Aiden’s eyes hold mine, the colors blurring into something warmer. “Then we tell them we didn’t want to waste more time because we already lost enough. That we wanted to be a family, and support each other.” His voice softens as he inches closer.“That I wanted to take care of you, so you know you don’t ever have to carry the load alone, again.”
So much time alone really sold the lie that I can’t lean on anyone.
But this is one of the heaviest things I can ask Aiden to carry with me, and he’s not blinking. He’s steady in ways I’m scared to be.
If I let him help now, what happens when the year is over and I’m alone again?
“You don’t have to sellme,” I whisper. “But that sounds pretty good.”
His shoulders ease like he’d been bracing for me to bolt.
“Does it?” he asks, like he’s looking for an answer I haven’t given yet.
“It really does.” But there’s one more thing I need to vocalize, and it’s the scariest of all. “But I need you to be my husband. Out loud.”
Aiden’s expression stills. “Explain what you mean by that,” he murmurs.
Inside, I’m panicking. Full-blown shrieking and running around.
Aiden steps up every single day. He could easily play the part.
But… we’re sleeping in separate rooms. We’re careful with affection, sneaking it and rarely in public—minus Opening Day when the newlywed high got the best of me.
My parents will see right through us. Especially my mother. If she knows I’m madly in love with him, but we aren’t affectionate, she’ll have questions.
Relentless, judgmental questions.
“Beyond paper. I mean—” I gesture helplessly. “For my parents. For the visit. So my mother doesn’t find a stray thread and start pulling.”
I don’t know why I’m so scared to just tell him the truth: that theonlyway this works is if we let down the walls we both have raised.
And keep them down.
We have to stop fighting and second-guessing the emotions I suspect we both feel but refuse to label.
But mostly, I don’t want to give my mother the room to ask too many questions.
His eyes soften, and I hate how much that affects me.
“You want to sell it,” he says.
“I want to survive it,” I correct, because if I call it selling, it feels like I’m cheapening something that might be the best thing I’ve ever had. “My parents will read my face in ten seconds. If you’re weird, they’ll know. If I’m weird, they’ll know.”
Aiden nods slowly.
“Should we add more rules?” he asks. “We never really addressed public displays of affection.”
“What if we,” I pause to swallow and steel myself. “What if we go with what feels natural?”
“Withwhateverfeels natural?” he asks quietly.
I blow out a breath. We’re adults—married adults—who have a history with each other. This conversation shouldn’t make me feel like the floor is going to swallow me whole.
But it’s Aiden, and I think if we lean into what I’m asking, that’ll be it for me. I’ll want forever. I’m dangerously close anyway, but that will be the tipping point.
He’s not someone who’s free with kisses or touches, at least with anyone but me. That means they’re special in a way I can’t quite measure.
“To a point. And then we’ll discuss.”
