36. Thirty-Six
Thirty-Six
Sara
There’s a surreal feeling when someone says those words; that they love you.
I’ve never really felt… loved, it’s almost a disorienting experience.
My mom spent half of my life angry at me, yelling and pushing me to be a version of myself that never truly satisfied her, and she’s never actually voiced those words out loud.
Neither has my father. I’ve only heard my brother tell me he loved me, and he was gone an instant too soon.
As much as my dad tried to save his marriage and stay, I know my mom made his life a living nightmare, unable to truly maintain a relationship with her and me.
She was ravaged by grief, it’s perhaps not an excuse, and I’m still forgiving the horrible things she’s said to me, but I recognize how grief can take your essence away.
Liam helped me reverse my beliefs, and how some were rooted inside me more than just floated statements; he asked me the other day if I had perhaps taken on her grief, one of a mother more than a sister— and that made my head spin.
He held me close as we lounged by the pool, and I asked him if he’d stay with me while I called my dad.
Which he did, and my dad and I have progressed over the past few weeks with phone calls that have made me feel more at peace.
Then we called his mom, who asked if we were planning on giving her any grand children and Liam's eyes twinkled as he said, “Anything she wants, I want, Mom.”
My ovaries are officially skewered.
I've rarely felt so heated from the inside and out.
When I step into the pool to cool off, the warm water rising to my waist, he follows behind me quietly, setting a plate of cut watermelon at the pool's edge before sliding in after me.
He stands silently, moving nearer until his chest touches my back and his arms trap me against the tile on either side.
Reaching past me, he lifts a slice of watermelon to my lips, which I take from his fingers, the juice running down my chin, and he catches it with his thumb and tastes it.
His hands slide down my shoulders and around my back, finding the knot of my bikini top and pulling it loose, watching my face as he does.
The fabric floats away, and he unties the sides of my bottoms next, one then the other, letting them go too.
His hand moves under the water, fingers pressing between my thighs.
When he shifts his hips and pushes inside me, I gasp as he moves slowly, the resistance of the warm water making every thrust deliberate and deep, his palms flat against my stomach and ribs, holding me back against him.
My moans break open against his mouth when he turns my face to his and kisses me, and I taste watermelon and us on his tongue.
The slowness of his movement holding so much.
“Did you mean it?” I whisper against his lips.
Thrust.
“What baby?”
“A family… Do you see yourself—”
Thrust.
“I would see myself have anything you want, Sara, as long as it’s me you’d want the most,” he says kissing me, watching me break apart for him.
“I want you… everything you have to give me, Liam.” I moan, and we kiss for what feels like hours until I come undone and become his a little more.
I’m still reeling from the fear I felt and the disbelief that Tyler is in on this. We do not know where he is, and it’s been well over a week. Mateo told Liam they should observe for now, telling him he’s expecting someone to retaliate for exploding the Velastra.
Liam and I stayed inside his house, and I allowed myself for the first time in my life to feel loved.
Cherished. His ‘I love you’ washed over me like a wave of relief.
It's like stepping off a cliff, knowing the fall could destroy you, an involuntary suicide mission, yet somehow, Liam was healing me in ways I’d jump for. I’d risk it all for a love like his.
Lost in thought, I lean against the counter. My body still aches in the most delicious ways, and I smile to myself, pouring coffee into a mug, inhaling the rich aroma.
His warm hands slide around my waist, and I feel his chest press against my back. My skin instantly prickles with awareness, every nerve ending alive at his touch.
“Morning,” he murmurs against my neck.
I turn in his arms, his icy blue eyes finding mine, and a side smile sends tingles to my heart and spine. “I didn’t want to wake you.” I softly kiss his lips.
“The bed turned cold. Enough to wake me,” he says, brushing hair behind my ear. “I need to head to Mateo’s office today with Damien. Will you be okay?” He kisses the top of my head.
“Yes, I will. I wanted to go into town for a little today… Do you think…?”
“No, it’s too dangerous, Sara. It’s been too quiet, it’s not over.” His eyes darken with fear, and I know we face it all together, but there was one thing nagging at my soul that I needed to do… For me, for goodbyes, for forgiveness.
