Page 60 of The Cost of Love

He puts the slices of some strawberries and bananas in a bowl next to my food. Then he brings over a cup of tea.

“There will be a hearing to reinstate her rights. They are allowing me to present my case and make a statement about why I should get to keep them.” I take a bite and let myself savor the food for a moment.

He slides in next to me with his own, but looks at me instead of eating.

“If it’s a trial, then you can get a solicitor for it.”

I take another big mouthful, thinking of how to approach this topic. Heat creeps up my neck, making my skin crawl. I keep looking down at my plate, completely incapable of looking him in the eye.

“I, um, don’t know how to ask this.”

“The answer is yes.”

His words have me snapping my head up and looking in his direction. He is staring at me with such intensity that it steals my breath.

“You don’t even know what I want,” I whisper, my mouth incapable of any other volume.

“It doesn’t matter. I would give you anything in this world, so whatever you ask of me, it’s yours.”

My heart accelerates beyond any beat it has ever before. The way he offers me all I could want on a platter with such ease has me melting in a way that will have me fitting perfectly against him. With his words alone, I’m rearranging my heart so that it has all the room to give him space.

“Alex.”

“Chanice, just tell me what you need.” He reaches across the gap between us and grabs my hand. Interlocking our fingers, he ties me to him even more than I already was.

“A solicitor. I need a solicitor.”

I thought there would be more guilt in me asking him for money, or even apprehension. The way he so openly offers to take care of me snuffs out any insecurities that should’ve burned in me.

“Done.” He kisses my knuckle and then tells me he will text me some options.

Knowing that I have this upper hand, and him on my side, alleviates some of the weight I have on my shoulders. I clear my throat of the tears building in it. Looking into his eyes, I see everything the world deprived me of.

“This is good, by the way.” I point down at my plate, trying to balance out the heaviness of this conversation.

“I was worried it wouldn’t be good enough for a chef like you.”

“I’ll cook for you one day.” His kitchen is gorgeous, and it would be amazing to use a gas stove, or the cast-iron pan he made this in.

“I’d like that.”

We keep holding hands while we eat, only talking if it’s something about the case. When we’re done, he writes down the details of the court date.

“I should go.”

Having finished two servings of bacon and most of the fruit, I would rather curl back into his bed. If I stay, I may be in danger of never leaving. He doesn’t protest like he did last night, and just follows behind me while I walk back towards his bedroom.

Just as we are passing the unused dining table, something in a room catches my eye. Without his permission, or my common sense, I walk towards it and fully push open the door.

Sitting on an easel in the middle of the room is a painting of me. In it, I’m draped across a lounge, head tilted back, curls surrounding me like a cloud. My smile is bright as I look up at a ceiling painted with little angels who have a similar complexion. A cloth flows around my curves, showing off the rolls that make me up. I look alive, vibrant, and full of so much joy that it pours out of me.

I look beautiful. A little sound of surprise leaves my mouth as I finally see myself the way he sees me.

I take a step closer, my hand pressed to my open mouth, eyes roaming every small detail laid bare on the canvas.

“I just finished it,” he says, walking in front of me. He turns it a little so I can see the image even clearer.

“This is amazing.” I wish I had better words to describe the art in front of me. The way it makes me feel is beyond language.