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“Did you know that the first person who discovers a star gets to name it anything they want?” She was silent for a second before slowly turning her head side to side. “No, but I’m not a star, Bishop. You can’t own me.” “No one owns the stars, baby. Everyone can admire them from a distance, but that one man whose eyes first sighted that brilliant speck of light and recognized it for the treasure that it is, that man will always have a special bond with that star.”
Belonging to a man could be its own kind of freedom—protection, adoration, support, and companionship. I’d be her damn everything if she’d let me.
“Lucky for you, I’m Irish, and we’re used to our women being entirely too batshit crazy to control.”
