I want nothing more than to dissolve into him. Breaking apart long enough to breathe is a chore; every second I spend separated from that glorious mouth is a total waste. I’ve never needed someone like I need him. The feeling roaring up inside of me is so much more urgent than anything I experienced in my youth.
He pulls away, and I whimper. “Don’t stop.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
And then his mouth is on me again, tracing my collarbone. My hands ball up fistfuls of his hair and I groan out his name.
So this is what it’s like to live through an earthquake. This is what it’s like to have your whole world break apart and then be caught in the aftermath of tsunami waves, each more powerful than the next.
My hands shift again, caressing the length of his body, coming to rest at his waist. Without thinking, I hook my thumb around a button in his shirt. His stomach twitches as my hand finds its way to bare skin and suddenly, he goes still. He pulls away from me. I’m about to demand why, but then I hear the distant guffaws of the party. It’s like surfacing above water as my ears clear and I become aware of the rest of the world.
My eyes dart over my shoulder, but we’re still alone, obscured by a curtain of dark. We haven’t embarrassed ourselves in front of anyone. Maybe it would be better if we had. Everyone at the party would be gossiping about how Sid Charles can’t keep his hands off his new wife. No one would think this was a sham marriage.
The straps of my dress have fallen off my shoulders and my hand is splayed across his stomach without a single person to bear witness. The only reason he stopped, I realize, is that we’re not aloneenough. If this had happened at the apartment, I know where it would go next. I should be in his bed right now.
I let go of him. He’s quick to tuck his shirt back into his pants, while I hastily readjust my dress.
“Yeah, sorry. That was… here.” He touches my face, cleaning up a smear of beetroot lipstick.
“Thanks. Let me get you.” My finger runs across thelips I just had against mine. Touching him there again, it takes all my strength to keep my head above water. Sid Charles is an ocean waiting to suck me under.
What did I just do? And why the hell didn’t he stop me?
Sid’s eyes are wide, transfixed. “Kayla… I didn’t mean for that to happen. But—”
“We’ll talk about it at home.”
“Sure.”
We don’t hold hands as we walk back to the party. When the night is over and we’re on the bus, I make sure April is sitting between us. Once we’re home, I head straight to bed, ignoring Sid’s attempts to get my attention. It’s all I can do to make myself feel in control. Otherwise, I’m going to start screaming.
It turns out, Amy was right. I can hurt Sid. But I can also hurt myself.
Two things can be true at the same time.
I WAKE APRILup in the middle of the night, thrashing from my nightmares. It hasn’t been this bad since Curtis and Mum died. She grumbles about having school in the morning, so I apologize and climb out of bed.
Instead of trying to sleep again, I dig through my bag until I find the cedar heart Curtis carved for me. I still remember the night I came back from trapping squirrels to find it resting on my bedroll. It was a perfect gift. My dad used to make them when he was alive, and Curtis knew how badly I missed him. He did his best to replicate the gesture, but the lines were rougher. I press the carved heart to my lips and do my best to conjure him up.
No matter how hard I try, images of Sid interrupt. Dancing with him on our wedding day. His hand finding mine beneath the table at the restaurant. Most of all, I drift back to our kiss tonight. How did I not see that coming? There have been warning signs for weeks, our touches growing more frequent and casual. Even that first time I kissed him, when I told myself it was simply to prove that I could do it, shouldn’t I have been suspicious? It was soeasy. So natural. I’ve wanted him for a long time now, even if I wouldn’t let myself acknowledge it.
The only question I’m left with is how deep this thing goes. Physically, the answer is obvious. My eyes have been lingering on him since the first day we met. Tonight, there wasn’t a single moment I wanted him to stop. Even now, I feel crazy, sitting on the floor of my bedroom when I know he’s just down the hall. I could have him. He’s my husband, damn it.
But that’s part of what makes this so terrifying. He’s not someone I can have a spontaneous tryst with. We’re already tied together, and we need that connection to be stable until April and I get full citizenship. What if this is all some side effect of faking our romance? I forced myself to be comfortable with him for April’s sake, and now my hormones are so confused, they’re running amok.
What if in a few months, the passion fizzles? I hate the prospect of resenting him, unable to rely on our friendship to keep me sane. Worse still, what if we mess around and suddenly have another reason to stay together, even if we don’t want to? I remember Amy’s first theory about us: that we got married because of an unplanned pregnancy. That could still happen. Birth control isn’t what it used to be.
My mind spins out over this hypothetical future. No matter how much he wanted to, I know he wouldn’t leave me. Not if we had a baby. And I’m such a mess, it would be irresponsible of me to take the kid and leave him. We’d be stuck with each other for another eighteen years. Maybe more, if we relapsed and more popped out.
Shit, I am spiralling. There are no babies, Kayla. Remember? That’s the thing I never got to have. Instead, I got April. She’s the only one I owe anything to. And for everyone’s sake, it needs to stay that way.
