Page 63 of The CEO’s Assistant

"You're a mess," Cordelia said.

"Your fault."

"I'll accept that."

They settled. Wren turned on her side, her back to Cordelia's front, and Cordelia curved around her like a big spoon—her knees behind Wren's knees, her arm across Wren's waist, her face against the back of Wren's neck where her hair was damp from sweat and smelled like salt and the faintest trace of the wine she'd been drinking downstairs. Wren laced her fingers with Cordelia’s and held on.

They were quiet. The fog moved through the room. The cold air touched their skin where the sheet had slipped, and neither of them pulled it up. Wren's breathing was slow and even, and Cordelia could feel it under her arm, the rise and fall of Wren’s ribs, the steady knock of her heart. Wren's thumb moved across Cordelia's knuckles, back and forth, a slow, absent stroking.

"I love you," Wren said.

Cordelia pressed her mouth against the back of Wren's neck. She could feel the words in her own chest, in the place where she had kept them locked for months, behind the managed composure and the tailored suits. She had carried them through the dark office and their first kiss and the guest room, and they had not gone anywhere. They had just waited, the way Wren had waited downstairs with her wine and her stockinged feet, patient and not patient, sure and not sure, but staying all the while.

"I love you too," Cordelia said. "I've been⁠—"

"I know."

"You didn't let me finish."

"You were going to say you've been trying not to, or you've been afraid to, or some version of that, weren’t you?"

Cordelia laughed. A real laugh, low and warm, and she felt it move through her body and into Wren's body through the places where they touched. Wren made a small sound that was almost a hum and pressed back against her.

“Yeah, you caught me,” Cordelia said.

The fog thickened, and the curtain shifted. Wren's thumb moved across Cordelia's knuckles, and Cordelia's mouth rested against Wren's neck. The cold air moved over them, and neither of them moved to close the window.

EPILOGUE

Epilogue

Five Years Later

The back of the earring would not slide into place. Cordelia pinched the post between her thumb and forefinger and knew exactly where it should go, but she couldn’t line up her hands properly. She turned toward the window for more light and tried again. The back slipped out of her fingers and fell down onto the floorboards, rolled, and stopped against the wooden leg of the bed.

Remy picked it up. "Give me the other earring."

"I have it."

"Mom."

Cordelia opened her hand. Remy took the earring from her outstretched palm, stepped in close, and tilted her head. Cordelia had to lift her chin like a child at a collar. Her daughter's fingers were warm, and she had the first earring backing on in four seconds flat.

"The second table went up an hour ago, and, yes, it's weighted at the corners so it doesn’t lift up. Lavender's done a hundred of these, and you are not going out there." Remy fitted the other post through her earlobe, pressed the back on, and did not step away. "Hold still. You're shaking."

"I'm not shaking."

"Yes. You are."

Cordelia held still. This had been Remy's room, the summer she was six and would not sleep anywhere she could hear the water, and there was still a chip out of the sill where she had driven a toy car off it too roughly. Down the slope through the window, the decorated chairs were in two short rows on the flat ground above the cliff drop, the water past them reflecting the sun, and somebody's small daughter was running in the grass with her arms fully stretched upward and waving as she bounded around in wide circles.

"What time did the boat people say they'd⁠—?"

"Mom."

"It's just a question,” she said with mock indignation.

"It's not ‘just a question.’ You’re looking for something to do to stay busy." Remy licked her thumb and smoothed the baby hairs along Cordelia's hairline. "Everything is done. Lavender and I did most of it. Lauren did the rest and she's insufferable about it, so it's all perfect."