“I like time with you.” I lean my head against his shoulder, but just to mess with him, I add, “We’d have more time if I moved into your room, you know. I love my room, but it’s kind of haunted and lonely despite the vibrant colors.”
“It was Ophelia’s room.”
I shoot up, meeting Darcy’s eyes. “What?”
He smiles reminiscently. “My parents—or I—never had the heart to renovate it after she passed. She loved yellow.”
Tears push against my eyes, but now is not the time. I don’t know how to feel. I’m shocked he allowed me to stay there all this time. “Darcy, I—” I’m at a loss for words.
“It’s okay,” he says, rubbing circles on my lower back. “When I saw you in that room after I brought you inside when I accidentally caused you to spill coffee on yourself—sorry for that, by the way—” His smile is sheepish, and it’s adorable. “Anyway, you looked like you belonged in it. An outward manifestation of who you are.” I don’t have the nerve to tell him I’m not as happy on the inside as I pretend to be on the outside, so I continue to stare in disbelief.
Finally, I find some words. “Thank you, Darcy. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you.”
He shrugs, but I can see the weight visibly lifting off his broad shoulders. Instead of searching for more vocabulary, I grab his face and speak my unsorted feelings through a kiss.
The humid June air kinks my curls and adds a sheen of sparkle to my skin as my bare feet sift through the damp, warm sand.
But Darcy’s fingers entwined with mine steady me.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to hold my shoes?” I ask, reaching for the black strappy stilettos dangling from his free hand, but he holds them out of reach. I’m nervous, and I can’t exactly pinpoint why. Dinner was fantastic; the food, the conversation (once I found my words after he dropped the news I was staying in his sister’s former room), and the environment were all ten out of ten. We finished up, I threw my napkin on top of my plate, and complained about a food baby. I thought that was the end of the night, but Darcy said we needed to walk off the food, which is why we are currently strolling down his private beach under the twinkling summer stars.
The romanticism of the night is settling in, and as silence between us stretches on while the light waves lap against the shore, I’m left wondering how this is real life.
I’ve always been the woman who has held her own. I know my worth, and I inherently do not believe any human is superior to another. But Darcy Marshall feels out of my league. And the more I remember I’m not only married in name to him but am actively dating him with real-feelings building within me, the more anxiety nips at my heels and claws at my throat.
He doesn’t know my full story. He doesn’t know that I watched a girl die and did nothing to save her. He doesn’t know all of the almosts that have happened in my life. He doesn’t know all of the things missing from my life.
“What’s going on in that brilliant brain of yours?” Darcy’s voice breaks through the night.
Should I tell him? Is now a good time? I trust him, so I should,right?
I settle on small steps.
“I don’t know when my birthday is.”
His tone is infected with confusion. “It’s January 18th, right?”
“I celebrate on January 18th, but if I’m being honest, I’m not sure when my birthday is. My parents only left a note saying my name was Hayden Bennett when they left me in the basket on the steps of the group home. My birthday could be in December, or it could be earlier in January.” I squirm a little, uncomfortable with this wee bit of information I’m granting him. When he realizes he married a woman who had to pick her own birthday, will he bolt? “I chose January 18th to celebrate. It just seemed as good a date as any.”
Surprisingly, he’s quick to respond. “A winter birthday doesn’t fit you. You are warm like summer. Should we celebrate this month instead?”
I stop in my tracks, struck by his statement. He meets my gaze, eyes widening as if asking what he did wrong. The innocence and sincerity painting his face throw me over the edge in laughter. “I appreciate the compliment, but I’ve spent twenty-nine years celebrating on January 18th, so I think I’ll keep it.” What is he thinking to suggest I change my birthday based on the season he associates me with?
“What’s so funny?”
“You want to change my birthday,” I choke out between laughs.
Darcy wraps his arms around me, dropping my shoes. As he draws me close to him, the sound of my laughter fades into the sea. He kisses me once on the forehead, and I realize I’ll never tireof the warmth of his lips against my skin. “Well, at least your birth brings warm comfort to the longest winter.”
I light up. I shine like the sun rays he believes I emit.
Terror rises as I fully understand one thing: I’m in love with my for-convenience husband.
I place my hands on either side of his face, standing on my tiptoes and dragging his lips down to mine, confessing all the things I don’t have the nerve or boldness to say because I’ve never had something I so desperately wanted to keep.
For once since my childhood, I’m filled with fear.
But I let him press his lips to mine anyway.
