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I can’t imagine a better way of waking up than this, my woman in my arms, softly breathing as she sleeps.
I sit up so I can watch her, her chest rising and falling gently, a small smile on her lips as though she’s having good dreams.
The clock tells me it’s seven AM. That’s the sort of time that normally drives me from bed, making me feel lazy, my discipline kicking in and making me want to go, go, go.
But now I feel as if I could lie here forever.
The moment shatters at the heavy knock on the door.
“Freya?” It’s her mother. “Are you awake?”
I give Freya a tender shake, waking her up. A smile spreads across her face as she gazes up at me, her eyes sleepy, but it fades when her mother speaks again.
“Hello?”
Freya’s eyes snap open, the color draining from her cheeks as if asking me what we’re going to do.
I lean close to her ear, whispering. “We’re going to be husband and wife one day. We’re going to be a family. She has to find out eventually. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she whispers. “But what should I say?”
“The truth,” I tell her. “It’s always a good place to start…remember?”
She smiles and then sits up, her hands clawing at each other as though she’s trying to work out some of the tension.
“Mom,” she says, voice rising. “I’m not in here alone.”
She winces as she speaks, expecting her mother to charge through the door.
“Julie’s in there?” she answers.
Freya smiles, but it’s a tight one. It’s like if she doesn’t smile, she’ll burst into anxious tears.
I place my hand on her shoulder, squeezing supportively.
At least her momdidn’thear us last night. That’s something.
“No,” Freya says. “It’s Felix. Here’s in here with me.”
“Oh.” There’s a pause, and then Annabelle repeats herself.“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Freya sighs. “I think we need to talk.”
* * *
The three of us sit around the table in the kitchen corner. Kenny and his men, Julie, Yasmin, and Felicia, are all elsewhere in the house.
They all know anyway. I told Yasmin. Kenny guessed, and Freya told me before we left her room that Julie knows about us.
Awkwardness hits me as I feel Freya’s leg brushing against mine under the table. I doubt she does it on purpose – she can’t seem to sit still – but it still triggers something inside of me.
I keep it buried deep, looking at Annabelle, not Freya, the memory of last night far too strong.
“So,” Annabelle says, her hands clasped around her mug of coffee. “Are you going to explain just what’s going on here?”
“I love your daughter, Mrs. Abrams,” I say, unable to mask the fierce note of possession in my voice. “The truth is, I loved her the moment I saw her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want a family, a future…and I….”
I was about to sayI think she does too, but I don’t want to speak for my woman.
