Page 73 of The Ghost of Exes Past

I pause. Voice quieter.

‘I’m sorry, Belle. For tonight. For back then. For all of it.’

Belle looks to the floor.

I let her. I don’t try to fill the silence or make a joke for once. I just hold her hands and wait for it. More anger. I know her tears are coming and I can’t believe I’m going to make her cry again. I brace myself for it, hold my breath.

I deserve it.

Her chest rises and falls, her eyes still on the floor. Her jaw shifts slightly, working through something. Then she looks up and opens her mouth and I close my eyes for half a second, just a moment, because I don’t want to be a coward anymore, I don’t want to hide from this.

‘I know,’ she says.

I wait for the rest of it, her rebuke, which would be fair, so fair. I’m still holding her hands, gripping them tighter than I mean to so when I notice I make myself loosen my fingers.

She just looks at me.

I’m suddenly aware of what my face must be doing. For once, I don’t care. I don’t try to arrange it into something more manageable. I just let it do whatever it’s doing and hope that’s enough.

She opens her mouth … Here it comes.

‘This whole time … You were writing this the whole time,’ she cries and I notice the paper folded neatly next to her.

I nod, it’s all I can do, because my throat is closing up.

‘Stay,’ she whispers.

She’s standing so close now and this is taking its time to sink in, but I don’t have time to fully process it as she stands on her toes, slips her hands out of mine, and pulls me closer, kissing me gently on the lips.

Something in my chest explodes.

It’s pain and love, wonder and urgency all rolled into one. It’s so startling and bringing with it sensations that I haven’t felt for so long, that I wonder for a moment if this is it. Is this me passing through my afterlife? Have I crossed to the other side in this pure ecstasy? But I can still smell her perfume and can still feel the heat of her underneath my hand and still feel the way she’s pushing herself into me.

These sensations keep me grounded as I pick her up in my arms and place her gently on the bed.

Jake Marleigh

They kneel facing each other on the bed like they’d done a hundred times before. For a moment, they stay where they are. No script, no next thing. Just him sitting on his heels, looking at her.

She stares back. Doesn’t say anything.

She knew this, had always known this about him, the way he needed to look before he could believe. She lets him, straightening up, letting him take her in whole. She watches his mouth quiver, open slightly, his breathing becoming heavier. Then she looks into his eyes.

She’d been carefully trying to avoid those eyes all evening. It was easier when she was angry, but now she looks properly. He is still, after everything, the most familiar thing she’d ever seen, and he is looking at her the way he always has. She knows she is in trouble then. There is no going back.

Her hands find the hem of his shirt before she’s made any conscious decision about it. Old habits. Removing his top over his head, Jake allowing her to do so, slowly, fingers trembling, taking her time, his hands finding her waist as she kneels back down.

They take their time undressing each other. He pulls down the zip of her dress, planting lingering kisses on her neck as the pale pink silk falls around her waist. She undoes the button of his trousers. She has to remind herself to breathe. Then she lies back as he pulls the dress down her thighs.

His thumb finds a scar on her ribs that he doesn’t recognise. It’s small and neat. He doesn’t ask, but his fingers linger there longer than they need to, as if each second that passes could catch up with the years that he’s missed.

He touches her like he hasn’t forgotten a thing. The same place, the same grip. And he touches her the way he always had. Not carefully or like something fragile. Like someone who knows.

Belle really did love everything about him. Not just his strong hands, his thick hair, or the fire behind his eyes. But also his soul. His ability to make her laugh in the hardest situations. His fierce loyalty. How, after ten years, after seeing her at her worst, his love hasn’t wavered. She feels a simple certainty that this is exactly where she is meant to be.

And now her hands are nestled in his hair, legs over his shoulders as he licks between her legs. Small kisses at first, then heavy laps, then panting and thirsty and famished as he flicks his tongue across her clit. One hand is used to hold her legs open and it occasionally reaches up to pinch her nipples – the way that always drives her crazy – and the other working his fingers inside her. Between body shudders and back-arching moans into the air, she watches him, his brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth wet from the taste of her.

She calls his name through breathless gasps, fingers gripping the sheets as she tells him to stop – she’s close … She wants to, needs to, feel him.