19. Selene #2
And sitting here in this kitchen, wearing his shirt, eating the breakfast he made me, I realize that I don’t want to just survive anymore. I want to live. I want to build something with the man I love instead of constantly proving I can exist without him.
“I have conditions.”
Dylan’s face lights up with cautious hope. “Name them.”
“The house gets redecorated. I never liked the designer’s choices, and if I’m going to live here, I want it to actually feel like a home instead of a magazine spread.”
“Done. We can gut the whole place if you want.”
“I want my own office space. A real one, not a corner desk in your domain. A room that’s mine, for my projects and my work.”
“Absolutely. Pick any room you want. Pick two rooms.”
“And…” I hesitate, suddenly shy. “I want to keep my apartment. For a while, at least. Just in case.”
A flicker crosses his eyes. Hurt, maybe, or understanding. But he nods without argument.
“Of course. Keep it as long as you need. I want you to feel safe, Selene. I want you to know you always have options, that you’re choosing to be here, not trapped.”
The fact that he understands. He doesn’t argue or get defensive or try to convince me I’m being unreasonable. It makes my eyes sting.
“Then yes.” The word comes out thick with emotion. “I’ll move back in with you.”
***
Dylan
She said yes.
The relief that crashes through me is so intense that dizziness washes over me for a second. I push back from the island and round it to her side, pulling her off her stool and into my arms.
“Thank you.” I bury my face in her hair, breathing in the jasmine and amber that I’ve been chasing for a year. “Thank you for giving me another chance. For trusting me with this.”
“Don’t make me regret it.”
“Never.” I pull back to look at her face, cupping her jaw in my hands. “I’m going to spend every day proving you made the right choice.”
“Every day seems like a lot of pressure.”
“I thrive under pressure.” I grin at her eye roll. “It’s one of my many positive qualities.”
“Your modesty is truly inspiring.”
“Thank you, I’ve been working on it.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Now, what do you want to do with the rest of our day? We could start looking at furniture. Or we could drive to your apartment and start packing. Or…”
“Or?”
I tighten my arms around her, letting my hands drift down to cup her hips through the thin fabric of my shirt.
“Or we could go back to bed and continue what we started this morning. I believe I was in the middle of being a gentleman, but I’m willing to abandon that approach if you’re interested.”
Her lips curve into a smile that makes my pulse spike. “You did promise breakfast first. Breakfast is over.”
“That’s a very good point.”
“I’m very logical.”
“It’s one of your many positive qualities.” I steal her phrase deliberately, and her laugh is worth everything I went through to earn it.
“Take me back to bed, husband.”
I don’t wait for a second invitation.
I swing her up into my arms, ignoring her surprised squeal, and carry her toward the stairs.
“Dylan! I can walk!”
“I know. But this is more romantic.”
“It’s more ridiculous.”
“Romantic and ridiculous aren’t mutually exclusive.” I press a kiss to her forehead as I climb the stairs. “In fact, I’d argue they’re complementary.”
She shakes her head, but she’s laughing, her arms wrapped around my neck, and the sound fills the empty spaces of this house that’s been silent for too long.
I carry my wife to our bedroom. Ours, finally, again. And I make a silent promise to whatever force brought her back to me.
I won’t waste this second chance, won’t take her for granted again.
I’ll spend every day, every hour, every minute showing her that she made the right choice by coming home.
Because she is my home. She always has been.
I just had to lose her to finally understand it.
Later, much later, we lie tangled together in sheets that desperately need changing.
Selene is draped across my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. I’m playing with her hair, watching the afternoon light paint golden streaks across the bedroom.
“We should probably shower at some point.” Her lazy voice sounds satisfied.
“Probably.”
“And eat lunch.”
“Eventually.”
“And start making actual plans for my move.”
“Tomorrow.” I tighten my arms around her. “Today, I just want to hold you. Is that okay?”
She tilts her head up to look at me, and her expression is so soft it makes my chest ache.
“That’s more than okay.”
“Good.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Because I don’t plan on letting go anytime soon.”
“Clingy.”
“Absolutely. Unrepentantly. Devotedly clingy.” I grin at her expression. “Get used to it, wife. You’re stuck with me now.”
“I suppose I can live with that.”
“You suppose?”
“Fine.” She stretches up to kiss me, soft and sweet. “I know I can live with that. Happily. For a very long time.”
“That’s better.”
We fall silent, and I let myself drift in the contentment of the moment. My wife in my arms. The future stretching out before us, full of possibility instead of regret.
This is what I almost lost.
This is what I’ll never take for granted again.
“Hey, Dylan?”
“Mm?”
“I love you.”
The words land in my chest, settling there. A gift I don’t quite deserve but am grateful for anyway.
“I love you too, baby.” I pull her closer. “More than anything.”
She settles against my chest with a contented sigh, and within minutes, her breathing has evened out into sleep.
I stay awake a while longer, watching her, memorizing the peace on her face.
Then I close my eyes and let myself drift off too.
For the first time in over a year, I sleep without dreaming.
I don’t need to dream anymore.
My reality is better than anything I could imagine.