One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(91)

Our first, and mine. A secret I keep to myself. But a secret I share with her. Only her. Her greeting as she entered the Camaro was soft-spoken, “I missed you.” A genuinely whispered sentiment I’ve come to rely on—which keeps me aching to return it.

I did everything I could to make it memorable. I denied the easy affections I give her behind closed doors because right now, I’m no longer in daily communication with Tobias—I think it’s because he may be onto us. He didn’t answer my last text after I ghosted him briefly when the weather permitted. But if he has caught wind of our deception, we may very well be under a watch we haven’t detected yet, which has me up in arms.

The familiar, ill feeling starts to sink in, and I banish it by craning my neck enough to peer over at her. Spotting a smear of black beneath her eyes, my gaze slowly drops to her swollen, thoroughly kissed lips, focus drifting between the faint marks on her neck and chest. Evidence of when I ravaged her the second we pulled up. Twice. Fixating on the freshly fucked look of her, I revel in the slight imperfections I created and how they got there. “What was the question?”

“Do you ever get jealous?”

“No.” A white lie. But not for any conclusion she may draw.

“Why?”

“Because he can give you things I can’t,” I admit honestly.

Sean can freely express himself to her, whereas I’m limited. His ink is etched skin deep, and though his promise is genuine, it’s ultimately up to him to keep stock in it. Even if the words are there for me, too—along with the need to claim her in totality—both of us have withheld staking that claim and putting a voice to it with so much deceit between us. Until she knows the whole truth, I can’t utter them—where Sean might. Because underneath my ink is a blood tie made with my brother, which binds me from being anything more than what I am to her now. That’s where any jealousy I harbor lies.

“I’m not complaining,” she whispers, “please don’t think that, but why can’t you?”

“Because I’m not like him. I’m a lot simpler.” Even now, it remains the truth.

“I don’t believe that,” she insists.

“It’s true.” The guilt gnaws deeper, eating away at my resolve. At this point, I’m struggling daily to count the number of lies I keep to hold my secret to the truths I can reveal, and it’s fucking crippling.

Sensing my discomfort, she traces my jaw in a caress that has me aching while voicing her declaration. “You are anything but simple.”

“My needs are. I don’t want things like other people.” Even if I could imagine a future for myself, I don’t see anything resembling the type of personal future so many others strive for.

“Why? Why train yourself for such simplicity when you are worth so much . . .” My chest caves in with the look she gifts me, the one that makes me feel invincible. “You are so much more than what you let people see—than what you give yourself credit for.”

“That’s the point.”

She holds my eyes hostage with her next question. “Why won’t you let people know you?”

You’re my people. “You know me.”

Her eyes soften to the point I almost look away, the deceit tearing at my insides as she speaks again, nailing me with right-hook sentiment. “And I’m lucky.”

Jesus Christ.

“You are anything but.”

“Please just stop that . . .” she cuts herself off before digging in. “You don’t have low self-esteem. What’s with this glib shit?”

Because if I voice my own fears, I know they’ll manifest by my own fucking doing, and I’ll lose you.

I swallow. “There is so much you don’t know.”

“I want to, Dom. I want to know all sides of you.”

“You don’t, Cecelia, you think you do, but you don’t.” The vow I made strengthens within me that she will never glimpse the dark I do embrace.

“You think I won’t care for you like I do?”

“Things will change.” It’s the absolute truth, and even as knowledgeable as she is thanks to Sean—and as strong as she’s becoming—the flipside of our reality and the life I live under her radar is sometimes too much for me to handle.

“I don’t care,” she declares, palming my chest. “I want in. Please let me in.”

I can barely contain the sting building in my throat as I remain mute. After several beats of my forced silence, she relents. “Okay, okay.” She presses a kiss to my jaw. “It’s hard being with you. It’s just hard sometimes.”

The burn that statement causes has me losing my grip briefly as I let her in on the most important truth, a truth she made fact. “You are in.”

She looks back up at me, and I see it so clearly.

She loves me.

Words seem meaningless compared to what thrums between us, but I see those damning words forming as we gaze at each other, my pulse spiking as I soak in her expression and see it so distinctly, so intently, it’s unmistakable.

She loves me.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

Covering her mouth with my palm, I stop her attempt to voice them because if she utters a single one, I might not ever come back from it. “Don’t waste good words on me.”