Chapter 47
forty-seven
The pillow under my face smells like lavender.
I burrow closer, groaning but smiling to myself.
Shit. Alice wrecked me.
For someone so small and quiet, she is voracious. We spent hours making love. Again and again.
My sweet girl truly possesses an endless wealth of sensuality. I love that she keeps it under wraps, one of the many layers hidden from the rest of the world. We’re alike in that way—choosing not to show most of ourselves to most people. Which only makes my current exhaustion more rewarding.
She picked me.
And used me. Thoroughly.
My entire body feels loose, especially at the joints. I stretch my arms over my head and open my eyes before I notice that I haven’t done my usual anxious survey of my surroundings yet.
Slanting sunlight tells me it is likely mid-morning. Extremely late, for me. It makes sense, though, given how late we kept each other up.
The scent of breakfast food curls into my room. With another smile, I realize I’ve never eaten anything Alice cooked, aside from tea. I haul myself upright and shove my hand through my hair before finding a clean pair of black boxer-briefs on my way to investigate whatever smells so good.
I find Alice in my kitchen. A few pans of food sit on the stove behind her, each covered and off the heat. Along with my kettle. Of course.
She’s facing away from me, enjoying my view of the Hudson while she tinkers with something on the island in front of her. I stop on the threshold to watch her because I can’t help myself.
Golden morning light shimmers off her silk robe and catches in her wild curls. She presses her hips into the gray granite counter, resting on her elbows and holding...
A paintbrush.
She shifts from one foot to the other, the bounty of her curves jiggling under her robe. I start to smile again, but the object in her other hand stops me cold. She holds it up to the light streaming in from the windows, squinting at my father’s favorite mug.
How did she possibly piece it back together? I broke it during my nightmare and picked up the broken shards the next morning. Throwing them in the trash left a lump in my throat for far longer than I cared to admit.
But now—it’s whole again.
Glued together with shining gold.
My breath shatters in my lungs. And for a moment, some distant part of my brain wonders: Is this how the guy who discovered diamonds felt? The wonder of realizing that under the right conditions, certain unassuming rocks became priceless, one-of-a-kind treasures?
Did he know what he was doing? Or was he just so fucking lucky, like me?
Alice hasn’t heard me yet. Her head stays high while she gazes at her handiwork, turning the mug to make sure she’s filled every crack.
The smallest, sweetest smile curves her lips when she determines she’s finished.
With care, she sets the piece—more beautiful than ever—on the other side of the island and tilts her neck, her eyes intent on the horizon.
Her features smooth, and I wonder what she’s thinking about.
Always something deep, I muse, painful warmth bleeding inside of me. Respect and admiration. Fondness. Gratitude. Alice doesn’t have shallows. Only depths.
A wave of certainty builds behind my heart, swelling high and cresting over the top. Warm contentment trickles down. A swooping burst of joy crowds my cramped lungs, stealing what’s left of my breath.
But I don’t feel panicked. Only peaceful. My whole being relaxes while my very soul snaps to attention.
Her, it says. Her.
Just like that, I know.
She’s the one. And I love her.