He nudges me to my feet, and I turn to face him. His hands drift up and down my sides as he looks at me. He’s seen me naked more times than I can count, but his gaze lingers on every part of me as if it’s the first time.
“Beautiful,” Ollie says, and when his eyes meet mine, there’s not an ounce of teasing in them.
We dissolve into each other after that. Somehow, I’m in his arms again. Somehow, we make our way back to the center of the bed. I don’t realize how desperately I’ve wanted all of him until I’ve undressed him fully. How much I’ve longed for his mouth on every part of me until it’s there. How much I’ve missed him, until he’s on top of me, inside of me, until I lose myself beneath him.
Being with Ollie is better than I remember, but it’s bittersweet too. Before, sex was always something to get out of our systems. Or something we didn’t acknowledge because it was too complicated. Untilnow, every night we’ve spent together has been about taking as much of each other as we could carry, never knowing how long it would be until we could have each other again. But even then, even in those moments when we lost control, we were always holding back. Sex with Ollie has never felt like it does tonight—open, vulnerable, a gift.
Afterward, when the both of us are spent, I rest my head against his chest, indulging in the satisfied post-sex state of him. When he’s nearly asleep, I tug one of the hairs on his arm, and he blinks awake to shoot me a glare.
“What was that for?”
“For better or for worse,” I say.
He rubs his arm. “Worse is right.” His scowl disappears, and he rolls on top of me. His body pressed against mine stills something restless within me, making me realize how unanchored I’ve felt ever since he quit the boat. “Speaking of for better or worse,” he says. “What are we supposed to... tell everyone?”
“About what?”
“About us.”
“Oh,” I say. I hadn’t really gotten that far. “It would be weird to tell everyone we’re married right? They might have a lot of questions we don’t want to answer.”
“Probably,” Ollie says, but his expression is hesitant.
“What if we told everyone we’re dating? Just for now. And in a few months we can tell everyone we’ve eloped.”
“How long are you thinking?”
I comb my fingers through his hair. “Three months? That seems reasonable, right? Just like90 Day Fiancé.”
He laughs, and the hesitation in his face disappears. “More like nine-year fiancé.”
“Ollie,” I say.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens. “For what?”
I push myself up to kiss that little groove between his eyebrows before resting against the pillow again. “For loving me all this time. For never giving up.”
He leans down to kiss my forehead, then drops beside me onto the bed and tugs one of my legs between his. “I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried,” he says, one hand drifting sleepily up and down my back. “Still convinced you’ll be the death of me, though, wife.”
The wordwifewhere Ollie would normally saygirlskips through me like a stone on water. I’m not sure where the feeling belongs, if it’s good or something I’d rather worry about later.
Future-Nina’s problem,I tell myself, ignoring the voice in my head when she touches her finger to the tip of her nose and calls,Not it!
19
Three months later, July
“We’re gonna be late, love.”
I catch Ollie’s eye in the bathroom mirror of my apartment. He leans against the open doorway and watches as I apply my mascara, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “Patience, Oliver. It’s just lunch with my parents.”
Ollie lets out a puff of breath. “It’s notjustlunch with your parents.”
I cap my mascara and turn to face him. “Are you... nervous?”
