“Lie down with me,” I manage to say.
She hesitates for just a moment, then carefully settles on the bed beside me. I turn my head to look at her, and she’s staring at the ceiling, her jaw tight, breathing through the sobs that are threatening to rise up her throat.
“I’m okay,” I tell her again, needing her to believe it. “I promise I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay. I almost killed you because I couldn’t control myself.”
I reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together, holding on like she’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. “Even if I had fainted and given myself a concussion, it would have been worth it to have you touch me like that.”
She turns her head to look at me, and there’s fear and tenderness in her eyes.
“You’re crazy,” she whispers.
“I know.” I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “But I’m your crazy man. If you’ll have me.”
She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she shifts closer, turning onto her side, and her free hand comes up to my hair. Her fingers thread through my damp curls with a gentleness that makes my body sing.
Just like when we were children and I was hurting. When my father had been violent and I’d hidden in the garden, she would find me and hold me and make everything better just by being there.
This is what I’ve been craving for five years. Not just the sex, not just having her near me. Her fingers in my hair, soft and soothing. Choosing to stay with me even though she could leave.
The sensation makes my eyes drift closed, makes everything else fade away except the gentle pressure of her fingers and the warmth of her body beside mine.
I don’t know who I am without Mina.
“Is this okay?” she asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” I breathe, and my voice is thick with emotion. “Don’t stop. Please don’t ever stop.”
Her fingers keep moving, stroking through my damp curls, undoing all the frantic energy that I’ve been holding in my chest for five years.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I hear myself say. “Every single day. I never stopped missing you. Never stopped loving you.”
Her fingers keep moving through my hair, gentle and constant. The sensation is pulling me under, making everything soft and hazy around the edges, but I fight to stay awake just a little longer.
I don’t want this moment to end.
“I’ve thought about our wedding day,” I hear myself say, the words slipping out.
Her fingers pause for just a heartbeat. “Cristiano, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous.” I keep my eyes closed, my voice drowsy. “I’ve pictured it a thousand times.”
“You’re delirious from nearly fainting.”
“What’s the harm in imagining?” I ask quietly. “Just for a moment. Indulge me.”
She’s silent, but her fingers start moving through my hair again, and I take that as permission.
“Don’t you want to know what I see?” I murmur.
Another pause. Then, so softly I almost miss it, “Fine. Tell me your fantasy.”
I let myself sink into the vision I’ve carried for so long. “You’re in the garden. My garden. The place where I fell in love with you when we were children. You’re wearing white. Something simple but perfect. Lace, I think. Something that looks like it grew from the garden itself, like you belong there among the roses.”
“That’s very specific,” she whispers, but there’s no mockery in her voice. Just wonder.
“I’ve had years to imagine it.” I can see it so clearly behind my closed eyelids. “Your hair is loose, the way I love it. The afternoon sun makes it look like it’s threaded with gold. You’re barefoot in the grass because that’s how you always were in the garden when we were young. Free.”
