Chapter 22
Grace
Iwake in Nate’s arms, the sound of the sea in my ears, morning sun pouring through a gap in the curtains.
We’re both naked under the sheets. The fire is long out, the room is cold, but my skin is hot.
I sense it’s early, just like yesterday morning.
Like yesterday, I could sneak off if I wanted.
Instead, I peer at Nate in the half-light.
His face is clenched in lines that explain why he looks so much older than Nick. Even in sleep, he’s tense and frowning.
I could leave him now. Considering everything he’s done, I should.
But when I take an accounting of my body, I feel zero pain.
Lungs, stomach, joints—all fine. Even my backside is no more than a bit tender when I tense it experimentally.
A reminder of exactly how much I enjoyed what happened last night.
I loved it. And that’s a problem. Part of me wanted to get away from him after what he did. After he spat on me, then proceeded to prove that everything I thought I knew about my own sexual limitations was wrong. By the end, though, I was exposed and exhausted and ashamed.
My wife gets up and lets herself be cared for.
When he came to check on me in the bathtub, I welcomed him into the water, settled against him, and accepted all the praise he whispered into my ear, the sweet words, the love.
That love lingers, even as Nate frowns in his sleep when I shift experimentally, confirming to myself he won’t wake should I slip away.
I trace the line of his collarbone, strong and smooth, then I press my palm to his heart, feeling the slow, heavy rhythm.
It’s been so long since I woke up to a restful bed.
Yesterday, I slipped away from Nate to explore the house.
The day before, Nick slipped away from me.
Now, I can picture an entire day beginning here.
It should scare me. It’s too early to feel this comfortable. But I lean in closer to see what Nate smells like early in the morning. Warm skin, clean sweat, and just a hint of something wilder.
“Grace…”
His arm tightens around my back, and I feel his erection against my belly.
Trying to distract myself, I trace more lines, this time down his trachea, over his Adam’s apple, to his jugular notch.
Beautiful lines, vulnerable when he swallows.
There’s an answering caress along my back that ends with Nate pressing his fingers into the spaces between my ribs.
I freeze, going stiff.
An echo of Nick’s voice rings through my mind: You’re too skinny, Graciously. You have to gain weight if you expect a guy to want you.
“Hey,” Nate says, and I realise he felt me tense up. His hand shifts to my hip. “Are you okay, love?”
When he draws back to look at me, I shrink. He’s fully awake and I can hide nothing from him. I nod anyway, pretending I’m fine.
He frowns, his features much too alert, considering how deeply asleep he was just moments ago.
“I did something you didn’t like, and you’re going to tell me what it was.” He retraces his movements, fitting his fingers between my ribs. I can’t suppress my flinch. “Is this a spot my Grace doesn’t like on herself?”
He traces my ribs and I try not to cry. Mine is the kind of skinniness that hides well in clothing; few people realise I’ve never been able to get within a healthy height-to-weight ratio.
Even Mother stopped commenting on it. But Nick…
his test had nothing to do with a bathroom scale or a dress size or a medical chart.
All he had to do was cup my ribs. Now Nate is touching me the same way, his hand proprietary, his voice cool.
“We talked about how Nick rejected you.” He moves away from the spot, his breath in my hair as he pulls me close. “Was your weight one of his health metrics, Grace? Were your ribs something he liked to count against you?”
I breathe through the grief, the emotion tied to the death of my marriage, which started long before Nick died.
“He used to put his hand just where you did, and then…” I leave the sentence incomplete.
“You are underweight.”
I swallow, wanting to push out of Nate’s comforting hold. But I stay, waiting as he draws a slow breath. His other hand, the one supporting me from beneath, traces the same path down my other side.
“But,” he continues, “I think this is all going to fill in very soon. Safe food will make these ribs smooth, these thighs soft, and bring an extra curve to these cheeks.” He nudges my hair aside to kiss the hollow of my jaw.
Chuckling softly, he moves his hand to my ass, which he squeezes.
“And these cheeks, too. You’re beautiful, Grace.
You’ll keep being beautiful while I make you healthy. ”
“I’m not too skinny for—for that?”
He looks into my eyes with a frankness that's almost harsh. “Too skinny for what? My cock?” He thrusts against my belly. “This fucker wants you, Grace. You. Not just the meat suit you happen to live in.”
