One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(57)



Instead of snapping at her that this wasn’t intentional, I let it go.

Even if I think romantic love is mostly a chemically induced state, she believes in it. There’s no need for me to be a dick about it or try to ruin her idea of it. Sean can give her all she needs in that department. I’m glad in that respect because she deserves to believe for as long as she can. Life has a way of ripping our ideas and hopes about the things that matter most to us to shreds.

We sit quietly for long minutes as I tug on my blunt. Fortune has a good fucking laugh at my expense when, in the distance, a solid rainbow appears.

Cutting her eyes my way, Cecelia presses her lips together until she loses her battle, bursting into a fit of hysterical laughter. “Talk about an epic backfire,” she says through a laugh, “poor baby, this must be torturous for you.”

“Shut up.”

“Just waiting on a unicorn to do a fly-by and drop a crown in my lap,” she muses. “Considering I’ve already snagged a temperamental Prince who rides a dark horse,” she nods back toward my Camaro.

“Hilarious,” I quip, pulling the last of my joint and stomping it under my boot before glancing back at the rainbow. “They’re actually pretty common around here,” I tell her, just as another faded duplicate appears behind it, both beginning and ending in a high arch over the expansive neon green terrain.

“Holy shit,” she exclaims, “so I’m guessing this is common too?”

Stunned by the sight of it, I can’t remember the last time I saw a rainbow, let alone bothered looking for one. Music drifts from my speakers as I immerse myself in the created atmosphere—intentional or not—while a light buzz settles into me. Tension easing up substantially, mind slowing as I remain present, I somehow manage to slip back into a scarce, tranquil state along with her. Turning to Cecelia, I watch her watching the show, her expression wistful. Maybe it’s the wine and the bud, or maybe it’s her, but I can’t rip my eyes away. I’ve never been so attracted to a woman in my life.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

Sensing my stare, Cecelia slowly turns to me, her smile fading when I cup the back of her head and pull her close.

The ever-present buzz increases as I sweep my tongue along her lower lip, capturing a droplet of lingering wine on the corner before pulling away, our lips brushing.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

Feeding from the charged current continually humming between us, she stares back at me, equally as ensnared.

Fuck it.

The kiss starts deep, going past what I went in for, lasting for long, blissful seconds, maybe more, as she clutches me to her. It’s when my chest rattles in awareness that I break the kiss abruptly and stand. “Let’s go take a shower.”

Her eyes light as she reads the meaning between the words—that our time together isn’t over as far as I’m concerned. Not even close.

And I’m right because it rains for the next two days.





“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”—Le Petit Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry





Sean and I stand on opposite ends of the island, sipping morning brew, debating the news as if the stalemate we’ve been in since the Meetup doesn’t exist. Though it’s still apparent, the glimmer in his eyes is back, and it’s no big mystery who put it there. Just as I think it, the source catches both of our attention as she halts all movement at the landing of the stairs. Fresh from Sean’s shower, she idles in black boy shorts and a form-fitting tank—her expression that of a deer caught in two sets of headlights. To be fair to her, this is the first morning she’s been alone with the two of us since this started. Sean glances toward me, a brow lifted in amusement, before making his first attempt to lure her toward us. “Hey, Pup, have a good shower?”

She slowly nods, her eyes darting to me and back to Sean.

“Coffee?” Sean asks in another effort to lure her down.

She nods again and slowly makes her way to us as if we’re a problem she’s trying to solve. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, I place it on the island between our steaming mugs and pour.

The second she’s within reach, Sean pulls her into him, his whisper easy to catch. “It’s cool, baby. We’re not going to bite.” He kisses her cheek. “You smell so fucking good.” She whispers something back as I scan her, her hair twisted and secured on the top of her head, her slender, delicate neck flushed red with embarrassment, shame, or both.

“I’m going to go grab a quick one,” Sean croons in a soothing tone as Brandy trots into the kitchen, nails ticking on the tiles. “Want to go get some breakfast after?”

“Sure,” she says, eyeing me briefly as I pour Brandy’s breakfast into her bowl.

“Be right back,” Sean gives her a slow wink before heading upstairs. Cecelia eyes me pensively where she stands at the fridge, grabbing the milk and heading toward the island.

“Hi,” I whisper, discarding the bag, unable to hold my smile as she cuts her eyes at me, the ‘asshole’ clear in them. Moving to join her, I trail my gaze down the length of her.

“When are you going to make peace with it?” I ask as I approach, my breath hitting her nape as she uncaps the milk.

“I’m,” her lips lift in a tight smile. “I have no clue. It’s just different.”

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