“I know.”
Her eyelids are drooping. “Kiss me,” she mumbles.
I hesitate. She moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue and looks up at me longingly. I want to kiss her more than anything… but I can’t, not like this.
Leaning forward, I kiss her forehead.
“Tease,” she mutters.
I chuckle. “Go to sleep.”
“Don’t go,” she murmurs.
“All right.”
I walk around the bed, climb on top of the covers, and sit back on the pillows. Wren rolls toward me, and I watch her curl up, her head tucked under my arm. I rest a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is warm and soft.
Lightly, I draw circles on her skin. She sighs.
Minutes later, she’s asleep.
I know she requested her own bedroom to sleep in. Equally, I don’t want to leave her in case she’s unwell in the night. And she’s my wife. I’m not going to leave.
I wait for about five minutes. Then, quietly, I get up, strip off my suit, and slide back under the duvet. I make sure to tuck it between us, and curl on my side facing her.
I don’t touch her. But I smile as my eyes close, and within moments, I’m asleep too.
Chapter Fourteen
Wren
My eyes slowly flutter open.
Lemon-colored daylight fills the room, coating the bed, the chest of drawers, and the chair, all of which I’ve never seen before.
My mouth is completely devoid of moisture and tastes disgusting. My head has a whole drum set playing inside it.
Slowly, I sit up, groaning. I look around, puzzled. Where am I? And how on earth did I get here?
I push myself up the bed so I’m leaning against the pillows and look around. I’m in a big bedroom, high up, judging by the view, which looks down on the Auckland CBD. The Harbour Bridge is in the background.
The room is elegantly decorated with pale walls and navy bedding. There are, however, red rose petals scattered across the bed and all over the carpet.
Eyes widening, I look at the bedside table, at the vase of roses and the champagne in the bucket of what was presumably ice last night but is water now.
I look down at myself. I’m wearing a T-shirt that’s way too big for me. It smells faintly of masculine cologne.
Next to me, there’s a Marcus-sized dent in the bed.
Slowly, the day before comes back to me. The beautiful wedding. The relief and joy when I saw Marcus standing there, so handsome in his dark suit. Saying ‘I do’ in front of my family and friends. And through it all, Marcus’s intense gaze focused entirely on me.
My nerves grew as the evening wore on. There was dancing, and champagne. A flutter in my stomach every time Ilooked at him and saw him watching more. More dancing, and more champagne.
The memories become blurry toward the end. Saying goodbye to everyone, and getting in the car. A dreamy drive through Auckland, with a quiet Marcus by my side. And then arriving at the apartment… Did he carry me up? I’m sure he lifted me into his arms at one point.
I remember sitting on the bed and getting tearful. I think I told him I was nervous. And he said, “I know.”
I asked him to stay. The dent suggests he did. But he’s not here now.
