She scoffed. “Always the emphasis on what I am to you.Moya milaya,yourwife,yourresponsibility. I’m not property.”
I closed my eyes for a second. She kept saying that. I didn’t know how to let her know she was mine, but not some random property. Nah, Theory was my treasure. “I’m not trying to own you, Theory.”
She laughed softly. “That’s funny. I can’t tell.”
“It’s not funny,” I said, opening my eyes again. “It’s frustrating as hell, actually.”
She didn’t say anything else for a long time. Neither did I.
A while later, I shifted just enough to face her side of the bed, still keeping my distance. We couldn’t go on like this. She jumped as I moved. That fucked with me, just as it had earlier.
“I want to make peace.”
Her laugh was quiet. Tired. “Peace don’t come free with y’all.”
“I’m not my brother,” I said.
“You just like him, with melanin and manners, because you know Ms. Joia ain’t going.”
Her accuracy about my mama made me smile. “Can I?” I asked suddenly, pointing at her hand.
She rolled her eyes. “You and this ‘Can I,” she mumbled.
But she held out her hand. I took it gently and pressed my lips to her knuckles. Theory’s eyes fluttered shut for half a second. When she opened them again, her voice was a whisper.
“What am I going to do with you?”
“You’ll figure it out.”
I let go of her hand, but our eyes held.
“Good night, wife,” I said.
She sighed, closed her eyes. Then, so low that I could barely hear it, she murmured, “Good night, husband.”
I smiled.Peace. Not perfect, but on this unorthodox wedding night, I’d take it.
(Sunday,June 15 — morning after)
I woke up sweating and freezing at the same time, like the air-conditioning system was competing with Mother Nature. My thighs stuck to the sheets. My arms were covered in goosebumps. In here, the air conditioner had the bedroom set to subzero, but I always got hot when I slept. I looked around slowly. Sunlight pressed against the windows even through the blackout curtains. Outside, South Texas was already doing what it did in June. I sighed, recalling where I was. I remembered the enormous bed, the soft scent of something expensive, the deep quiet… and, oh, yeah, the man on the other side of the bed.
Targen was awake. He wasn’t acting like he had over the last week, though. He wasn’t sitting up with his phone like he wasrunning the world before breakfast. He wasn’t watching me like he was patiently waiting for me to wake up. He was laid back against the headboard, one arm bent behind his head, the other resting loose on his stomach. He was shirtless now. Of course. Because God felt like testing me with that eight-pack and those biceps.
He looked at me suddenly, smirking like he knew where my mind was.
I shifted, pulling the sheet higher. “Here you go with this staring again.”
“I’m not staring,” he said.
“Youarestaring,” I insisted.
His mouth curved into a smile. “I’m checking on you, Theory.”
I struggled not to let those words soften me, not to let my imagination take me to a place in which his concern would feel natural and my desire to reassure him would feel normal.
I shrugged. “I’m alive.”
“You were shaking earlier.”
