“No, no. Just… More strange dreams. Since the accident. They’re coming every night now.”
My stomach knots. “About what?”
She hesitates. “It’s silly.”
“Lucy.” I tilt her chin up until our eyes lock, my tone gently insistent. “I want to know.”
“It’s too bizarre to even describe. There was this dog on my street called Buddy when I was a kid. I used to play with him, but one day he went crazy and got taken away. I don’t know why. Now I’m dreaming about him turning into this evil dog and attacking me. I think it’s my subconscious trying to deal with something. Or just fuck with me. I can’t decide.”
A self-conscious laugh escapes her. I try to keep my expression neutral. Christ, has her subconscious turned me into a rabid dog?
“Lucy.” I rise, propping myself on my elbows to level our gazes. “I need you to know something. If you’re ever scared, upset, or need someone, I’m here for you. You can come to me in tears or in a panic, doesn’t matter the hour. Any time of day or night, I’m here.”
She gives me a tentative smile. “Even if it’s a dream about a dog?”
“Even if it’s a dream about a possessed teddy bear. I don’t care what it is.”
My heart pounds as I look down at her lying next to me, her hair splayed across the pillow. This is my chance. She’s in my bed, vulnerable and trusting.
I need to tell her the truth. To own up to my past. I’m striving to become a better man, someone worthy of her.
But the memory of her anger, the sharp words she hurled at me on the stairs of the Plaza Hotel, holds me back.
I lean in, pressing a kiss against her lips, but the usual assurance is gone. I’m unsteady, unsettled. I need more time.
“I’ve just realized something,” she says, her fingers tracing abstract patterns on my chest. “I never asked you what JP stands for. John Paul, right?”
“That’s right.”
She smirks up at me. “Like the Pope?”
“Not exactly.” I chuckle, moving hair from her face. “My grandfather was named Juan. It’s a nod to him.”
“Ooh, Spanish?” Her eyes glint with interest.
“Yes, indeed.”
“Can you speak Spanish?”
“I can,” I affirm, my thumb gently tracing her bottom lip, prompting her to part her lips ever so slightly.
“Say something for me then,” she breathes.
I draw closer, my chest against hers, and murmur in her ear, “Quiero pasar el resto de mi vida contigo.”
“Wow. That was hot. What does it mean?”
“It means I want to spend the day with you,” I murmur. In actuality, it meansI want to spend the rest of my life with you.
She grins.
“So,” I ask. “What do you say?”
She squirms under me. “I can’t. I have a therapy session this afternoon.”
I nod. “Okay. That’s important. But let me at least make you breakfast first.”
“Oh, my God. Dinner and breakfast? This is a great deal. What will you do for the rest of the day?”
