Being married to Nila made my life, my very fucking world, complete.
The past six weeks had been a chaotic mess of building new goals, guiding our dreams forward, and slipping into new patterns of normalcy.
Tex had found Jacqueline.
Nila and Vaughn had stared at the photo of their sister for days before deciding to set up a meeting.
They’d all agreed to meet somewhere neutral. A restaurant two weeks from now.
I feared how fraught everyone’s emotions would be that night, but I would be beside her every step.
Not a day went by where I wasn’t fucking awed by Nila. She handled her sister’s reappearance, her new world, and my need for her emotional comfort with ease. She guarded my condition when we were out in public. She knew exactly how to treat me so I felt loved but not mothered.
And she let me do everything she did for me in return. She allowed me to provide a home for her, deliver gifts in both physical and emotional capacity.
Together, we’d found a new happiness, and I lived in its bubble every second of every day.
After our wedding and honeymoon in Santorini, Nila had returned to her craft with passion. She sewed late into the night while I completed ledgers and created new loyalties. We would often work side by side, sometimes in the Weaver quarters where all her fabric, supplies, and mess still lived; sometimes in the front parlour where I liked to drink up the sunshine, and sometimes in bed. A lazy afternoon where we stayed hunkered in warm covers and did the bare minimum of adult responsibilities so we could play beneath the sheets for the rest of the day.
And today, all that hard work had come to fruition.
My heart burst as roses spewed from all around us, kissing our feet.
Nila clung to my forearm, breathing hard, combating any vertigo spell shemight endure.
I’d done my best to find a cure for her. I’d scoured website after website, consulted doctor after doctor. Some said it was an iron deficiency, so I stocked her up on vitamins and minerals. Some said the brain would eventually cease granting dizzy spells as it grew to equalize. However, seeing as she’d had it all her life, I didn’t see that happening.
The best solution I’d found so far were a series of exercises called the Canalith technique. It helped, but hadn’t fixed her.
But we had time, and I wouldn’t stop trying.
For now, I would be her anchor, holding her close in a sea of tilting worlds.
“They adore you, Needle.”
Her face met mine, painted with camera flashes. “They adore the collection. Not me.”
I shook my head, looking over the carpet of journalists, photographers, and celebrities.
Fashionistas and reporters from all over the world had come to witness Nila’s Rainbow Diamond Collection. The collection she’d started when she’d stood naked on Hawksridge lawn about to run for her life through the forest.
She’d told me being naked that day and wearing only diamonds had given her the strength to run. It’d also been the inspiration to create her best showpieces and couture designs yet. Her brand,Nila,graced not just the high fashion world but shops and local department stores, too.
I’m so fucking proud of her.
Tonight, she hadn’t shared the limelight with any boutique or label. The entire two-hour production had been piece after piece she’d created at Hawksridge and a few pieces she’d saved from Bonnie’s wardrobe made courtesy of Emma and her ancestors. Those vintage pieces were heralded as a fashion comeback and the words ‘Victorian lace’ and ‘crinoline skirts’ wafted on the warm air inside the theatre.
“You did it. Be proud.” I nuzzled into her neck. My teeth ached to bite, but I restrained myself. Tonight. Tonight, I would bite her and show her just how fucking proud I was.
“I couldn't have done it without you.” She leaned into my embrace, bringing her scent of vanilla and orchid perfume.
“That’s not true, but thank you all the same.” I kissed her ear, careful not to disrupt the intricate up-do Jasmine had helped her with. The past few weeks had flown by and the shorter cut I’d given her in the stables had grown, thick and glossy—the perfect length to fist while her mouth fitted around my cock.
I hardened, remembering her swirling tongue last night.
We’d arrived two days ago in Milan—in the very same theatre where I’d stolen her all those months ago.
Time had its own strange irony.
