Chapter 11 #2
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he murmurs. Ten minutes later, his breathing falls into a regular pattern, his body curling even closer to mine, like steam-hot vines wanting to wrap themselves all over my being.
I stay awake one more hour, until shy sunrays greets me, and I finally concede to falling asleep for a little while.
When we wake up, I glance over my shoulder, noticing he is already awake and watching me.
His eyes drop to my lips, pupils dilating, before he shuts them hard.
“Shower?” he asks, though I do not know if he means it as a statement.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Do you still need, um…” He clears his throat. “Help?” A second stretch, both of us knowing very well that I’m getting better and that I no longer need his help to do that.
I know it.
He knows it.
A flame burns bright between us this morning, enhanced by our proximity through the night.
“I don’t think I can do it alone yet. Help would be great,” I lie, signing as he swallows.
He does not say anything and follows me in his light gray sweatpants, which hang so low on the V of his abs.
Facing the mirror, I undress as he turns on the shower, his back to me.
Then, looking down like someone is holding a gun to his head, he grunts a difficult, “Get in.”
Tiptoeing in Eve’s clothes, I step into the steaming shower. It is almost too hot to bear, but I let the water wash my worries and fears away as I feel his presence next to me, his gaze still fixed on the door.
My hand tugs at his, and he steps backward awkwardly, bumping into me and cracking out a “Damn it, sorry.”
His back catches the showerhead water too, droplets dripping onto his illegal sweatpants.
Tristan took so much care of me. I want to take care of him too.
Even if I cannot offer the full spectrum of what wives give their husbands.
Like a religious ritual, I grab the soap and pour it into my hand, then run it over his bare back, tracing new, uncharted routes.
The line between wanting him and keeping my demons away is thin, so thin I feel as though I am balancing on my toes above an endless drop.
His shoulders tense as my hands meet them with long, slow caresses, white foam covering his skin as I spread my fingers.
I come closer, and he steps back once more, his back to me, my hands on him, the silliness of this situation not lost on me.
Still, it’s another step. Another proof of how much patience and respect there’s between us.
“You don’t have to…” I hear him mutter beneath the rainfall of the shower.
I do not respond. Instead, I let my hand run down the lower part of his back, where two dimples mark the place where comfort ends and the forbidden begins.
My lips brush his spine, and I let out a breath, praying, hoping for good things to come.
Hoping courage never leaves my side, and that he never does either.
“I want to turn so badly, Ella. It’s…” He pauses.
“It’s…killing me.” Pressing another kiss to his shoulder, I rise onto my tiptoes, then drop one to his nape, inhaling his scent like a tigress.
“Please, Ella,” he croaks out. “I can’t.
I…” The water turns off. Without a glance over his shoulder, he storms out, drenched, leaving a trail of water behind him as he disappears into the bedroom and shuts the door.
What happened? My spine meets the tiles, dizzy and out of breath, my belly filling with butterflies and perhaps a mix of…
hunger. Whatever this foreign feeling is, I welcome it.
I close my eyes and let the water soothe me for another minute.
Tristan
I would like, for the record, to have it known that I was trying very hard to be a gentleman before Ella started working her spell on me in the shower.
Thirty-two years of life experiences, and damn it, it took barely five minutes for Ella to make me feel like I was erupting into fire on the spot.
We have not even slept together. It has been months, and usually I’m a last-night-was-nice-let’s-never-meet-again kind of man, so all of this is not only new and unfamiliar, but radically different.
Life-shatteringly different. The kind that tells you there will always be a before and an after. Mine is called Ella.
She does not even have to say a word to get under my skin to remind me how mortal I am.
Getting to notice everything with her only highlights how priceless those stolen moments are.
Her hands running down my back, tracing lines I could just as well get tattooed there, because I will always remember them.
When she kissed my nape, I just…had to get out.
I was that close to turning around, pressing her small body to the tile, and having my way with her.
Which would have been unacceptable. Immoral.
And yet, one more second in that shower and my last thread of willpower would have snapped.
