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His mouth curves into a grin before he dips his head and kisses me. Just a quick brush of his lips over mine. “You’re stunning.”
“You’re not ready,” I whisper against his lips.
“I… um… no. I have a problem.” He holds up his big hand and glares at the creased pink ribbon hanging from his fingers. “I’ve been trying to wrap Seren’s gift.”
The crease between his eyebrows has me smiling. I can’t help it. “I’ll wrap while you finish getting ready.”
He grins, and I almost fall off my heels. “I was hoping you’d say that. Come in.” He stands aside. “The box is in the living room. Five minutes and I’m ready.”
A mass of crumpled pink paper and used tape covers the low wooden table in the middle of his living room. I laugh despite myself. What I would’ve given to witness him and those huge hands of his trying to pretty up the small black velvet box sitting in the middle of all this girly chaos.
Careful not to wrinkle my dress I sit on the sofa and pick it up.
The lid snaps open easily, and my whole body sighs. Nestled in pure white satin, a tiny pink diamond twinkles from a heart-shaped locket attached to a bracelet of minuscule pearls. How could a man so big and…manlyhave chosen something so absolutely perfect?
Because it’s Mylo.
Whatever his reasons were for avoiding me last night, I can’t bring myself to think they were bad.
Smoothing the only intact piece of paper left on the table, I place the box in the center, fold the sides over it and grab a piece of tape dangling off the edge of the table, then repeat with the other two sides. Once the ribbon is tied, I riffle about the table for some scissors to curl the loose tails. “Where are the scissors,” I yell, still pushing around all the wasted paper. Where would he keep them? My knee rattles a brass handle on the side of the coffee table. Shifting my legs to the side, I pull open the drawer.
Big red letters jump from a folded letter on the top of the drawer. Military medical insurance. Below in block capitals. Cancer treatment policies.
My heart thumps, jumps, then sinks down around my stomach.Cancer?
I blink hard. Take another look. Cancer.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. I pick up the paper. Scan the words.
We are pleased to inform you that the orchiectomy is covered by your policies as with any follow-up treatment deemed necessary by your medical team.
Cancer. Cancer?Mylo has cancer? My head spins and my lungs forget to expand. Not possible. I don’t even know what orchiectomy is. Brain? Body?
“The scissors are…”
I drop the letter, slam the drawer shut and jerk around.
Frozen, hands in his pockets, face void of any color, he just stares, eyes completely unreadable.
My chest aches, a million questions vying for space in my head, none of them easy. None of them I can put into words. I should have just shut the drawer. Why didn’t I just shut the stupid drawer? I stand on unsteady legs and force my chin not to tremble. “Mylo…” My words leave me. Just pack up and exit my brain. “I didn’t…” Why lie? “I’m…”
His jaw clenches—probably at my thinly veiled hysteria.
“Mylo?”
He doesn’t budge, just stands. Stares. Swallows.
I can’t think, don’t breathe. My nose stings and my eyes water. Crying is not the way to handle this.
“We should go.” Finally, he meets my stare. His is closed off. Cold. Completely void of anything. “We’ll be late.”
“Mylo…”
“Let’s go.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Mylo
