3. Georgina #4
Max lowers his head against my neck, still catching his breath, and I smooth his hair back with fingers that have finally stopped gripping. When he shifts to take more of his weight off me, I follow him, reluctant to lose the warmth between us.
“You’re going to kill me, Elle.” His laugh brushes my skin, tired and pleased enough to make me smile.
“You’ll survive.” I kiss his temple and let my lips linger there. “You always do.”
He lifts his head to look at me, and his expression softens. His thumb passes beneath my eye, catching moisture I hadn’t realized was there. I turn my face into his palm before he can ask about it. I kiss his palm instead.
Max draws me against him as we settle beneath the sheet, and I tuck my head under his chin, grateful when he makes room without loosening his hold.
For a while, neither of us speaks. His breathing steadies beneath my cheek, and I listen with my hand resting on his chest. The things we haven’t resolved are still there, but I don’t feel quite so alone with them.
“Elle.” He draws the sheet over my shoulder and finds my hand beneath it. “I love you.”
“I know.” I press a kiss to his chest. “I love you too.”
His thumb moves over my wedding ring. I’m beginning to think he’s drifting off when he speaks again.
“We’ll have another day like yesterday.” He brings my hand closer against him. “I’ll make time. I promise.”
I lift my head and study his face in the lamplight.
For a moment, I let myself imagine him choosing a day, moving things around, coming upstairs to tell me it’s ours. I want it badly enough that I have to be careful with my answer.
“You don’t have to promise just because I got upset.” I brush his hair off his forehead, giving him room to reconsider even though I’d hate it if he did.
“I’m promising because I want to.” He catches my hand and kisses my fingers. “I miss having you to myself, too.”
Something in my chest eases. He’s brought it up without being asked, when he could have gone to sleep believing the evening had ended well. Perhaps he heard more than I thought.
I settle against him again, resisting the urge to ask when. There will be time to choose a day. For now, I want to enjoy knowing he wants one.
“Go to sleep.” I smooth my palm over his chest. “You have to be up early.”
“Stay close.” His arm tightens around me, and he kisses the top of my head. “I’ve got you.”
I close my eyes and let my weight rest against him. I can picture another afternoon beneath the tree, his laugh against my temple, the easy pleasure of having nowhere else to be. He wants that too. I let myself look forward to it.
***
I wake reaching for him and find cold sheets.
For a moment, I keep my hand there, waiting to feel him move beneath it. Then I open my eyes. Pale pink light slips through the curtains, and the clock tells me it’s barely past six.
I sit up slowly and reach for the shirt he left over the chair beside the bed, pulling it around my shoulders. The floor is cold as I cross to the window that overlooks the east side of the property.
From here I can see the edge of the arena. Two figures are visible in the morning light. Max stands beside a pale horse with someone mounted, and when the rider turns toward him I recognize Giselle, her ponytail hanging below her helmet.
He holds the lead while she settles into the saddle. I can’t hear what he says from here. I don’t need to. I’ve watched him give beginners their first lessons before, patient enough to explain the same thing until they stop being embarrassed to ask.
The bed is still unmade when I turn around. His pillow has slipped against mine, and I straighten it before I realize what I’m doing.
Last night I fell asleep with my cheek on his chest. He kept moving his arm so I wouldn’t have to move my head, even after I told him I was probably cutting off his circulation. He told me he’d let me know when it became a medical emergency.
I believed him when he said he loved me. I still do. That’s what makes it so hard to know where to put this hurt. I can’t dismiss the way he held me, or his quiet laugh against my hair, just because I’m alone now. I don’t want to dismiss any of it. I want more.
He hasn’t broken a promise. He said dawn, and here it is.
But when I reached across the mattress, I wasn’t remembering the arrangements at dinner. I was still in the night we’d just had, expecting his hand to find mine before I was properly awake.
For those few seconds, there was nothing complicated about wanting him.
Now I’m standing in his shirt, trying to make a lesson small enough that it shouldn’t hurt me. It’s only a little of his time. She’s my sister. He’ll come back. I can say all of it to myself and still want to open the window and call his name.
I sit down on his side of the bed.
Downstairs, someone is opening the shutters, getting the house ready for another day. I pull the shirt closed and look toward the door, caught by the ridiculous hope that I might hear his footsteps after all.
I want to be his wife outside this room, too.