Page 70 of Laced in Longing

Nor would I wake in a new life as an adult.

Scratching the base of my throat, I survey the rest of the room and gasp when I notice a jar on the nightstand. My jar of dead flowers…what is going on?

Maybe I lived after my fall and I’ve been in a coma for so long that my wounds healed and now I’m in the psych ward. Just what Helen wanted. She must be so happy that I’d finally given her a reason to commit me.

At least she sent me to a really nice facility.

Something shuffles on the other side of the door before the handle turns, and my mouth opens before I can stop it. “Dr. Voss, I really don’t think—” My words are cut off when a man steps into the room, a warm smile gracing his features.

I’ve never seen anyone smile like that in my direction.

Curly, black locks cover his forehead as dark eyes scan my face. My heart stutters. I know exactly who this is, even with never having seen his face.

His face…it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

The veil no longer covers an inch of him—he’s just here, in the doorway, wearing cream-colored linen clothing, and looking like the most casual, happy man.

It has to be him. I know that jaw. I sat on a freezing roof and mapped it with my fingertips—the sharp turn of it under his ear, the strong cut of the bone, the way it narrows at the chin. I know that nose, the set of his brows, the slight arrogance on his smirking lips.

I’m no longer breathing, but I don’t dare hope that I’m exactly where I wanted to be.

And his eyes…fuck, his eyes are dark. So dark the edge of the pupil is impossible to discern, which does not lessen the warmth they radiate.

“Ash,” I say. My voice comes out gritty, like I’ve been screaming, which—yeah, I probably was.

“Hello, my flower.”

That delicious voice. Fluttering builds in my abdomen as I allow myself to consider that my plan worked. He crosses to the bed in three strides and sits on the edge, close enough that his knee presses the mattress against my thigh, as his hand hovers next to my cheek without touching.

I nod to his unasked question before caressing my face against his palm.

A low, rough sound leaves his throat, flipping my stomach upside-down, and his thumb strokes the bone under my eye. His skin is so warm and solid. It’s perfect.

Still, I need to know before I sink into this happiness.

“Am I dead?” I ask.

“Your mortal body is, yes.”

I blink. “You could’ve eased into that.”

“You’ve never wanted me to ease into anything.” His mouth twitches. “You’d have called me a coward for it. You did once—told me I circled the truth like a dog readying its nap spot.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “That sounds like me.”

“It is you.”

My hand covers his as my eyes close. I’m not ready to lose the contact, and I’ve stopped pretending otherwise. “So this is…your world?”

“This is our world and home.” His thumb continues stroking my cheek. “You are in my palace, in the room I have rebuilt hundreds of times because I could never decide which version of you would want which decor.”

“You—” I stop. “You said you changed it, but hundreds of times? That’s crazy!”

“Three hundred, if we count the tiles in the bathroom.”

My eyes bulge. “Ash.”

“I was patient, yes, but I was not idle, Maven. You have questions. Ask them, and I will answer every one.”