Chapter 7
Vox
“Close your eyes,” I tell her, guiding her into the living room, my palm over her eyes, my other hand steady on her lower back.
She exhales twice in a row, those short little sounds she makes when she’s trying not to laugh.
Reading my Rose is like learning a maze.
You never really finish, you just keep discovering new turns.
“There. You can open, sweetheart.” I drop my hand and stand behind her, letting her take in the romantic dinner I threw together.
I was too damn proud of her for sharing her story today.
It deserved a celebration. I can only cook a handful of things, and even then, my skills are questionable.
I went to the grocery store at the corner of our street and found pink candles and paper napkins with bows.
You should’ve seen the cashier’s face. Priceless.
I turned our breakfast nook into a makeshift romantic dining setup.
Harley was running between my legs, surely trying to catch a candle to play with.
I went all out on the stuff she loves. Napkins, plates, the whole thing.
Even picked some flowers from the garden, the big white ones she loves.
They last barely a day, but she still fills vases with them like clockwork.
I dimmed the lights and put on Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon.” That was my parents’ song.
Now it's ours. She spins around, hands landing on my chest, gripping the fabric of my black long-sleeve polo.
“You didn’t,” she mouths, and I grin like a damn idiot because her smile will always be my greatest reward.
“It’s not much, angel. I’m sorry I ain’t better at this, but you did something important today. Gotta celebrate. Even if it’s with my average cheese sandwiches.”
“You know I love your cheese sandwiches,” she signs.
I kiss her forehead. “Go sit. I’ll heat them up.
” She follows my command, slipping onto the bench in her “home dresses” as she calls them, a long, thin navy wool thing she swears is comfortable, and I swear should be illegal.
Her hair is wild and loose around her shoulders, golden waves I’m lucky enough to run my hands through every day.
“Here,” I say, serving her a full plate of sandwiches.
She catches my hand, tugging it toward her and kissing the back of it right on my rose tattoo.
I got it months ago, so I’d carry her everywhere.
“Thank you,” she says silently, and I lift her chin with one finger.
“Don’t say thank you till you try them.” She grins, shaking her head.
“They’re my favorite. And this, the music, the…
” She stops, eyes going wide as she signs, “Are you telling me you went to the tiny shop at the corner and bought these for me?” I nod.
She smiles, eyes glistening, torn between gratitude and laughing at the image of me buying bow-covered pink napkins.
Anything for my girl. All the pink, all the bows.
Whatever she wants, I’ll provide. I fill my own plate and slide next to her, grateful I built this bench because it lets me sit as close to her as I want.
She bites into the sandwich, closes her eyes, and gives a silent hum I can practically hear.
“Do you know when Erin and Shadow arrive tomorrow?” she signs.
“In the afternoon. Around four. We’ll give you guys space and be out for the evening.”
“I know you didn’t want to, but it’s tradition,” she signs. “I read it in a book. Bride and groom shouldn’t be together the night before.”
“Sorry, sweetheart, but…nah, I’m not sleeping without you. Not even for one night.”
“Vox…” She pouts with her pillow lips.
“You won’t see me until midnight. Is that…acceptable?”
“Um…okay.”
“You’re tough to bargain with, little angel.” I caress her cheek with the back of my hand.
“I learned from the best,” she signs, a devilish smile tugging at her lips. “What are you planning?”
“Not sure. Maybe Mexican food and then an Irish pub.” I shrug.
Since Ares made peace with them, I’ve been going more.
“The music isn't so bad and I think Shadow will like it. What about ya?” I don't tell her that, from what I've heard of Bachelorette parties, staying in isn't exactly common.
But I'm not gonna dig my own grave and spend a night worrying.
“I’m not sure yet…we might order in.” Relief punches me in the shoulder, mocking my constant need to keep her safe.
“Yeah, sure, love…whatever you want.” I try to sound nonchalant, but she catches it and rolls her beautiful eyes. Ah, my pretty little Rose. To say that I enjoy her small act of rebellion against my urge to protect her is an understatement.
“Maybe sushi. And then bake a chocolate cake and eat it in front of a romcom.” A year ago, Rose didn’t know sushi existed. Or baking. Or movies. All those small joys were taken from her, and now she gets to claim every one of them. Watching her do that…kills me in the best way.
“Which one?” I ask, finishing my second cheese sandwich.
