Mercy frowns. “Can it wait until after the ceremony?”
“No.”
She sighs. “Don’t ruin her make-up?”
Ender’s lips pull up in a devilish smile.
“I make no promises.”
Mercy shakes her head and leaves, closing the door behind her. Ender leans against the frame, close, yet so far away. His shoulders are tense.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, immediately.
“You look…” He swallows. “Fuck.”
“How eloquent,” I tease. “I’m swooning.”
“I can’t think straight when I’m near you.”
“How do you plan to speak your vows?”
“Sheer luck.”
My heart thumps when he pushes away from the door. He saunters towards me, and I straighten in my chair. I have to crane my neck to look into his frosty eyes. His palms cup my cheek, fingers tender against my skin.
“Haven,” he breaths.
“Yes?”
“It feels good to touch you,” he says.
“You act as if you’ve never done this before.”
His thumb traces my mouth.
“Not like this,” Ender admits.
We’ve touched before. A hundred times, but for some reason, he looks nervous. A tremble shakes his fingers.
I frown. “I don’t understand.”
“I like how you’re looking at me,” Ender whispers. “Like I matter.”
My fingers lift to touch his jaw; he shaved, and I miss the familiar pinprick of stubble. His eyes close softly, and he leans into my touch, dragging my palm down. He presses his devoted mouth to my flesh.
“Of course, you matter. How else would I look at my husband?” I ask. “You are everything to me, Ender.”
His eyes open, and when they do, they are drowning in sadness. The weight of it is so tremendous, I fear that it will drag me under. I don’t know why he is so forlorn. His shoulders drop miserably like the weight of the world is dragging him under.
“I know it was difficult at first,” I say. “I hate that my father orchestrated this—us. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I would have always picked you. In every lifetime, I am yours. And you are mine.”
“You don’t mean that,” he says hoarsely. “This isn’t real.”
My fingers slip behind his nape, dragging him down to me.
“Kiss me,” I beg.
Ender hesitates.