Pacing the bedroom like a madman, or simply a weak man incapable of keeping his cravings at a bearable level, I scribble something on a notebook I left on her nightstand and storm to my gym at the other side of the hallway.
I’m in the gym.
You did nothing wrong.
We’re leaving at 11.
- T
My sweatpants are completely drenched, and I remove them inside the gym before jumping onto my pull-up bar and starting a set until my arms burn so badly I have to stop.
Back there, the shower shuts off. I close my eyes, trying and failing not to imagine her wandering through my bedroom barely dressed only a few meters away.
* * *
“Happy birthday, Mads,” I sign, finishing just in time to catch my little niece, who’s dressed in a navy blue firefighter jumpsuit and a fake diamond tiara that sits a little loose on the side of her hazelnut hair. She hugs me, then shows me her tongue. Blue, by the way.
“Candy?” I ask, twisting the tip of my index finger against my cheek.
She grins widely, the obvious amount of sugar in her speaking for itself.
I am betting that in two hours, she will be passed out somewhere in the garden–probably on the slide.
With her fingers crossed in eagerness, Maddie points behind my shoulder, and I step aside, revealing Ella.
She’s dressed in a white cardigan, a gray T-shirt, and high-rise dark denim jeans.
Her hair is loose and still a bit wet from the shower, a shower I will absolutely never think about again at the risk of having to leave the room once more to look at the sky, or a tree, or a wall, or touch grass for a second, only to keep my hands from catching her throat and stealing a much less graceful, much more brutal and ravenous kiss.
If not more. No shower thinking, thank you very much.
Around Ella’s neck rests a delicate heart-shaped locket, the silver catching the light each time she moves.
I noticed it in the car, when her thumb kept returning to it over and over, rubbing the metal like a prayer.
She opened it once while she thought I wasn't looking, revealing a tiny picture of her family tucked inside.
Even after it all, she managed to keep it.
Ella’s eyes brighten when she sees Maddie, as if all the hurt she had been carrying suddenly vanished for the sake of innocence.
It shows me, yet again, how strong and brave she is.
I do not know if Ella would ever want to be a mother, but I know she would be great at it.
And no, I am absolutely not thinking about any of those possibilities right now. Absolutely not.
“Hi, I’m Ella,” she signs, spelling her name slowly, right before Maddie nods and almost cuts her off, telling her she can sign fast since she knows ASL perfectly.
They start bantering at a speed I've never witnessed in my lifetime, and if you think mute people cannot chat at lightning speed, I can assure you they can. Trying to catch the words I can grasp, and also noticing how slowly Ella signs when she speaks to me, I have to refrain from hating myself for not being able to sign at her natural pace. Holding one finger up, Mads disappears, running with her elbows moving fast like a cartoon character, right as Nate comes in with a tablecloth over his shoulder. He is wearing a similar navy firefighter jumpsuit to Maddie’s, which he looks great in, and I know he has a spare one for me too.
I agreed to wear it because refusing anything to Mads is basically a lost battle.
The second Nate sees Ella, he inevitably takes her in, and I wonder if meeting her was a great idea, since she is the definition of intelligence and charm.
I have never been one to feel insecure about my masculinity, but Ella opens doors I have yet to scrutinize.
She never acknowledged she was mine, but if she signed it, it wouldn't hurt at all.
Dr. Keller would definitely have a field day with this.
“Ella,” Nate greets her with open arms, while still keeping his distance. “Thank you so much for coming. I can’t tell you how excited Mads was to meet you.” Ella nods with a shy smile.
“Thank you for the invitation.” A rush of breathless, adorable, and funny little steps comes toward us.
Mads’s tiara is about to fall, and she repositions it with both hands, then looks up with big eyes that could definitely get her everything she wants from anyone.
She hands a similar tiara to Ella, eyes full of hope.
When Ella accepts it with a small, silent laugh and places it on her head, Mads signs, “Princesses. We’re princesses.”
Ella answers, “Thank you so much, Maddie. I love it.” We all watch as the six-year-old Ashford blushes and hides behind Nate’s legs. He ruffles her hair, and she protests immediately, pointing at her tiara.