The truth is, we need her help. We’ve only been engaged for six months, not a lot of time to plan a wedding, but once Caleb placed that diamond on my finger, we rushed to make it official. It felt right to celebrate our union during the holidays, my father’s favorite season.
Caleb runs his thumb, rough with guitar string calluses, slowly over my cheek as I stare back. He’s gorgeous, relaxed and happy. His bright aqua eyes shine. His golden hair has grown longer, curling over the tops of his ears. His muscles, all those gorgeous, sculpted muscles, shift as he runs his thumb down my jaw and then over my lips. Almost two years together and I still can’t get enough.
I suck in a breath, overcome by it—my love for him. It’s a deep, deep pool I could swim in forever.
“I love it when you look at me like that,” he says softly.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m your favorite thing.”
The curl of my smile brushes against his fingertip. “That’s because you are.” I lean forward to run my nose along his and then whisper in his ear, “My favorite.”
When I pull back, I expect him to be happy, but he’s not. There’s a wrinkle between his eyes as he frowns.
“What if you stop feeling that way?” he asks, suddenly forlorn. “What if you change your mind? Love is fragile, and life is long. How many people have found love only to lose it?”
I move closer, pressing my body along his. I soak up his warmth and return it back to him. “Those people aren’t us, Caleb. We won’t lose this. It’s you and me, forever and always. Remember? We promised.”
Both of us are silent for a minute, recalling how we broke that promise once before, about how he left me. But then he returned, and my once-shattered heart was glued back together, stronger than ever.
That worried furrow in his brow remains. “But—”
I silence him with a kiss.
I know this Caleb. This is anxious Caleb. Insecure Caleb. He’s told me before that it’s times like this, when the what-ifs of life have overwhelmed him, when he’s ended up with a bottle in his hand and alcohol on his tongue. That’s not going to happen anymore. I’m here, and I’ll soothe away those worries. I’ll comfort him like he comforts me. Sometimes I think we take turns freaking out, with one of us spiraling into darkness and the other pulling us back into the light. Looks like it’s my chance to be the savior today.
I kiss him breathless, until I feel his body relax under my touch, and only then do I stop. “There’s no world where we aren’t end game,” I tell him. “With everything we’ve already been through, all the obstacles we’ve overcome, you’re the one for me, and I can’t wait—” I choke on my words, tears building in the back of my throat. “I can’t wait to put on my white dress and walk down that aisle to you. Heck, I’ll run down it if you’re there at the end waiting for me.”
He gives me my special smile, small and tender, brimming with love. “I’ll be there. I’d wait for you for a million years and then a million more.”
I melt, my body folding around him as my mouth seeks his. He kissesme like he’s memorizing the shape of me, the sound of my sighs, the taste of my lips.
“I wish you’d take the jet,” he murmurs into my mouth.
I push away with a huff. “We’ve already talked about this.”
Caleb runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. “Come on, Gwen. I own an airplane. This is what it’s meant for. Use it.”
“I don’t want to be like that,” I counter, frustrated that we’re discussing thisagain.
“Like what?”
I push away and stare at the wall, refusing to meet his eyes. They say a storm is coming, but for now, the sky outside the window is clear. Dawn splashes rays of rosy pink, yellow, and orange across the room. Normally, the sight would send me scrambling for my paintbrush to capture those transient hues, but not with how aggravated this conversation makes me.
I answer his question. “You know that I want to travel in coach like a normal person, at least for now.”
He tenses next to me. “How do you not understand? You can’t be that way, not if you’re going to be with me. There’s nothing normal about my life.”
I’m aware I’m frustrating him. That I’m full of contradictions. With one hand I cling to who I’ve always been, but with the other hand I eagerly grasp for who I’ll be in the future, once I become his wife.
I can’t have both.
I have to let one go, but it’s hard.
I sigh, equally frustrated. “I get that, but for now I can still go out and not be recognized.”
“That won’t last,” he argues. “After this wedding, everyone will know who you are and what you mean to me.”
