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“As for the event, The Wonder Wish Network is having a benefactor appreciation ceremony. I’ve donated to them for years and, despite ignoring their letters for months now, they want to honor me.”
My heart does a flip. I’ve seen their fliers and even donated a time or two during my mom’s many visits to the cancer treatment center in Knoxville.
Rowan’s fingers whisper up my legs as he straightens, and a slow trickle of arousal gathers between my thighs, welcoming more touches. His lips part when he removes my bra, watching my nipples react beneath his ardent stare. His thumbs sweep across them, making my abdomen flex, and my ribcage stills when he takes a handful of each breast.
But instead of easing the fire he’s coaxing deep within my core, he presses a trail of tender, warm kisses to each one, and then reaches for the gown.
“Why would you ignore them?” I ask headily.
He’s quiet at first as he helps adjust my head and arms through the opening, then the thin straps that lie loosely over my biceps. Much like my wedding dress, it’s a perfect fit. “I met a young girl shortly after my parents died.”
My gaze softens as he sits on the bench, dressed in a tux that hugs his body beautifully. His face is pinched with unmasked sorrow as he picks up one of the high heels, parts his legs for me to stand between them, and gestures for my foot.
“One afternoon, when I desperately needed a break amidst the chaos of taking care of our younger brothers, I found myself on a park bench beside a little girl in a frilly pink dress with an oxygen tank at her feet. Her name was Paige, and she was dying from leukemia.”
Sympathy pulls my brows tight as he brings my heeled foot to his chest and expertly fastens the buckle. I lower it, raising the other, but this time, once the clasp is fixed, Rowan rubs his stubbled cheek against my calf before breathing deeply. His lips are decadently warm against my skin when he kisses the spot, just as he had before that, and I sway once both feet are firmly on the floor.
“Eventually, her parents joined us, and we talked for a long time. I spent weeks visiting them in the hospital, playing games with her and looking forward to her excitement when I’d walk into her room. I helped them as much as I could back then, but the only thing that ever truly made that girl happy was coloring.” He smiles to himself. “She was constantly teaching me new doodles.”
The image of Rowan’s big body hunched at the end of her bed, offering her friendship during such a difficult time for them both makes my chest ache.
“I asked her once if she was afraid to die, and you know what she said?” He hangs his head with a huff. “She asked me what she had to fear when she’d lived such a great life already.”
I lift my hands to adjust his crooked bow tie, and every point in which we’re touching comes alive in a way that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with him. This effect he has on me, no matter where I am or how much time has passed, is unreal. Like maybe we knew each other in a different lifetime, only to find each other in this one.
“I don’t understand. I’m sure Paige would be thrilled that you’ve done so much to help those who are struggling like she had. Why wouldn’t you want to accept recognition for it?”
“Because, in the end, I couldn’t make myself go to her funeral.” He clears his throat, shifts in his seat, then shifts some more, and it breaks my heart to watch him battle himself constantly. “Losing my parents forced me to grow up fast. I left the boy I once was somewhere far behind, and Paige’s death only amplified that. It hardened me in a way. Kept me from truly feeling anything at all, from getting close to anyone I might lose, and I didn’t want to walk through those doors and face the truth that I’d given up on her.”
“You didn’t give up on her, Rowan. And you’re right, being there again will be hard. There’s no way around that.” I cup his handsome face, raising it to mine, and my heart sings when he visibly relaxes. “But you know what else? You won’t have to do it alone.”
* * *
Arianna, the medical director and organizer of tonight’s ceremony, wraps up her speech in the reception hall with tearful gratitude and directs us to the atrium. There, the donors and sponsors from last year are instructed to place their handprints beneath their names on the Road to Hope mural, and Rowan’s one of them.
I feel as though I’m having an out-of-body experience, walking through the hall with my shoulders, neck, and face bare. But every time I’ve start to fidget, he takes my hand in his or winds his arm across my shoulders, and those small displays of support are slowly wearing down the last of my defenses.
As we step into the atrium, a fairytale scene unfolds before us. The space is decorated with whimsical touches and filled with lively chatter that echoes off the walls. Families and their children mingle in groups, while the sponsors and other guests are dressed in a mix of gowns and suits.
“They can’t keep their eyes off you,” Rowan rumbles near my ear as servers dressed as fairies and princes glide from table to table, delivering trays of child-friendly snacks and drinks. “All you need is a crown.”
I elbow him lightly when he winks, but he’s right.
Men, women, and children alike are staring at me now, but very few, if any at all, gawk or point. Instead, their genuine awe and murmured compliments as we cross the room give me a sense of acceptance I’ve never experienced before.
“I like your dress!” a young girl, maybe five or six, calls from a nearby table.
She’s wearing a shimmery gold skirt with a blush top, and a million-dollar smile, even with multiple bags of clear liquids hanging from the IV pole beside her, running through a long tube into her left arm.
“Thank you very much,” I say, gathering my dress skirt and crouching at her level. “My fiancé got it for me.”
Rowan offers her a dazzling smile when her gaze flicks to him coyly.
“I like this, too,” she says, tipping her bald head, and when her little finger touches my cheek, laughter bubbles from her chest. “It looks like paint, and I love to paint. Right, Mommy?”
Her admiration spreads warmth in the pit of my stomach, and it expands until it fills my chest with a gentle ache.
“I’m so sorry,” her mother says, mortified.
