Whoosh. Whoosh.
“You have found love.” Delphine’s whisper trickles in.
It found me.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
“I love you,” I whisper in declaration just as thunder rattles the sliding glass doors, the confession dying with that warning as she looks over to me in question. “Hmm?”
Whoosh. Whoosh.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
I jerk my chin slightly as she turns back to the movie. I soak in her profile, taking note of the length of her lashes, the utter perfection of her nose, and the fullness of her lips. Legs draped over my lap, she sinks further into the couch as I watch in wait.
Eventually, it happens. Her chest begins to pump, emotions emanating from her, a whimper leaving her throat as tears form in her eyes. Turning back to the screen as the clueless asshole professes his love, I glance back to see Cecelia buying every second of it.
It’s so easy to see that love is her life force, her reason for being—what drives her. I didn’t need to witness her watching this to know it because she’s just as emotional with me. When I lose myself in her, when she lingers after every spoken sentiment and the way she looks up at me when I fuck her slow and deep. She’s a hundred percent fucking heart, and it leaks everywhere, no matter where she is or what situation she’s in. She’s incredibly brave in that respect.
For that, I admire her.
For that, I respect her.
For that, I fucking fear for her.
When her tears finally spill over, I lean over and snatch one with my lips. Her breath hitches, and her watery eyes zero in when I sweep the salt collected away with my tongue. Biting back the words that were never supposed to slip from my lips, I give her another truth.
“You’re beautiful, Cecelia.” It’s the first time I’ve said it without anything physical happening between us, and her eyes widen a little with the sentiment. This woman has completely consumed me in every way that matters, and she needs to know.
Instead, I press a promise into her as I take her lips in a kiss—a vow without words that I’ll protect her perfect heart as much as I can.
A vow without words but a promise just the same.
A promise I’ll do everything in my power to keep.
Looking into her eyes, I vow she’ll never know about the monsters she can’t see because I’ll slay them all before they have a chance to get to her.
Even if that monster is me.
The sky delivered tonight before the sun fully set. Endless stars litter the vast expanse above from where we lay on my hood, where Cecelia rests, cradled in my hold. My heart beats steadily as she gazes up with me, music filtering from the cabin of my Camaro. Crickets chirp around us in offering with the rest of the budding night noise as contentment blankets me in a way I never thought possible.
“Dom?”
“Yeah?”
“What do you want, you know, for the future?”
Too much to explain, but she means personally, and that answer is simple, despite the inkling she’s given me of something different. I have no way of navigating that inkling in the present, so I stick to what I do know. I’ve never been able to picture a personal future beyond the minute I exist in.
“It’s not a stupid question,” she prompts with mild scold. I opened this can of worms minutes ago by telling her what I remember about Maman and Papa, giving her pieces of the truth while skirting our parents’ merged pasts and how they factor into the puzzle.
This question I can answer truthfully. “Nothing.”
She audibly sighs. “I guess it’s a good thing you won’t be disappointed.”
I can’t help my chuckle. “Am I supposed to ask what you want now?”
“Not if you don’t care.”
I do, but I can’t offer it to you.
I tuck my fingers into her silky hair before voicing more truth. “I’m not future centered. Plans don’t make the man.”
Because I tried that tactic and was blocked at every turn.
“I know, I know. Live in the now. Take each day as it comes,” she recites, “I get it, but isn’t there something you want?”
I’m holding it.
“No,” I jest, “but there’s obviously something you do.”
She stays silent for long beats, stiffening slightly in the crook of my arm. We’ve been copacetic since I accepted my fall, but something tells me what’s stirring inside her now has nothing to do with my refusal to give her promises.
Knowing she’s getting lost in her thoughts, I gently nudge her. “What?”
“I don’t like putting a voice to my fears. Because then, I can only expect them to come true.”
“That’s bleak,” I mutter.
“It’s better than not wanting anything in the future,” she counters dryly.
“I already know what happens,” I whisper.
“What do you mean? You can predict the future?”
In a fleeting second, I conjure the blueprint I tucked away for when the time is right. “I can predict mine because I make shit happen.”
“What is it?” she questions.
“Whatever I decide.”
When I’m finally unshackled.
“Just for once, can you give me a straight answer?”
I can’t help the twist of my lips as I run my eyes down the length of her. She floated down Roman’s porch steps hours ago, looking every bit my realized fantasy for our date.
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.