That startles me into a giggle and Nate smiles.
“Now, since you’ve woken me instead of sneaking away,” his eyes darken, “I think we should start our day with a reward.”
I shrug, unsure of what he means.
He shows me by flipping me over, spreading my thighs, and worshipping me with his tongue.
***
The morning was beautiful. After giving me more orgasms than I could count, Nate brought me breakfast outside on the floating deck. I enjoyed the peaceful sound of the tide rolling out while I ate, Shep at my side, Nate having excused himself to get some work done in his home office.
After breakfast, the dog and I head down the cliffside stairs for our walk with Mihi. She’s brought her usual grocery bag to collect beach rubbish—and a burlap drawstring pouch for me to collect sea glass in.
Between finding bits of treasure, I realise that it’s impossible to have a casual chat with Mihi; she tends to get right to the heart of all matters—and then she stays there, listening to every single beat.
This morning, we start by chatting about plans for the day, which quickly becomes an in-depth discussion of all things autoimmune.
I tell her Dr Gowan will be coming to the house later, and she nods knowingly.
“You know, I brought up my thyroid problem one time—one time—and Hadley had that doctor lady calling me the next day.”
“Really?” I don’t bother to hide my surprise. “Did you accept her help?”
“After the shock of a random doctor calling me? Yes. I was thick as anything,” she gestures at her curvy frame, “and not in the proper way I am now. It was all heaviness and cold. But my old doctor said my thyroid bloods were perfect. Everything was perfect.”
I feel myself smile as I bend down to pick up a piece of sea glass—a beautiful turquoise square to add to the pouch.
“Perfect, even though you felt terrible?”
“Right you are. There’s nothing like it, girl.
Tiredness inside every single muscle, every movement felt like a strain.
” She gives a shudder. “Eileen had me do some more tests, and those results were not perfect. She changed my meds and here I am,” Mihi gestures at herself, encompassing the strong quads visible through her jeans, “feeling as good as I look.”
The conversation makes me think of Mother, of all the tests she had done before she finally gave up on finding the underlying cause of her hair loss.
“Did your hair thin, when you were on the other meds?”
We reach the end of the beach, and Mihi sits herself down on a boulder by the tidepool. “Oh yeah. But you’d never know, with this big mop of mine.” She points at her thick hair, sprinkled liberally with grey.
“Do you still see Eileen?”
“Sure, when I need to.” Mihi smiles into the morning sun. “Just to make sure things stay good. And usually they do.”
We sit in companionable silence, broken by Shep barking at the black-backed gulls hunting for breakfast in the shallows. After some time in the sun, we turn back, our steps sinking into the soft sand, my mind already on the oncoming appointment.
“Hadley made the appointment for you, eh?” Mihi asks as we draw within sight of the house again.
Nate isn’t waiting for us on top of the cliffs this time.
“That’s right,” I say. “We had our first video call yesterday, and she’s coming out this morning for some bloodwork.”
Mihi steps a bit nearer. “Hadley’s a helpful sort, but his help tends to be a bit much.
I told him straight up to ask me next time he lined up a new doctor to see me, and I had to force him to let me pay for myself.
” I peer into her eyes, shocked, and she nods.
“That’s right. He’s a generous man but he’ll control everything around him if he’s allowed to.
Set some lines down, girl, then make him respect them. ”
I look up, seeing the curving line of the house. “I don’t think that’ll work. At least not for me.”
“Oh, you’ll handle him,” Mihi says, patting my shoulder, “mark my words, you will. He’s a willful kind, but the healthier you get, the thicker you’ll draw those lines.”
“Maybe.” My toes are getting cold in the wet sand. “He’s helping me get better, but I don’t think he’ll ever stop. He wants to take care of everything.”
“That’s fine and good,” Mihi states, and I stare, incredulous. She laughs, drawing close and sideswiping me into a hug. “Let him take on the hard things, Grace, just put down those lines. When you’ve had enough and he oversteps,” she cuts her hand firmly between the two of us, “stop him. Yes?”
I shrug, though I wish I could answer in the clear affirmative she’s after.
“Same time tomorrow?” I ask instead.
“I’ll be here,” she confirms.
***