“Can you maybe have one of your guys follow me?” I ask shyly. His jaw tightens and his forehead rests on my shoulder as his hands cup my waist, his breath warm against my neck.
“You don’t know what you’re asking me, Sara…”
“Liam, no one is going to do anything in plain daylight and there’s the market on Place Des Lices, there will be so many people.”
“Okay… but I want you to text me when you get home. I’ll have Max go with you, he’s new but Riviera trusts him.”
“Thank you. I love you.” I cup his face and kiss him.
He walks to his bedroom and turns on the shower.
I smile as the water runs, this fragile peace between us feels so new, so precious.
I turn back to my coffee, taking a slow sip and letting the warmth flood through me as I walk over to the pile of mail, bills, catalogs for indoor decorations, gardening, and more.
Everything slightly more depressing than the other when I feel at the brink of a brand-new life yet can’t fully build one.
That’s when I spot it—a baguette sitting on the kitchen counter. I frown, trying to remember if it was there last night. The golden-brown crust looks perfect, untouched. I haven’t been able to eat the delicious bread since…
“Hey,” I call toward the bathroom, raising my voice over the shower. “Did you get a baguette?”
Liam pokes his head out, shirtless. “What baguette?”
“This baguette on the counter.”
He peeks out and shrugs, unconcerned. “Probably Damien. He was here yesterday on a conference call with me. Must’ve left it.”
I nod, but something doesn’t feel right.
I run my fingers along the bread’s surface.
It’s crisp to the touch. I break off a tiny piece, examining it as any French girl would.
This isn’t day-old bread, it’s fresh, likely from this morning.
A chill runs down my spine and my mind leaps to dark thoughts, but I brush them off instantly, laughing a bit at my idiocy. Liam is probably right.
“Everything okay, baby?” Liam calls, shower still running.
“Yeah,” I answer, trying to steady my heart. I walk to the bathroom, close the door behind me, strip off Liam’s shirt I slept in, and step into the shower.
He turns, halfway rinsing shampoo from his hair, one eye open.
I wrap my arms around him and he doesn’t falter.
He’s my warmth in winter, through highs and lows and when his eyes turn stormy and his words cut me open, I just know his presence has tattooed itself onto my existence, a cemented constellation of unmovable emotions.
His hand presses against my naked back, anchoring me as his chest gives me the peace I desperately always need.
Once more, we lose ourselves in the ravenous need of each other’s touch.
Liam kisses me goodbye, his lips lingering as if reluctant to break away, but I shoo him out eventually.
The house feels empty the moment the door clicks shut.
Touching where his mouth was seconds ago, I realize it’s been months we’ve been attached at the hip.
We’re in April now, peak season starting again in just a few months.
I hesitate, knowing what I must do. We all have ways to cope with grief that defy belief, right and wrong, the unanswered burden of death we’re bound to face.
Sometimes letting go quietly isn’t enough.
Some wounds demand more than acceptance to heal on an endless path of missing pieces while hope, waits patiently to bloom again.
I grab my purse, open the front door, and nod to Max, Liam’s security, briefed not to leave my side today. If this gives me a little freedom to breathe, I’ll take it.
The car door clicks shut behind me as I settle beside Max. I tell him our destination, lean back against the leather seat, and watch Saint-Tropez come alive.
Market day has transformed Place des Lices into a maze of color with silk scarves fluttering, silver jewelry catching sunlight, cheese wheels, so many different food vendors releasing their aromas.
I love this place, I've missed coming here to do my groceries.
But I don't miss the narrow streets collapsing into gridlock and honking.
When a car abruptly pulls out of a rare parking spot just ahead of us, I tap Max’s shoulder. “Take that spot,” I urge. “We’ll walk from here.”
Max’s face tightens, but I insist. The sooner I finish, the sooner I return home.
“I don’t think we should walk,” he grumbles.
“Lighten up, Max. It’s a circus out here. No one will do anything.” I open the door and step onto the curb.
We walk, smile, nod at acquaintances who can’t hide their surprise at seeing Max with me. I see their wheels turning.
'That girl sure gets around. Trauma will do that.'