Chapter Thirty-Three
Oh, what, he is ?
Jove
If you’re not in love, then why am I here?
I don’t know, butterfly, I’m not a flagging expert.
Clearly.
Considering I’ve been in love with a woman for years and had no clue.
My goodness, then my stupid self didn’t believe her when she told me.
I have worms for brains, I swear.
Lyra lies next to me, cuddled deep into my side as she sleeps. Her little honk-shoos tightening a knot in my chest.
I have to tell her.
She already knows, but she doesn’t know that I know, and it’s tearing me apart.
I can’t sleep.
By the time I made it to bed after securing the house, she was already under the covers and out like a light. I couldn’t bring myself to wake her.
I couldn’t calm enough to sleep.
And so here I’ve lain, thinking over every letter I’ve ever written, every hint there’s ever been that I’m completely gone for this girl .
It’s terrifying.
It’s invigorating .
Do I actually hate Brian Single, I ponder, or do I just hate that she gave him pieces of her heart that should have been mine?
When I promised her at fifteen that I’d wear my necklace over my heart so that it would be next to her, how did I not see it?
Nearly a lifetime of signs, and I missed them all, including the huge light up one she shoved in my face.
“I’m so stupid,” I tell the ceiling, frowning at the faintly glowing fairy lights strung across it. “I’ve wasted so much time.”
I could’ve been here with her ages ago. What was I doing ?
Being stupid. So unbelievably stupid.
I hope she can still love me despite my incredible lack of brain cells.
She shifts, nose nuzzling my skin as her lashes flutter, tickling me. “Jupiter?” she slurs. “You okay?”
I am, unequivocally, the most okay I’ve ever been.
“No,” I answer. “I have to tell you something.”
She smiles, a sleepy, beautiful thing. “Didn’t take long,” she mutters. “Outfit worked.”
I snort, then shove my arm under her to lift her up on top of me. “I love you,” I confess. “I’m so stupid.”
Her smile is a little bit dopey, and she doesn’t open her eyes when she responds, “You totally are. It’s cute.”
I groan, throwing my head back against the pillows. “I’m a himbo,” I complain. “And you’re encouraging it.”
Her answering giggle is as adorable as it is sleepy.
“Will you even remember this?” I ask.
“Nope,” she replies. “You’ll have to tell me again tomorrow. Probably the next day too.” She smiles. “And the next. I’m very forgetful.”
I puff a laugh and dig my hand into her hair, lifting her head to face me.
Her eyes are open, happy and mischievous. “I guess you won’t remember this either then, huh?” I ask.
Confusion sparks in her irises, and I strike.
My lips hit hers gently – cautiously – then harder as she responds, moaning a vicious approval. Her hands slide up my chest to my neck, dipping into my hair before they caress my shoulders. They continue their journey, restless as our mouths meet again and again, each kiss better than the last.
“I love you,” I pant against her lips when we part for air. “I’m in love with you.”
She presses into me, forgoing air for pleasure until we can no longer.
“I love you, too,” she gasps. “I’m in love with you, too.”
Tears nip at my eyes, so I nip at her lip. “Helplessly?” I ask.
“Helplessly,” she confirms, trailing her kisses to my jaw.
I throw my head back and groan.
“Powerlessly?” she asks, tongue torturing me more than her outfit ever could.
“Powerlessly,” I agree, breathless. “Come here.”
She does, my Lyra, so perfect. So sweet.
Our mouths fit together as if they were never meant to be apart, and when we do finally tear away, the separation feels foreign and wrong.
“Marry me?” I puff. “Tomorrow?”
She shakes her head, and I growl.
“Yes,” I tell her. “Tomorrow.”
“Flag Day,” she counteroffers, breathy. “Romantic. ”
Well. I can’t argue with that.
My lungs half-recovered, I decide that’s good enough and bring her mouth back down to mine.
The next time we resurface, I wonder aloud, “Do you think this will help my writing?”
She laughs, rubbing her nose against mine. “Oh, yes,” she answers. “Without a doubt.”
This time she kisses me, tongue against tongue and hands roving, putting all thought of work miles from my mind.
The sun comes up before we’re satisfied, so we kiss through that, too, whispering love letters and promises to each other in the moments where our lungs protest.
It’s a perfect night. A perfect morning.
A perfect woman.
A perfect love.