80. Helena
Helena
Helena woke before Bertram did, and her heart immediately melted at the perfection of the moment.
Bertram was so breathtakingly beautiful in sleep like this—his mouth just parted enough for Helena to see fangs and tusks both.
He was so precious, so uniquely, spectacularly him that she couldn’t imagine how Bertram could see his crooked teeth as anything other than a masterpiece.
Helena could have stayed in that moment for eternity, just watching Bertram’s grey-green eyelids flutter gently in his sleep.
Then he blinked his eyes open, and he was awake and looking at her, looking at her with such warmth and affection that Helena felt herself melting all over again.
“Good morning,” Bertram murmured and reached his arms out for Helena.
She lay back down and snuggled into him. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheeks, and closed his eyes as he laid his head on her chest.
“What a nice prom night,” Bertram said.
“It really was.” Helena ran her fingers through his dark floppy hair. “I was sort of dreading this birthday, but . . . you made it one of the best birthdays ever. Thank you for that.”
“Believe me, it was my pleasure.” Bertram kissed her hand, and Helena found herself blushing.
“I—I didn’t want to say anything when we were in the, you know, re-establishing trust or whatever phase that you insisted upon—”
“And aren’t you glad I did?” Bertram smirked.
Helena ignored this, so as to not encourage bad behavior.
“But listen, this—this feels, you know, serious. I know we’ve danced around that for years without ever really saying anything.
But I think the lesson we’ve learned is, you know, using words .
. . good. Not that I’m using them particularly good right now.
Not that I’m using them well. But that we should probably talk about things in life and I .
. . I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t know where things go from here . . .”
“I do.” Bertram sat up and looked Helena in the eye, his own eyes dark with urgency.
“I want to be with you, Helena. For as long as you’ll have me.
And not the wishy-washy bullshit we did when we were kids, because we were too scared to put a label on things.
You’ve always been my Person. And I want to be yours.
I want us to have a future together, build a life together. ”
“I . . .” Helena found herself at a complete loss for words.
“I’m in love with you. I don’t think I’ve ever said it in those exact words,” Bertram admitted, “but it’s been true for longer than is reasonable for me to have gone without saying it.
I’m not—look, I’m not trying to propose marriage or anything this second; I know we’re still finding our way, but at this moment in time, I can’t imagine wanting to spend any more time without you.
I love you, Doctor Helena de Narbon, MD. ”
Helena’s mind went utterly and entirely blank.
She wanted to be thinking about Bertram in this moment, this moment she’d been dreaming of for ten-plus years.
But for some horrible reason, the moment he mentioned marriage, suddenly all she could think about was her father. Her father and his.
Gerard, who had died wondering why Bertram had so callously and suddenly removed himself from his daughter’s life.
Urghk, who died having barely heard from Helena in three years, respectfully accepting her choice to slowly distance herself from the family who loved her like one of their own.
Gerard, who would never walk Helena down the aisle, never share a father-daughter dance with her.
Urghk, who wouldn’t give an embarrassing toast at their wedding, wouldn’t reveal all their awful childhood stories into a barely functioning microphone while everyone who loved them laughed and Helena pretended to hide her face in shame . . .
She loved Bertram, and Bertram loved her, but there was a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach that it was all too late.
Could a love story truly end happily ever after if their heroes weren’t there to witness it?
Why, oh why, couldn’t Bertram have loved her five years ago?
“I—one sec.” Helena burst from Bertram’s arms, managed to throw on pajamas, and scrambled out of the tent, gasping for breath.
She briefly wondered if maybe she was dying—she didn’t seem to be able to get the proper airflow required for a living Person.
She forced herself to breathe slowly and steadily, in through her nose, out through her mouth.
She was every bit as pissed off as she was panicked.
She wanted to be jumping up and down for joy right now or sobbing with happiness.
She wanted to feel ecstatic—or turned on, maybe—she could be kissing Bertram right now, having “hooray, you said you loved me!” sex that would be every bit as satisfying as the incredible sex they had last night, only now with even greater emotional implications.
Instead, her swirling mix of emotions had somehow added up to . . . this.
Whatever “this” was.
Her racing thoughts were starting to slow as her breathing became steadier, and she could vaguely see through the fog of her panic and regret.
Bertram was right—there was no going backward, only forward.
He hadn’t even said that he wanted to marry her—he had, but he hadn’t—wait, had he?
—but nothing they could do would put their fathers at their wedding.
That didn’t mean they couldn’t have one, and enjoy it, and find some way to honor those they lost when and if that day came around.
Helena took a deep breath, further steadying herself.
Bertram was in love with Helena the same way she was in love with Bertram, and he had even used her proper title as medical doctor when confessing his love, without even a hint of sarcasm.
“Oh, shit,” Helena said, quietly, because she realized she hadn’t said it back.
She hadn’t said much of anything before she fled the tent.
What if Bertram thought she didn’t return the sentiment?
She could have choked out a quick, “I’m in love with you too,” before she went outside to have a breakdown.
He was probably wondering if he had misinterpreted her feelings for him, if he shouldn’t have laid his soul bare the way he did.
How awful of her to let Bertram confess something so vulnerable and then rush out like that.
Helena turned to rush back into the tent and tell Bertram that she loved him more, that she loved him first, that she was the most in love with him.
But then a dark shadow fell over Helena.
“Goddamn, I love being right,” Helena said to herself.
Then something hit her in the back of the head, and she blacked out.