Time stands still.She’s the bravest, prettiest, smartest woman I know, and she loves me.
“I love you, too, Audrey,” I say.
I kiss her with every ounce of awe, devotion, worship, and desperation I have for her.
Audrey Tripp owns my soul.
I can’t wait to make her my wife.
***
As the days turn into weeks and Ms.Baker remains elusive, Audrey grows more restless.She holds out for four weeks before openly complaining about my strict house arrest.
“Is my home not big enough for you, baby doll?Do I need to buy a few more penthouses so we can live in a different place each day of the week?”I tease.
She scowls and rises from the couch.
I catch her around her waist and pull her into my lap.
“I know how to take your mind off everything,” I whisper against her lips.
After ravaging her and being ravaged in turn, we find ourselves sweaty and spent on the kitchen floor.I pull her onto my chest and buffer her from the hard floor.
The next morning, dozens of boxes arrive.Audrey glares at me in suspicion, but as she opens them one by one, wonder and excitement grow in her eyes.
When she complained about staying home, I realized now was the perfect time to live out the fantasy we shared as kids, so I bought every gaming console I could find.
My father never allowed us to play video games.Many of our conversations revolved around the picturesque childhood neither of us had ever known.
“Have you ever played any of them?”she asks.
I shake my head and cup her nape.
“No, Audrey.I couldn’t.Not without you.”
Silent tears trail down her face.She grabs my collar and pulls me down for a kiss.
With every gaming console integrated into my massive living room entertainment system, we spend days gorging on takeout and video games.The peace and joy of having Audrey by my side so carefree and silly heals the oppressed little boy trapped inside me.
When Liam texts me six weeks after the hotel incident with the news of Ms.Baker’s arrest, I consider keeping it from Audrey until the upcoming storm passes, but no matter how relaxed she seems, I don’t like the worry apparent in her far-off gaze during candid moments, so I tell her.
With a long, relieved sigh, she crosses the living room, wraps her arms around my waist, and rests her head on my chest as we look out at the panoramic view.
“Finally.Now all we need is her confession, and we can add it to the mountain of evidence we’ll use to destroy your father,” she says.
When her words register, I pull her head back by her hair and search her eyes.
“Is that what you were worried about?I thought you were stressing about your friends,” I snarl.
She quirks a brow.
“I’m worried about everything.My friends’ safety, Donald’s craftiness, our future, my job—”
“I can remove the educational requirements,” I interrupt.
Anger narrows her eyes.
“Are you insinuating I’m not smart enough to pass the GED?”she asks.
