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Or the pleasant way it hurts when she disentangles herself from me and the sheets, then leaves the bed in the morning.
Or the way my heart jumps,hip-hip-hoorays in my chest when she returns, carrying a cup of coffee as hot and dark as her eyes.
Blessed doesn’t cover it, which is why I’m so worried about her. Most specifically, her refusing to go home. Justice cutting herself off from her family is… unlike her.
With a groan, she rolls over, sees me staring at her, smiles, then kisses me lightly. “This is a first, you waking before me.”
The plans I have for a romantic morning got me up an hour ago with nerves, which is probably why I should keep my worries and thoughts about her family to myself, and yet… “I think you should go visit your family.”
She frowns, shakes her head. “I told you, I can’t face that house knowing Tony won’t be there.”
“You sure it’s not because you’re angry at your mother?”
She closes her eyes, asking for patience or maybe for me not to see her so clearly. When she opens them again, it’s with a sad smile. “I’ll go make you some coffee.”
My body floods with worry and warmth. I love this woman. “Okay.”
She rolls out of bed and I watch her go. Something I learned from nearly the first moment I met her is that I can’t push Justice. All I can do is continue to give her the time she needs and the understanding, and, most importantly, show her that I’m not going anywhere. Which is exactly what I’m going to do the moment she can no longer see into this room.
I jump up and make the bed in record time, military tight, then get the box stashed under it. Inside, there’re rose petals, a hand-drawn sign that readsHome Sweet Home, and a black bow tie. Can’t say I’m not classy. Is it enough? Should I have…
I don’t know. I’ve thought of this in a thousand different ways, but, in the end, I decided to make it simple by offering to share myself and my life with her.
Committing to the plan,again, I sprinkle rose petals across the bed, hang the sign across the headboard, put on the tie, then lay my naked self strategically across the bed. Just in time because I hear her making her way back to me.
Shit. Almost forgot. I sit up, reach into my nightstand, pull out the hand-carved wooden box, then settle back into position.
Justice walks in, fingers looped around the handles of two coffee cups, the other hand holding an iPad. She’s staring at the tablet. “Cats can pretty much escape anything.”
Cats? “What are you looking at?”
“This video…” She shakes her head, laughs. “It’s—” She looks up, a beautiful, seductive grin spreading across her face. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”
Good. It’s already working. I’m naked and actually sweating, because doubt keeps hammering at me. Should I have gone for an expensive ring?
No. Dada assured me that Justice would want nothing she’d have to take off for missions. And nothing too expensive; to Justice, who grew up with a show of wealth designed to hide what lies beneath, it would mean less. Dada gave me the idea I went with, and I’m trusting it all now as I open the box revealing two smooth garnets and a series of light and dark leather cords.
A smile on her face, Justice comes closer, placing the coffee cups and iPad on the nightstand. She peers into the box. “Arts and crafts? Kinky. I can definitely use the leather cords.”
I try to bite back my eager smile. Try… and fail.
I clear my throat. “These stones are from Syria. From a jeweler I met in Za’atari. They represent hope and strength and perseverance, and they’re red because Choctaw brides traditionally wear red.”
I pause, trying to judge how she’s taking this.
She pumps her eyebrows at me.
Good sign. I swallow and press on. “And the leather, light and dark, for good times and bad, for us to braid together, to braid the gems into. I wanted something that represented us, symbolized us. Something you could wear on your wrist. Something…”God, stop babbling.“That’s if…”Don’t be a fucking coward. “Justice, will you marry me?”
For a moment, she’s stock still, but then she launches herself onto the bed, sending the flower petals, the box, and me bouncing.
Moving the box gently onto the nightstand, she straddles me. Heat shoots through my body. I almost forget that she still hasn’t answered me.
“Yes,” she whispers against my lips. “Yes.”
Her tongue slips into my mouth.
We’re both breathless by the time she pulls back and stares at me with eyes like a cool, starless night, so endless not even the gods could imagine the edges.
