“Did you know it was my idea to keep that last scene in? Your father didn’t like—” The man’s mouth was moving, but I wasn’t hearing the words. I could feel her in the room before I saw her. Standing at the top of the staircase somehow looking more gorgeous than the first day I met her. It was her, my heart pounded. She was here. It was like seeing your favorite painting for the first time. This strong urge to feel it, wrap yourself in it, cover every wall in it. She was my favorite painting.
