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My mom raises her head. “And at one point, I misjudged you and even called the police on you.” My eyes widen at her admittance of this memory, and the room explodes in whispers. I look to Ryke and he’s almost smiling—what…
I follow his gaze to my mom. Her expression mirrors his, a faint smile, zeroed in on him. Not even paying attention to the gossipy throngs of people.
“Of course you had no reason to be there,” she says. “You were rightfully let go without charge, and I had to surrender what I believed was a loss. My daughter was yours, and there was nothing I could do.”
She looks down in reverence, and when she returns her gaze to Ryke, there are genuine tears glassing her eyes. This is partly an apology. One that holds more meaning than simply saying I’m sorry to his face. She’s admitting her faults in front of her friends.
“I’d forgotten that you can’t bottle lightning anymore than I can,” my mom says. “She chose you, and it took me time to figure out why and how you both fit together. Why are you the one man who’s good enough for my daughter?”
My heart is in my throat.
“Then, one day, I realized that you are lightning. You can’t be bottled or contained anymore than she can. And together, you both make a beautiful, perfect storm.” She raises her champagne glass. “To my daughter and her husband-to-be, I hope you only know true happiness.”
A hot tear slides down my cheek, the room booming with applause and cheers in agreement, hopefully most sincere.
Who would have thought that my mom of all people would see the beauty in my relationship with Ryke?
Not me, but I’m so insanely glad to finally have her on our side.
When she meets my gaze, I mouth, “I love you.”
She touches her heart with one hand, eyes welled with tears like mine. Her speech was an apology and acceptance all in one, and I heard it loud. I felt it even stronger, and by Ryke’s “almost” smile—I know he did too.
Now that my mom isn’t our adversary any longer, I wonder how much time it’ll take for the world to follow suit. If they ever will. The media. Our fans and foes. It’s a much greater battle.
I want to say I’m ready for it, but conflict isn’t my strong suit.
I can never fully prepare for the moment it hits.
DAISY CALLOWAY
I stand on the front of a shopping cart and pluck the most colorful cereal boxes from the shelf. The polar bear eating chocolate crisps. The vampire devouring some purple flakes with a toothy smile.
A few employees opened the grocery store an hour early for us at 5 a.m., so we’re able to shop without cellphone flashes and people crowding the aisles. We all usually prefer shopping ourselves, but during bad weeks with press, normal routines become harder.
My super relaxed bodyguard, Mikey Black, lingers at the end of the aisle. His attire: Hawaiian-floral board shorts and a neon orange shirt. At the other end, Ryke’s lackadaisical forty-something bodyguard listens to a wrestling podcast, so loud the noise usually echoes out of his earbuds. Quinn always finds audiobooks and podcasts to pass the time, knowing Ryke likes space and less interference.
Right now, Ryke is busy reading the ingredients of a healthy nut cereal. He keeps hold of the cart’s handle, as though liking me near. I would probably roll backwards if he let go.
“You always do this, you know,” I say with a growing smile, one that lights my core.
“Do what?” He sets the cereal back and grabs a raisin mix.
“You spend five to ten minutes looking at other cereals, but you always end up with the same granola kind.” I spread my hands on either side of the cart, leaning forward. I add in a breathy voice, “And it’s so irresistibly predictable.”
He gives me that dangerous, dark look. The one that says, you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Then he tosses the raisin cereal into the cart, making his point without a spoken word.
“The granola isn’t calling out to you?” I lean my weight backwards, attempting to rock the cart.
His grip is firm, and the cart is unmoving.
“It’s not saying, oh Ryke. Eat me.” I breathe shallowly like I’m nearing an orgasm, not caring if Mikey or Quinn notice. “Eat me, Ry—”
Ryke yanks the cart to his chest. So swiftly that my abdomen knocks into the metal, breath caught in my lungs. I smile instantly, but I do spot the concern in the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t want to hurt me, but we always play rough.
It’s not like that has to change completely.
I also started my period last night with a side of mild cramps. Yeehaw! Seriously though, it’s very good news. This means we can start trying to have a baby.
Ryke leans forward now, enough to lift my chin with his fingers. “You’re fucking trouble, Calloway.” Then he kisses me, a tender kiss that aches to become ravenous. So we kiss again, his hand sliding through my hair, his tongue skillfully teasing mine. My chest rises in a deep, longing breath.
And my pulse thumps in excitement.
I smile into the last kiss, my lips tingling beneath his. “Wow,” I breathe when we break apart. “I think I’d like to get to know your mouth better.” I smile. “Let’s do that again.”
“How well does that pickup line work for you?”
“Still to be determined.”
He doesn’t move in, but he’s playing with my hair.
I gasp. “My pickup line has failed.”
I catch sight of a fleeting smile. Then he can’t resist any longer; he kisses my cheek, then the outside of my lips.
I steal the next kiss, and I whisper, “I want to have sex with you every day.”
He goes rigid. My declaration has turned my fiancé to stone. His jaw hardens, and he pulls away, standing up straighter. The entire cart separates us.
“I’m serious,” I tell him, just so he knows I’m not fooling around still.
“Where is this coming from?”
“My heart,” I say a little too theatrically. Sometimes it’s easier to just be lighthearted than express deeper sentiments.
Ryke sees right through me. “If you can’t even tell me the fucking reason, then how can
I consider it, Dais?”
I gather my thoughts and start from the beginning. Rose said I do this a lot—I tell an entire story before I land on the crux, the important parts. I think I just like preparing the person before delivering news. “So I kind of woke up early this morning—”
“How early?” His shoulders constrict.
“Three a.m.”
“Fuck,” he curses beneath his breath and looks away from me, a little pained. He knows that I didn’t fall asleep until midnight, and while I have a lot of issues, my cramps were mostly to blame this time. I think.
“It’s just one bad night,” I tell him. “I’m okay. I feel energized. This is besides the point anyway…” I trail off as his attention returns to me.
“Alright, continue.” He gestures me on.
“I was researching about my fertile window and basically mapped out when I should be ovulating—and I say should because it’ll probably change all over the place with my weird periods.” I take a much needed breath, a little more nervous about his response than I realized. “And I came to a conclusion. Pre-planning a baby is orderly and clinical. I want to be messy and spontaneous but still make sure we sleep together within that window.” I pause. “So…will you have sex with me every day?”
He doesn’t say anything, and my pulse pounds.
“Do I need to get down on one knee?” I ask with a smile that fades quickly out of apprehension.
He rubs his unshaven jaw, some sign of life there.
I drop off the shopping cart, shorter than him now. Then I scoot around our cart, standing more in the middle of the aisle and closer to Ryke. I grab the hem of his shirt, and he stares down at me, thoughts circulating behind his brown eyes.
I whisper, “You don’t want to fuck me?”
He inhales strongly, his arousal apparent in his gaze. What’s also apparent: him trying to snuff it out. “I could fuck you multiple times a day, sweetheart. I could even fuck you right now against the shelves.”
That image radiates throughout my brain, nearly causing it to short-circuit and overpower. My smile gives away my satisfaction. “You would fuck me against the Lucky Charms?”
