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“Because there is more to life than pain, Zaina. We just have to find those moments.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “And hold fast to them.”
I close my eyes and try to think of the moments he’s referring to. The music and the laughter, and, most of all, the love. All of the little bits of her that I can keep for myself, even though she’s gone.
“Thank you,” I say when I open my eyes.
He nods, and his body is still so close to mine.
I don’t deserve his kindness, but I am a sea sponge, and I take this, too. I close the space between us, wrapping my arms around his waist, pressing myself against him as though I can force an ounce of his goodness and hope to seep into my tainted soul.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Idon't know how long I stand wrapped in his embrace, but he doesn't make me feel rushed or awkward. He doesn't falter at all.
He never seems to.
He was right, though, about the relief in saying the words aloud. The grief I have held on to for so long has edged out just enough to make room for another emotion.
Enough for me to realize his shirt laces have loosened, revealing the dark-blonde hairs on his solidly muscled chest. Before I can stop myself, my hand has traveled upward, my fingers drawn like a magnet to that space of skin.
I tilt my head up, meeting his eyes, letting him see everything that is burning in mine for a rare change.
"Zaina." His voice is hoarse when he says my name.
“Yes?”
But he appears to be at a rare loss for words, staring down at me with a thousand emotions swirling in his eyes.
I war with myself, because I will be gone tomorrow and he will be here, left with only the memory of this and a thousand questions he will never have answers for.
Does this make me as cruel as Madame?
There is one thing I can clearly discern from his expression. I see my own desire mirrored in his features, and it is larger-than-life, like everything about him. Imposing and overwhelming and, just for the tiniest fraction of a lifetime, mine.
I close the gap between us, standing on my toes and wrapping my arms around him. I pull his head down until my lips reach his. My fingers go to the laces on his shirt, untying them in record time. I tug on his hem, and he stills.
Opening his eyes and placing his hands over mine, he fixes me with a steady gaze.
"Are you sure you want this?"
For everything I am uncertain about, never once have I doubted the depth of my wanting for him.
"Yes." One word, breathy and barely audible.
His expression morphs into something far less controlled, white-hot desire edging out every other emotion on his face. But he reaches up with gentle hands, placing two fingers on my chain.
"How do I take this off?"
My eyes widen in surprise.
"I told you, it doesn't matter. I'm not --"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence with the word ‘pure’. He does not get to take what you did not offer and change the way you see yourself." He says the words with such conviction.
Tears stab at the back of my eyes, threatening to spill down my face with the overwhelming weight of all the emotions I can't quite identify. I put my hand over his, guiding him through the motions of unhooking the chain. He places it on the small table next to the bed, then returns his attention to me.
My fingers have traveled back to the hem of his shirt, but there is no need. He pulls it off with one swift motion, then sets to work on mine. His hands are surprisingly deft for their size, and he has undone each of my tiny, complex buttons in a matter of moments. Our pants follow, and we are soon standing bare before one another.
I try not to think of all the time we have wasted, time we could have been together that we will never have now. Instead, I stay in this moment of perfect intimacy.
