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She couldn’t stand the silence. And now he couldn’t stand it either. Nor the dark. How he wished to open his eyes and see her again. But he knew it was impossible. So he stayed in the state of slumber, drinking in the feelings of what it would have been like to have her near.
Annalise.Her name was a benediction. A prayer.
His darling Annalise.
His mind clung to her name, not willing to let it go. It was fresh on his lips, too. Hadn’t he said it out loud recently?
Of course, he’d whispered her name into the void too many times to count. He fell asleep and woke up with her name on his lips, but this time, it felt different. It felt… real.
There was a sound in the room.
Never a good sign. It meant he wasn’t alone. And in his reality, not alone meant with an enemy.
Blake opened his eyes and jumped into a sitting position.
It was soft beneath him. And a flickering light caught his eyes, so he turned toward it. A candle sat on a bedside table. Blake lowered his gaze to the mattress below. He was in a bed.
“Blake,” said a soft voice from the darkness.
Her voice.
Annalise.
Was he still dreaming?
Blake turned his head slowly, surveying the room all the while. He was in his old townhouse in London. He had no trouble recognizing the room; it was still the same. Although it had definitely changed. He finally craned his neck and looked at his wife.
She was sitting in the chair by the side of the bed. She took a glass of water from the bedside table and extended it toward him.
“The doctor said you should drink a lot of fluids,” she said. “Please, drink.”
Blake stared at the open face of his lovely wife and couldn’t move. He was too afraid to spook the vision away. If he moved, she might disappear. She brought the glass closer to him. Blake’s breathing grew rapid. He tried to say something, but his throat was too dry and scratchy.
He took the proffered drink and gulped the entire glass dry without taking his eyes off his wife.
She was innocence incarnate. So beautiful, so peaceful that he wanted to weep. She wore her hair up, tucked in a neat chignon. Her face was white and bloodless, except for her lush pink lips. Lord, he wanted to taste those lips. He’d missed the taste of her, the soft pressure of those lips against his.
“One more?” she asked, and he extended the glass to her.
She took it from him, her fingers lightly brushing against his. Blake stifled the urge to grab her by her hand and tumble her into bed with him, hug her tight, and keep her in his embrace forever.
She touched him. Which meant she was real.
The memories started coming back to him slowly. He was home. He was truly home.
He raked her with his gaze while she poured him more water, not being able to tear his eyes away from her. Not willing to ever stop watching her graceful movements. She handed him another glass of water, and he gulped it down. He gave her the empty glass and looked around the room again.
“Can you—” he croaked out before clearing his throat. “Can you light more candles, please? It’s too dark here.”
After fourteen months of separation, torturous weeks in captivity spent dreaming of finally seeing his wife, these were not the first words he’d imagined saying to her.
“Of course.” Annalise stood to comply.
Blake settled back against the pillows. His head still thrummed, so he didn’t want to risk getting up.
Besides, the bed was soft. Too soft. He imagined he wouldn’t be able to sleep comfortably in it for some time. But he’d persevere. Blake smirked.
Annalise had lighted half a dozen candles by that time, poured more water into his glass from the pitcher, and settled back into the chair.
