My brows rose. “Oh you can, can you?”

He gave one quick, decisive nod. “Close your eyes, Your Highness.” I laughed. “No, you can’t laugh. You have to take this seriously.”

I pressed my lips together. “Okay. Lay it on me.” I cleared my throat, remembering that I needed to speak plainly. “I mean—proceed.”

“Take my hands and close your eyes. Begin to breathe deeply and relax.” I did as he asked. “Now listen carefully and envision what I describe. You’ve come home from a long day at your job—a job you love where you work with people who are kind to you and appreciate your contributions. You get out of your car, which you bought with money you’ve been saving up. And you live in your own place that you decorated yourself. A place where you are safe and calm and happy. You’re at your front door right now. Do you see it?”

I was amazed at how easily I could picture a door made of dark wood with a polished brass handle. “Now you take your keys out of your bag and put the key in the lock. After you unlock the door, then you slowly turn the knob. You see the entryway. You see your pictures and art pieces hanging on the walls, your rug on the floor, your furniture in the living room. You walk inside, just like you’ve been doing for weeks, months, years. And your home is a place that you love.”

He was quiet for a long moment, so I went with it…picturing what he described and then some. I let myself walk around in that imaginary space, feeling relaxed, allowing the stress of the day to melt away from me.

“You notice that something smells different,” he continued. “The smell is coming from the kitchen. A delicious aroma of cooked vegetables and meat and spices.”

A self-cooking kitchen? Not bad. Or maybe a housekeeper? I bit my tongue and didn’t ask because I wanted him to continue.

Fortunately, he did. “When you enter the kitchen, you see that there’s soup in the slow cooker.”

“Who put it there?” I couldn’t help asking that time.

“I did. I made the soup for you. I make very good soup.”

I opened one eye to look at him. “How come I didn’t know that?”

He smiled. “You didn’t ask. Close your eyes,” he murmured and I obeyed.

I started hoping that somewhere in this imaginary house, my personal soup chef would show up wearing nothing but his apron. Because he stood close to me and his smell was making my nose tingle, I was starting to crave his arms around me.

“Do you smell the soup?” William asked.

“Yes. My stomach is growling.”

“Good. Because when I come into the kitchen, the first thing I’ll do is kiss you and ask you how your day was. Then, I’ll spoon you a bowl of soup and cut a slice of fresh bread I bought at the bakery.”

“Do you live here, too?”

There was a long pause. “That’s for you to decide. This is your exercise, not mine.”

I swallowed. “Hmm. Maybe…maybe if you hug me while I’m visualizing? That might help.”

Seconds later, William shifted closer and then his strong arms were around me. I gulped, overpowered by emotions as he held me.

My domestic vision was suddenly replaced by powerful, protective arms holding me while the park fireworks terrorized me. A soft voice whispering in my ear, telling me I’d be all right. That he would never leave me. Keen eyes that noticed everything, even my chipped fingernail. Long, deft fingers sweeping away my tears, telling me my heart was as beautiful as my face and my body. Lips that caressed mine slowly but could also possess me fiercely. A man who stood up for me against a bully—more than once—while subjecting himself to ridicule and a potentially devastating loss.

I pressed my face into William’s suit jacket and inhaled him. And I felt that jolt, followed by a deep, warm sensation in my chest—of safety, of security, of unconditional love. Home.

Because there are many things you’ll do for the ones you care about—sacrifices you’ll endure, risks you’ll take, obstacles you’ll overcome. But for the one who’s become the air you breathe and the home you crave, you’ll forgive any flaw, brave any challenge and even plan a new future.

And I was ready—so ready—to plan a future with him.

“Wil, I want to kiss you.”

He hesitated for a moment then tilted his head toward me. “On the cheek or on the mouth? With tongue?”

I growled, grabbing the back of his head, and after his initial shock, he complied readily. And we were kissing…just like that. As if we had never stopped.

His tongue slid into my mouth, scorching me. His hands curled around my shoulder blades and he hitched me to him. Heat streaked through me and powerful desire burned like a wildfire up and down my spine.

Suddenly, it was feeling very warm in the little church and it wasn’t even summer yet. I could hear footsteps near the altar—probably an altar boy or even the priest. William must have heard too, because he paused and slowly pulled his mouth away.

Our damp foreheads pressed together. “Jenna.”

“William,” I replied.

“Say you won’t go away again. Not unless you take me with you.”

“I won’t go anywhere without you if it makes me feel as miserable as I have been these past few weeks.”

His arms tightened around me. “Let’s not be stupid like that again,” he said. “We belong together.”

“Come on…your crowd skills are going to be tested once again, at least for a little while. We need to go to the wedding party. And I need to show off my handsome American.”

He laughed. “I’ve been listening to recordings to learn how to say key phrases in Bosnian.”

“Well, I like the ones I’ve heard so far…”

“Želim te.”

I sucked in a breath, warm desire blooming in my center. “Mmm. I want you, too. Tonight. After the party.”

I took his hand, and we walked out of the church and into the square. I couldn’t wait to show him around and explore new places with him beside me.

But first, I wanted to introduce him to my family. I was certain that they’d love him. Maybe not as much as I did, but that was okay.

Because now I understood what being home truly was. With William’s help, I’d finally found it.

And it felt incredible.