I’m astonished at the masterpiece of the image. A new jar to be filled with bright sunflowers, and the older one filled with accomplishments. Both represent our loyalty and love and adoration. Ourdevotion. And I’ve never been more privileged to love someone or anything my entire life.
All of this because of a silly, cracked jar with stained glass.
I don’t think I have ever felt the true weight of the wordloveuntil this very moment. Not inthiscapacity, at least. I have been in love with this man beside me for nearly a decade, and I can’t remember a time I wasn’t—even when he was gone.
Love isn’t a strong enough word anymore. Not for this.
My eyes narrow in on the chips in his jar. “I’m so proud of you,” I breathe and rest my head on his shoulder. “You did it.”
His lips press to the top of my head. “I couldn’t have done any of it—anything without you.”
“I love you.”
“I know,” he says. “It’s what made me a better person.”
I huff a laugh.
“And loving you has been the greatest experience of my life,” Christian whispers.
“Forever.”
“Forever,” he reaffirms. “Now, come on. You’re going to love our bedroom.”
Lana
EPILOGUE
SIX MONTHS LATER
Ahouse is not a home.
It’s a cliche saying, but my house would not be a home if it weren’t for my favorite person living in it with me. Just the two of us.
For now.
In the new Jeep Christian insisted on buying me, the same shade of dark green, I park in our driveway. If I didn’t have a blinding headache, I smack my forehead against the top of the steering wheel.
I look out the window, at this magnificent house Christian bought for us and our future family, and more tears join the party. I had just cleared them away before I took the turn onto our street, and now they’re back.
Defeated, I get out of the car with red, puffy eyes from crying for the past hour. With shaky hands, I press the button to lock the car then put the key into the front door. Christian is home, working in the office and in virtual meetings. Some daysI sneak in, interrupt and distract him on purpose. I try to find newcreativeways to get him away from the desk.
One day, I walked in entirely naked and all of his work was forgotten as I undressed him and he made love to me on his desk. That was a good day. The last time I distracted him, I was wearing a purple set from La Perla he’d bought me and went down on him under his desk before he took me on the floor. Another good day.
Do other people do that thing where they think over their most epic and recent sex session? Because I do it often.
The new nurse at the clinic, Selena, helped me feel better after the day I had. I nearly fainted behind the counter at the cafe and that was when Isa and Natalia brought me to the clinic immediately. They said I looked pale and sick so they fed me water and forced me inside. Despite their protests, I insisted they didn’t call Christian because he is working from our home office today.
I just thought that, maybe, I was stressed about planning a wedding with no specific date. I thought the stress and restlessness finally caught up to me. I had barely eaten anything these last few days and Christian has been so concerned that he has been packing lunches, cooking hearty breakfasts, and balanced dinners to end the day. But every time I tried to eat, it’s like it got worse.
Nurse Selena asked me about my symptoms and ran a few blood and urine tests. After giving me time to rest and recover with an IV in my arm, my two best friends hovered, nervously pacing. When the nurse came back, she asked them nicely for privacy after seeing the look on my face. Whatever she saw, I don’t want to know. I was terrified on the inside, but my gut somehow knew whatever she was about to tell me. Maybe it showed.
It was right then that she told me the results of the tests, and it solved the mystery behind my symptoms.
Maybe I should have paid more attention to the weird nausea even if I’ve only vomited once.
Now, in our house, I remove the Balmain combat boots—which I’ve taken care of with my life—and hang my coat. I run my anxious fingers through my hair just as tears prick at my eyes again, stinging and blurring. I pad toward the large family room where the afternoon sunlight pours in, and I lie back on the chaise of our L-shaped sofa.
I pull the throw blanket over my body and wait quietly. I sniff and wipe my cheeks, blinking the tears away.
