“Was he kind?” she asked.
“Kind? How do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said and then, on instinct, shuffled another inch across the bed. “Was he generous? Did you and he get along?”
“We did,” Christopher admitted. “Assuming that I behaved,” he added with a soft chuckle, a sound that was becoming more and more naturally sounding. “I do miss my father more than he would ever believe. But I wish I could remember my mother. Even when I close my eyes and try my hardest, I can’t…” He sniffed again. “There is nothing there, not even a memory.”
“I am sure that she loved you.”
“I know that she did,” he said with a serious tone, as if he needed himself to believe it. “I just wish I could tell her how much I love her in return. For everything.”
To most, such revelations would not be that big of a deal. To speak about one’s father and mother, their upbringing, and the love they held for their parents, was not such a big thing. But in the context of Christopher and who he was, it was huge.
It told Rose that he was starting to trust her.
It told Rose that he was starting to care about her.
It told Rose that he had accepted that she was now a part of his life, that he wanted her to be a part of his life, and that he knew that to happen, he needed to give her more.
Rose smiled through the dark, wishing that Christopher could see it. But she knew it did not matter, as if he could already sense how grateful she was.
Christopher was still the same man she had married all those weeks ago, but he was also not the same. Slowly but surely, the walls he had erected around himself were being chipped away. Better still, he was the one doing it.
He wants me to get to know him better, I am sure of it. He just doesn’t know how.
“Christopher…” She shuffled over, making her movement more obvious this time. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For sharing…” She reached out and found his hand beside him, taking it, pulling it to her chest, and squeezing it. “You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”
“I do,” he said as he turned on his side to look at her. “I do.”
There wasn’t much else to say after that.
Oh, sure, Rose could have pushed a little bit harder. She could have asked about Christopher’s father more, or his aunt. She could have asked for stories from his childhood, who his first kiss was, any number of things to continue to chip away at his walls.
She knew, too, that for now, there was no need. This was not a race, but a slow and steady journey that would last the rest of their lives. And if she played things just right, the rest of their lives might not be nearly as bad as they could have been.
For that reason, Rose was happy to let go of Christopher’s hand, turn on her side, and try for more sleep. This time, when she did, she did not feel nearly as uncomfortable as before. If anything, having him sleep in the bed with her felt right.
When Rose drifted off, she felt Christopher beside her, shuffling close, his body right beside her own. Whether it was an accident or not, she could not say, but at one point in the night, his arm wrapped around her and pulled her body into his. And not for a second did Rose consider pulling away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
When Rose woke up, she was alone in bed, and it felt nowhere near as good as it should have. chest. Loneliness crashed through her chest, and her stomach dropped. She sat up quickly, looking about the room as if in fear.
That was when the door to the room opened, and Christopher walked in. He saw her in bed, and a smile reached his eyes, one that seemed to light up the room as if the sun was shining directly from his face.
“You are awake,” he said when he saw her.
“I am.” She smiled and did not care that he could see it. “How did you sleep?”
“Honestly? Better than I thought I would.”
“Me too.”
They looked at one another, and the significance of this most simple comment was shared between them. No need to elaborate on it. No need to make a fuss. They both knew how important last night was, and to draw attention to it felt unnecessary.
