doubt—if sowhere, beneath everything they had built, she still didn’t trust him enough.
But that wasn’t it. ot even close. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him enough. If anything... it was the opposite.
It was because she loved him too much.
The realization settled in him with a quiet certainty, threading through mories he alone carried—the weight of a promise once made and broken, the way her voice had trembled when she had said his na back then, and the final ti she had called for him... when everything had already been lost.
He understood now, not as sothing logical, but as sothing deeply, painfully human.
To her, those monts were not separate. Love, loss, his na, the end—it had all tangled together into sothing she couldn’t easily unravel. And even if they weren’t truly connected, even if saying his na had nothing to do with what had happened...
He understood why, in her heart, it felt like it did.
Because she had given him everything once. And she was afraid of what it might cost her to do it again.
He lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her hair, his hold tightening just slightly, grounding her.
"You love too much, Catherine," he said quietly.
There was no teasing in it. No lightness. Just truth.
If she had found the courage to lay her fear bare like that, then he would et her there, without pretense, without making her feel small for it.
In his arms, Catherine let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding, her body easing just a little as his words settled into her. There was relief in it, fragile but real.
He understood her.
That alone felt like sothing she hadn’t dared to hope for.
"Not as much as you do... I don’t think I know how to," she murmured softly.
Her voice carried no argunt, only quiet conviction. Because how could she ever match what he had given her? The patience, the steadiness, the way he stayed—again and again—without asking for anything in return, even when she pushed, even when she faltered.
If their roles had been reversed... She wasn’t sure she would have been as strong.
Maximilian let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm against her hair as he kissed her again, but he didn’t answer.
Because he knew; he knew it wasn’t true.
There were things she didn’t rember. Things she couldn’t asure herself against. And even now, there were parts of his love that were not entirely gentle—threads of guilt, of regret, of a past that still lingered in him like a shadow.
Sotis, he wondered if it was that guilt that had deepened everything, sharpened his resolve, made his love feel heavier, more unyielding than it should have been.
But none of that mattered here.
Not in this mont.
All that mattered was the way she fit against him now, the way her breathing had steadied, the way her hands still held onto him, not out of fear this ti, but out of sothing quieter.
Sothing that chose to stay.
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