Chapter Seven
I WAKE ALONE IN WYND'S massive bed, cotton sheets tangled around my bare legs, and I'm just a little dazed, just a little overwhelmed, and just a little more obsessed with a man who's claimed so many firsts in my life...despite remaining a stranger to me in so many ways.
His bedroom feels different without the shadows of night. It isn't just brighter. It's somehow more imposing, with daylight harshly emphasizing that everything around me is his domain...while I'm nothing but a temporary visitor.
I'm scared, God.
He makes me so, so happy.
But I also know he'll only end up breaking my heart if being with him isn't aligned with Your will.
I used to be so, so sure that God chose Wynd for me.
But after surrendering myself to his touch, everything suddenly feels messy and confusing.
I don't believe in coincidence, and I still believe there's a reason Wynd and I were at the orphanage at the same time, a special reason that both our souls seemed drawn to Samuel.
But what if...
What if those reasons aren't what I want them to be?
My mind drifts back to everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours, and my cheeks warm as I find myself remembering just how many times I shattered in his arms...and where.
The boardroom.
The en-suite.
And then there's last night in this very room...
It was almost perfect.
Almost.
Until the moment I felt him slowly withdraw, and while I was still floating in that hazy post-climax bliss, Wynd simply pulled my torn dress over my nakedness, pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead, and left me alone in his bed.
No cuddling or sweet words.
He was just... gone .
That's the kind of man Wynd Sullivan is, and I just...I just don't know anymore.
Is spending the rest of my life with him truly what God wants?
Is it possible that all we have between us is sexual attraction?
That he has me so completely enthralled, I'm mistaking chemistry for love?
My stomach twists with unease, and doubts and worries continue to linger in my mind as I force myself to sit up, the expensive sheets pooling around my waist. The torn remnants of my yellow dress lie crumpled on the hardwood floor like abandoned petals, a stark reminder of how thoroughly he'd claimed me.
That's when I notice the folded piece of paper waiting for me on the mahogany nightstand. The texture alone feels expensive under my fingertips, and the ink on paper is bold and rich, like something only the most finely crafted fountain pen could ever wield.
Call me.
WS
I stare at the message card in my hands.
That's it?
Really?
I'm not even sure what to think, and so I end up asking myself yet again.
Is Wynd Sullivan truly the man God wants me to spend the rest of my life with?
My fingers curl into fists around the note, but even as my heart aches with confusion, I start to remember how he was with the children last night.
There was not a single trace of the intimidating billionaire in Wynd while he was spending time with the kids.
I remember him never losing his patience even when they badgered him with questions.
The genuine amusement that flashed in his eyes when a mishap with the ketchup bottle caused Izzy to squirt red sauce directly onto his face, staining his expensive white shirt.
I remember so many...just so, so many good things that the truth is an absolute no-brainer.
Wynd Sullivan can and will be a good father to Samuel or any other child he wishes to adopt.
But as to whether he'd make a good husband or whether I'd make a good wife to him...
Why can't I hear You all of a sudden, God?
I just don't know anymore.
Is Wynd truly the man I've been waiting over forty years to spend the rest of my life with?