“You know which one.”
I grin, “I wanna hear you say it.”
“The one with the student who discovers she’s heir to a kingdom.”
“Nah, not this one.” I shake my head, not buying it.
“Okay. The one where the girl discovers she’s a princess.” The little face she makes each time she watches it makes the world a better place. Wish I could encapsulate her aura and carry it everywhere with me.
“Still don’t get why you love it so much.”
“Because she learns everything all over again. Just like…me.”
“You’re already a princess. You don’t need to learn anything new to be one.” I earn a second eye roll, followed by a light cherry pink blooming on her cheeks.
“Mr. Oxen, are you trying to seduce me?”
“Only if it pleases you, Mrs. Oxen.”
“Not yet.” Her index finger finds her ring. I gulp my drink.
“Since the day I saw you planting flowers, sweetheart. Since that day, you were already my wife,” I state, standing and offering her my hand.
“Wanna dance?” She blushes, nods with a shy smile, then rests her small hand in mine, and I kneel just long enough to kiss her knuckles.
“When I was a teen, my dad used to dance with my mom in the living room,” I tell her as I rise.
“He’d make her laugh and twirl, and Jamie watched them with eyes the size of plates.
He’d stand on their feet and beg my mom to dance with him, too.
She’d teach him how to do it ‘properly,’ she said. And Dad would just…look at her.”
“How?” she signs softly while I lead us into the living room, my girl barefoot on the Persian rug.
“Like I look at you.”
“Then they must’ve been really in love,” she signs before I hold her tight against me, swaying us gently from side to side.
“Yeah… Yeah, they were.” We didn’t have much, but love was never lacking.
And I intend to give the same thing to our kids one day.
They’ll never have to hunt for love or wonder if it’s real, because it’ll be right there for them, stocked to infinity and given without condition.
And when they see the way I look at Rose, I hope they’ll understand.
That their mother is the only person who could ever slip beneath my ribcage, find her way under the bones, slide into my beating heart, and call it home.
Rose
“You’re lucky,” I sign.
“Why?”
“Because I never saw that. My parents never even kissed in front of me. It’s a miracle I even exist.” I let out a sad laugh.
“Sometimes I wonder if my mom didn’t miss all of this.
” Our palms connect, our fingers spreading at the same time, perfectly in sync, our movements mirroring each other until we lace them together.
Intimacy. I didn’t know how much I was missing it a year ago.
To sense the weight of another’s presence in the room even without seeing them.
To climb the mountain of life knowing someone is waiting at the top, hand out, shouting hold on, hold on, because you're almost there.
“Tell me something beautiful you saw today,” I sign.
“You.”
“Vox…”
“Kay, alright…. Let me think, sweetheart.” I wait. “Okay, I got one. Saw an old lady crossing the road with a young guy.”
“Why was it beautiful?”
“Because he didn’t know her. Just…helped her cross.” I picture the scene and photograph it in my mind. “What about you?”
“My fiancé bought me girly napkins.” I giggle.
“C’mon, angel. I hope you know I’ve got more plans for you tonight.”
“Such as?” I ask, cheeks warming.
“You really want me to say them out loud, huh?” His grin morphs into a wicked one and I turn crimson.
“First, I’m gonna carry you like this—” His arms scoop under my knees and back, lifting me bridal-style.
“Then we’re going upstairs and—” I press my index finger gently to his mouth, shaking my head in shy refusal.
Vox doesn’t laugh. He drinks me with that intensity that always knocks the air out of me.
Passion and worship fighting for space in his gaze.
When we reach our room, we fall into the heaven of the small kingdom we’ve built with our own hands.
My chest pressed to his. His heart against mine.
Both of us finding the shore after almost drowning, holding on to each other to learn to breathe again.
When the quiet settles around us, I nuzzle my nose against his ear. And he freezes, because he knows me better than I know myself. He knows what it costs me, what it means when I try. Don't do it for my sake. I hear him beg in silence.
“I–I…lo-lo-love… you.” Broken syllables, fragile and trembling, escape my lips. A soft murmur sliced out of me, offered to the only man who has ever deserved it. His hand cups my face, steadying me, his voice rough.
“Back at you, angel. Today, tomorrow, and even when I’m long gone, buried and made of dust,” he kisses me, “even then.”