“Yes, now.”
“I’m eating.”
She jumped down—mymilayawas a shorty for real.
“Be done by the time I come back,” she ordered
I leaned back. “You bossing me around inourkitchen?”
She grinned, entirely too pleased with herself. “Yes.”
She went upstairs and came back with the jar before I could tell her not to—not that I would have. I finished that food like she said. She stood between my knees and opened the cream. Theory rubbed a little between her fingers the same way she had watched me do it. Then she touched my face gently.
“I won’t break,” I told her.
She gave me a serious look. “You better not. I need you too much.”
That shut me the fuck up, made me feel more of those new-to-me emotions I hadn't figured out how to feel. Her fingers moved along my cheek, slow and soft. I anchored my hands on her hips because it just felt right to hold her like that.
“You okay?” she asked.
I almost laughed. That was my line.
“Yeah,” I said.
“You sure?”
“No.”
My response was honest. Her hand paused. I looked at her. “But don’t stop.”
She kept going. I let my wife put cream on the scars I usually handled alone. I’d never let a woman who wasn’t a doctor or my mama or a little Russian grandmother touch them before her.
When she finished, she didn’t move away.
“This is too quiet. Chaos gotta be coming,” she said softly.
My mouth curved, because she wasn’t wrong. “Probably.”
She slid her arms around my neck. “But not this morning.”
I lifted her into my lap, and she came without hesitation.
Not this morning.
She was right. And since it wouldn’t be this morning, I just held her.
(Monday, June 23)
Theory and I spent Sunday in bed mostly. By evening, my wife had tapped out, her body exhausted from the paces I’d put her through. To be honest, the number of times I’d filled her had me on the verge of dehydration. I spent the rest of the night cuddling her, feeding her, talking to her, watching those stupid ass short dramas with her—I ain’t gon’ lie; some of them joints were good, though.
Monday morning, she cooked for me again. She sat in my lap and fed me bites of a fluffy omelet and sausage and strawberries while I stole kisses from lips already puffy from the way I had nibbled and sucked on them. After that, she applied cream to my face and I applied it to her abdomen and thigh, which led us into a world of trouble. I had to meet Maxim, so I left her in thecompetent hands of Andrei and Sherrell, promising her I’d be home for a late lunch.
I kept my promise, but the minute I returned, I knew something was wrong. She was in the kitchen, standing with the refrigerator door open, staring blankly at its contents. I slid up behind her, wrapped her in my arms, and kissed her neck. I frowned when she didn’t respond.
“Theory?”
“Hmm?”
