My throat tightened.
"You're becoming more overprotective than my own mother," she said, laughing lightly, her voice was like silk soaked in warmth. "You act like I'm made of glass."
"You are," he whispered. "You're my glass."
My fists clenched at my sides. I remembered this moment. I remembered thinking it was just the beginning of us.
I didn't know it was already the end.
"Damon," she said softly, looking up at him in the mirror, "do you think the witches will really hold their word?"
Young me hesitated. He smiled too quickly, almost too confidently.
"If they break it, they'll answer to us."
"And if it's already too late?"
"Then I'll stop it," he said simply.
Gods… I was such a fool.
"Promise me something?" she asked, placing her hand on his.
"Anything."
"Be here when I wake up. I want the first face our baby sees to be yours."
"Of course, I'll be with you."
