Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
When I wake with her by my side, I say a prayer of thanksgiving for the beauty she brings into my life. When I hold her in my arms, I praise the sweet feel of her soft curves beneath my hands, the body that responds so well to me, she tells me without words that we were made for each other. When I inhale her scent and feel her warm hand in mine, I cherish the second chance we’ve been given and vow that I’ll never take any of this for granted. When I kiss her full, sultry mouth, and slide my hands along the silky small of her back, I venerate the beauty that belongs to me. Mine. All mine.
But now it’s time to take things to the next level.
We leave Verge and head home and she chatters away about work for a while. Her books are sailing to the top of the lists, and her readership is growing. Last week she had a book signing, and next week she’s doing an interview for some magazine. I love to see her thriving at what she loves, and I’ll do whatever I need to so that she never loses that passion.
I listen as she changes the subject and chatters about the fish she bought, all set up in an aquarium in our dining area. They’re exotic fish from all over the world, and it’s adorable how excited she gets about them. She spent as many hours naming them as she did researching the proper water temperature, filtration, and feeding.
When we reach our apartment, I smile at her. “You’ll be a good mom,” I tell her, tweaking her nose. I push the button on the elevator that takes us upstairs.
That makes her sober a bit. “Anyone can feed fish,” she says sadly. “But babies? I don’t know.” And her eyes grow a little sad and wistful, the way they always do when I say anything that reminds her of the baby she lost. We lost.
“I do know,” I tell her. We ride in silence to our apartment. She’s quiet and contemplative when I open the door, her thoughts otherwise occupied.
I shut and lock the door while she checks on the fish and talks to them. I smile with my back to her so she doesn’t see how ridiculous I think her little routine is when she talks to the damn fish on the other side of the glass.
“Did you have a good day?” she asks. “Get a good nap in? Discover any secret passages? My day was good, but a certain someone,” she gives me a sidelong look, “decided to take me home before we had any fun.”
“Keep it up and that fun will turn into your little ass bared over my knee,” I tell her, eyeing her with firm warning. “No pouting, baby.”
She sighs and turns back to the fish. If we had plants, she’d talk to them, too, and I’d fucking love it. Christ, I love everything about her.
“Chandra,” I say from our bedroom a few minutes later, when I’m ready for her. “Come here, please.” It takes effort to keep my voice steady. My hands are a hopeless cause. They shake in anticipation, my heart thudding so madly in my chest I wonder if she can hear me. I hear her say good-bye to her fish, then she makes her way to me. I want to capture this moment in my mind forever. I never want to forget the way she looks when she knows what I’m about to do.
When she comes into the room, she pauses in the doorway. The flicker of the candles on the bedside tables reflect in her eyes, wide open with wonder. She brings her hand up, and her fingers delicately cover her mouth in surprise.
“Axle?” she whispers. “What…is this?”
Nothing but candlelight illuminates the room, but it’s enough that she can see the large vases teeming with crimson and white roses. I had so many delivered the whole room’s infused with the enchanting floral scent. Earlier when she was at the bookstore, I put all this in place so I was ready. Now, I just focus on her.
“It’s the next step,” I tell her. I swallow so my voice carries clear and strong across the room. I don’t want it to waver. I want her to know now and forever that I mean what I say. When I draw the small black velvet box from my pocket, her luminous eyes fill with unshed tears and I have to swallow that damn lump in my throat again.
The soft flicker of candlelight. Her breathing and mine. The silent question that hangs before us, and the answer that will change the course of our lives forever.
“You know, a part of me’s still pretty damn traditional,” trying to make light of this, but when I drop to one knee and she sniffs, I have to take in a deep breath.