“Because he didn’t know her. Just…helped her cross.” I picture the scene and photograph it in my mind. “What about you?”
“My fiancé bought me girly napkins.” I giggle.
“C’mon, angel. I hope you know I’ve got more plans for you tonight.”
“Such as?” I ask, cheeks warming.
“You really want me to say them out loud, huh?” His grin morphs into a wicked one and I turn crimson. “First, I’m gonna carry you like this—” His arms scoop under my knees and back, lifting me bridal-style. “Then we’re going upstairs and—” I press my index finger gently to his mouth, shaking my head in shy refusal. Vox doesn’t laugh. He drinks me with that intensity that always knocks the air out of me. Passion and worship fighting for space in his gaze. When we reach our room, we fall into the heaven of the small kingdom we’ve built with our own hands. My chest pressed to his. His heart against mine. Both of us finding the shore after almost drowning, holding on to each other to learn to breathe again.
When the quiet settles around us, I nuzzle my nose against his ear. And he freezes, because he knows me better than I know myself. He knows what it costs me, what it means when I try.Don't do it for my sake.I hear him beg in silence.
“I–I…lo-lo-love… you.” Broken syllables, fragile and trembling, escape my lips. A soft murmur sliced out of me, offered to the only man who has ever deserved it. His hand cups my face, steadying me, his voice rough.
“Back at you, angel. Today, tomorrow, and even when I’m long gone, buried and made of dust,” he kisses me, “even then.”
Chapter 8
Rose
I wakeup to the smell of waffles and our linen sheets wrapped around me. Our chubby fluff ball is sleeping soundly at the end of the bed. A pale stripe of sunrise slips past the gap in the curtains and stretches across the bed, trying to crawl its way into our bedroom. I can almost see the trees blowing with the wind from my little piece of heaven. Vox’s pillow is empty, the clock reading seven thirty. As much as I wish we could wake up together, my man is an early riser. Six o'clock sharp, rain or shine. I do admire his dedication to his work, harnessing the early hours of the day even from home, working out to train his mind and body with the same determination as an athlete. And if he isn’t up working for the club, he's working on the house. My eyes close and I send out a silent prayer, just in case anyone is listening. A humble thank you for leading this man into my life.
Climbing out of bed, I slide my feet into my slippers and tug at the hem of my cream cotton sleep set. I bought them online a month ago. I’m still not over the fact that I can order clothes and get them to my doorstep without being the one weaving them.Some things will never cease to amaze me. I pull my hair into a quick, high ponytail and tiptoe toward the kitchen.
He stands at the sink with his back to me, facing the window that overlooks the garden. His shoulders fill out the navy T-shirt he wears, muscles shifting gently as he rinses something under the tap. Birds are chirping outside, welcoming me. I try to make the smallest sound possible, planning to sneak up and surprise him.
“Even after all this time, you still think I don’t know when you’re in the same room as me.” His voice comes out calm and amused, proving me completely wrong. I smile, busted, and abandon any idea of being stealthy. My feet carry me the rest of the way in hurried little steps. I slip my arms around his waist from behind and hug him, pressing my face between his shoulder blades. He dries his hands quickly, then turns. In one practiced motion, he circles me and traps me gently between his body and the sink, his arms braced on either side of me.
“My, my,” he mouths, eyes dropping briefly to my outfit before coming back to my face, “is this the scent of waffles that woke you up, or was it me?”
I purse my lips and pretend to think about it. “Definitely waffles,” I sign.
He presses a hand to his chest as if I have mortally wounded him. “I figured,” he says, a grin tugging at his mouth. He dips his head and kisses the tip of my nose. Then he catches my mouth with his, first gently, then with more reverence, as if he was tasting something precious. I hold fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer as my eyes flutter shut. When we part, he watches me for a second, thumb brushing my cheek, signing, “Slept alright?”
I shrug in answer. “Not really.”
His mouth twitches. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Wedding stuff,” I sign, my fingers moving slower now.
He nods once. “Same, sweetheart.” The air thickens between us with unspoken thoughts. My hands hesitate, then move before I can stop them. “Are you having…a change of heart?” I sign. The floor seems to shift underneath me the second I ask. Fear has a way of pushing in where it does not belong, even here. His expression softens immediately. He runs a hand through my hair, fingers brushing the back of my neck. “For my heart to change, someone would have to pull it out of my chest with pliers,” he says with a scoff. “I’m just wondering if this isn’t too soon for you, that’s all.”
“Why would it be?” I ask, my hands tracing the shapes in the air.
“A year ago you were…there,” he says quietly. The word hangs between us.
“It’s different,” I sign.
“I know.” His gaze grows distant for a second, thoughtful and heavy. “In some ways, it kind of isn’t, though. You’re getting married again. That part doesn’t change. It could…trigger you. I don’t know, it might… It might make you want to run.” He pauses, eyes tightening. “From me.”
“Vox,” I shape silently with my lips. No sound leaves my throat, yet his eyes flare with recognition. Part of me suspects he loves the way his name looks there. I take a breath and let the truth rise from where it has been settled for a long time. “In my head, we’re already married,” I sign slowly. He studies me carefully, searching for any hesitation.
“You’re sure about this, angel? We can wait. I can wait. I’ll wait until I’m too old to walk if I have to.” A small laugh bursts out of me.
“You won’t have to wait that long,” I sign, reaching up on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Tomorrow we’re getting married. That’s it. No change of heart. And definitely no running away.” Hisshoulders drop a little as tension leaves him. A half smile tugs at his mouth. I lift my hands again before he can say anything else.
“And even if I did run away?—”
“I’d catch you in a heartbeat,” he finishes, lips curving into a full grin. He leans in for another kiss. It stretches longer this time, deepening until our breathing matches. The rest of the world narrows down to the steady drumming of his heart under my palms and the taste of maple on his lips from whatever he already sampled. Eventually, he pulls back and twists me gently, settling me onto one of the tall stools near the kitchen island. A plate of waffles waits there, stacked with care. He pours syrup over them in a slow ribbon and adds a handful of sliced strawberries on top.
