This one is a custom piece with a breathable mesh backing and a reinforced titanium plate over the vulnerable nape. When I run my fingers along the interior, I find plush padding to relieve any pressure.
Two months ago, I would have calculated the costdown to the penny and added it to the mental ledger of what I owe Rowan. Now, I simply lift it from the case, its supple length settling across my palm. The guard clicks into place at my nape, molding to my skin in a way my old one never did.
I meet my eyes in the reflection from the mirror. The dark circles that haunted my stare for years have faded, and my cheeks have filled in, my collarbones becoming less prominent beneath skin that’s lost its sickly pallor. The guard sits flush around my neck, its matte finish as elegant as it is functional.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in clothes no longer hanging from my frame, I walk into the kitchen.
Lena sits at the island, uniform perfect, hair braided down her back. A textbook lies open beside her breakfast plate. No more rushed bites for her between throwing on clothes and running for the bus.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” She grins at me over her orange juice. “Nice new guard.”
My hand rises to touch the leather at my neck. “Thanks.”
Rowan turns from the stove, spatula in hand. His apron reads ‘Kiss the Cook’ in blocky red letters. Lena gave it to him our second week here, and it should look ridiculous on him, but somehow it doesn’t.
His eyes land on the guard, pupils dilating, and an appreciative rumble rises from his chest that does bad things to my desire to leave the house today. “Looks good on you, precious.”
Lena snorts, packing her textbook into her backpack. “And that’s my cue to finish getting ready for school. The car will be here in ten minutes.”
She disappears down the hallway, leaving us alone in the kitchen. Rowan sets a plate of eggs and bacon before me and brushes his lips against my temple.
“Coffee?” He doesn’t wait for my answer, already pouring the dark liquid into my favorite mug.
I sample the eggs and find them perfect, as always. “You don’t have to cook every morning.”
“I enjoy feeding you.” His finger traces my collarbone, which protrudes less than it used to. “You’ve put on weight.”
In anyone else’s mouth, it would sound like criticism, but from Rowan, it comes with another rumble of satisfaction. He’s been working to fill out my frame since that first breakfast months ago.
After Lena leaves for school, her laughter echoing in the hallway, Rowan goes to the bedroom to get ready for the day, and I settle at the kitchen island, opening my laptop. My bank account balance glowson the screen, a number I check daily out of ingrained habit, and the number still catches me off guard every time.
The regular deposits from the Blue Note work have piled up faster than I can spend them, even as I continue paying the bills for our apartment, untouched since we packed up and left.
I click on the savings account earmarked for Lena’s college. I’ve been saving for years, and in only two months, the balance has doubled. At this rate, she could attend any school in the state without loans. My finger hovers over the balance, as if the numbers might disappear if I touch the screen.
Rowan’s arms circle my waist from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. “The security upgrades at the Fox Theater came in under budget. I added the difference to her fund.”
“You didn’t have to.” The words lack conviction.
“I wanted to.” His lips brush my neck above the new guard. “She’s brilliant. She should have options.”
I close the laptop and turn in his arms. His amber eyes study me, noting each micro-expression I can’t control. He cups my jaw, thumbs brushing my cheekbones in a possessive gesture that’s become as familiar as breathing.
“You’re thinking too hard again.” His forehead touches mine. “Stop calculating what you owe me.”
“Old habits.” I inhale his pheromones, and my muscles uncoil, tension bleeding away as I lean into his solid warmth.
Then panic floods my system, heartbeat accelerating as my body braces for disaster. This can’t last. Good things never do. My mind races through contingencies, how quickly we could pack, where we could go, what we’d need to survive.
Sensing the change, Rowan’s arms tighten. “Stop.”
“I can’t help it.” My fingers curl over his chest, counting his heartbeats. “This all feels temporary.”
“It’s not.” His certainty both soothes and terrifies me. “Two months, precious. Two more, and two after that. Eventually, you’ll believe me, you’ll stop taking your suppressants, and you’ll let me bond you.”
I want to believe this arrangement will be permanent, my sister’s laughter will continue to fill these rooms, and I'll keep waking to roll into the warm spot Rowan leaves behind while he cooks breakfast for both of us.
“I’m trying,” I whisper into his throat.
