“Steven!”
I almost shake him awake, then stop. After months, he’s finally sleeping peacefully. My heart softens. I tuck the blanket around him, press a kiss into his golden hair, and quietly slip on the pair of cotton shorts that I took from the chair. I pull my hair up in a low ponytail, and before leaving the room I take one last look at him. Fleur, half-asleep, nestles beside him like she’s claimed him too. I can’t help but smile as I close the door.
The kitchen is quiet. Maggie’s door is still closed. Good. I have time.
From the fridge, I pull out the white paper bag stamped withWhite & Cream, Steven’s family bakery. There’s a slice of Red Velvet cake inside—Maggie’s favorite. It fits her food plan, and her nutritionist never specified breakfast rules. Maybe today can be different.
I take her favorite plate, the blue one with white flowers, and cut the cake into seven small pieces, arranging them into the shape of a heart. I fill a glass with apricot juice, and I grab fork. I don’t set a place for Steven—Maggie can’t handle the pressure of watching someone else eat with her.
I sit at the counter, rummaging through the pile of chocolate bars I bought on sale last week. Two carts full, because usually chocolate loses to dish soap in our budget. I unwrap a bar with rum and raisins, take a bite, and close my eyes. “Hmm...”
A voice startles me. “Morning sex in the kitchen?”
I look up, choking on my chocolate bar. Maggie leans in the doorway, wearing only her brother’s oversized T-shirt, pale legs bare. Her messy bun slips sideways, and her blue eyes—ringed by dark circles—are heavy with exhaustion. She shivers.
“Huh?” I manage, cheeks bulging with chocolate.
She grins, sliding into the chair. “You’re moaning like you’re having the best orgasm of your life.”
“That’ll happen tonight,” I shoot back.
Her smile tilts, but I notice the goosebumps on her thin arms, the brittle shine of her hair. She’s always had the delicate frame of a dancer, but lately it’s sharper, more fragile. But she still manages to be the most beautiful woman in the world. A broken angel who lost her wings. A breathtaking work of art.
“You’re staring,” she teases, biting into the cake.
“Turns you on?” I grin.
She rolls her eyes. “You have no idea. Want to try the washing machine? You’d look hot with morning breath and drool stains while I fuck you.”
I burst out laughing, forehead dropping to her arm. “I’m madly in love with you too.”
Before she can answer, Steven’s voice interrupts, rough with sleep. “You’re trying to steal my girlfriend again, Margaret.”
I glance over. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. “You’re awake already?” I ask, moving toward him.
“I couldn’t sleep without you.” His arms circle me, warm and familiar.
“You should’ve stayed in bed. You were sleeping so peacefully...”
“It was enough,” he says softly, brushing a strand from my face.
“It wasn’t,” I whisper.
He silences me with a look. “Don’t argue. I’m fine.”
He takes a seat in front of Maggie, but turns to face me when he realizes that she’s having breakfast. Maggie snorts into her cake, but her mouth twitches with a smile she’s trying to hide. I smile too. I love the mutual respect between them. For a second, the room feels lighter.
I hand Steven my chocolate bar, and he takes a bite before kissing me. Then Maggie cuts in again, “What time does the opening start?”
“Four-thirty,” he replies.
“I’ll be late. Rehearsal ends at five.”
“Don’t worry, you don’t even need to—”
I slap a hand over his mouth. “We do.”
Maggie winks at me. “Nova’s got to eat your macarons and beg the mayor to fund her stupid shelter. I’ll come only to advertise the recital. Don’t flatter yourself.”
