Chapter Thirty-One #2
“What trope are you planning for tonight?” I ask. “In our ‘fake’ dating?”
His lips purse. “I think you were right about it no longer being fake. If you’re in love with me and I’m going to marry you, that seems pretty real.”
Uh huh. You don’t say.
“The trope?” I prompt.
“Only one bed,” he replies, eyes wandering over my head, where they go distant.
“Less of a trope testing now, though, and more of a trial run. What if I snore, and that makes you fall out of love with me? Or, worse, what if you snore outside of the sick time snores I’ve already witnessed, and I don’t think it’s an adorable addition to all that is you, and I find that I can’t, in fact, live with a wife who not-adorable snores?
” He shudders, and his eyes flash to mine.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this, actually. If we wait until we’re married, I’ll be locked in already, so the snores can’t drive me away. ”
“No, no, no, no, no.” I shake my head. “We’re doing your trope. And when we do it, I want you to really pay attention. No researching allowed. Only feeling . Okay?”
“But the snoring,” he says. “I don’t want to ruin our chances of marriage.”
I squeeze my arms between us to grab his face.
“You know what will ruin our chances of marriage, Jove? If you aren’t in love with me.
I’m not marrying a man who can’t feel the depth of his feelings for me, and I’m definitely not marrying a man who thinks I’d be okay with a lifetime of knowing I’m not getting back the same amount of love that I’m putting in. ”
His eyes widen, panic shooting through them as his arms contract around me. “You said you’re mine forever,” he blurts, words jumbling as he races to get them out. “You said helplessly mine.”
“And I am,” I assure him. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to accept whatever scraps you’re willing to throw my way, no matter how enticing they are.
” And a rich, full life with the man I love is pretty enticing.
“I’m demanding better for myself.” I smile, a little rueful. “You taught me how to do that.”
“I’m in love with you,” he declares, desperation coating his voice. “Totally gone. Very in love.”
I laugh, but not in a happy way. “We both know that’s not a real confession, Jove, and honestly it kind of hurts to hear you throw it out there without thought, even knowing you mean well.”
I move in, tucking my head against him again.
“I’m not trying to scare you. I’ll be here for you, always always.
We can have what we have now, if maybe a little bit…
less touchy.” I sigh. “It’s not an ultimatum, Jupie.
It’s respecting myself. It’s saying this is what I’m willing to accept for my life, and this is what I’m not.
I am still yours, either way, because no amount of boundaries and self- respect can change the feelings of a heart – and, truthfully, I wouldn’t even want them to.
I love loving you.” I snuggle close, trying to reassure him as he clings to me.
“This might not matter anyway. I know you’re in love with me.
It’s just a matter of whether or not you’ll realize it too. ”
We stand in silence after that for a long time, Jove doing his very best to meld into my skin and me giving him whatever reassurance I can with my hold.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers eventually. “I barely survived the last time I lost someone. I can’t do it again.”
Knife to the heart. “Your mom?” I ask, already knowing and hating the answer. He doesn’t bring her up much in his letters, but when he does, it’s always heartwrenching.
His breaths come fast, stuttering against my cheek as his heart beats in my ear, a too-quick thumping that has me straining my arms to hold him together.
“My mom,” he answers, sorrow spitting the words out rough.
“She was everything, you know? Not in the same way that you are everything, but in her own way. So special.” He sniffs, and my heart breaks.
“She was beautiful and kind and so sweet, she could rival you in that department. Loving. Perfect.” He pauses, chest puffing as he breathes.
“And then she was gone.” Then, in a whisper I barely hear, “I don’t want you to be gone. ”
“I won’t be gone,” I promise. “I’ll be right here.”
“You swear?” he asks. “Even if I’m not in love? Even if all we ever have is what we already have? You won’t leave me behind?”
“I swear.”
He takes in a huge, heaving breath, then separates from me. Mostly.
His hands trail down my arms, fingers hooking in mine as our glassy eyes meet. His resemble a misty forest, hazy after a summer rain, depths full of lurking scaries and uncertain steps. Mine probably look something like rotten seaweed.
Some people have all the good genes.
His mouth moves, an unsure motion that endears as much as it concerns. I suppose I will be taking the lead still.
“Do you want a secret Diet Coke?” I ask. “They always make me feel better.”
Surprise flits across his face before a spark of humor takes over and his lips lift, just the tiniest bit.
A kaleidoscope of monarchs take off in my stomach.
“I would love a secret Diet Coke,” Jove replies, running a thumb over my knuckles. “Does Diet Coke solve mommy issues? And abandonment issues?”
I wince. “It solves the snoozies?”
“Ah,” he mutters, tugging me toward the kitchen, which leads to the garage. “Close enough. Let’s go.”
We get our Diet Cokes and drink them crouched behind my car in the garage, lit only by a faint sliver of sun filtering through a definitely-needs-to-be-replaced window.
As I sip, I watch Jove carefully for any signs of upset, but the only clues I get that he’s not his usual self are the crushing hold he keeps on my hand and a niggle of uncertainty that floats through his eyes before I speak, whispering about nothing and everything, showing him that we’re okay in the only way I can think to – by being okay.