I can think of about fifty things I’d rather do.
“Maybe . . . I was thinking of popping this open first.” I reach into my bag and pull out a bottle of wine. “And then opening these.” I grab the waistband of his jeans and guide him toward the bed, pushing the colorful quilt onto the floor, trying not to search his face for the same desire I’m feeling, not wanting to read into his every touch. But to my relief, Max engulfs me with an urgency I hadn’t seen in months, his teeth grazing my ear as he throws me down onto the bed, not even bothering to undress me, instead just pulling my skirt up around my waist and sliding inside me, both of us calling out when we climax together a few minutes later before collapsing onto the floor, still entangled in each other’s arms. For the first time since I had been given my power, I forgot about Courtney and what happened at the rehearsal dinner. I forgot to be scared that Max might do it to me again. For those brief wonderful moments, I forgot myself.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Max says, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “But that was amazing—it felt new, like it used to, in the beginning.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say as I nuzzle up to him.
“I can’t believe I wanted to go kayaking instead of this!” He laughs and runs his hand down my leg, sending ripples of excitement through me.
I rest my head on his chest, and as it rises and falls, my own breathing syncs with his. This is us. This is who we are—two people who aren’t predictable, just in sync with each other, I think as I fall into a deep sleep.
I wake a few hours later just as the sun is setting. I pull Max’s shirt on and look out at the lake, a speedboat passing by, its wake causing waves to lap against the rocks along the shoreline.
“Hey,” Max says, his voice thick from sleep.
“Hey.”
“I’m starving,” we say in unison and smile, our eyes locked, and I feel my mouth start to move—to curve to create the words I need to say so we can really move forward. To ask about Courtney. I want to tell him that she might be making him happy right now—at a confusing time for him—but I’m the woman who will make him happy for life. But instead I say, “I made a reservation at our place,” referencing the restaurant where Max and I had dined for hours last time we were here, finishing two bottles of wine, my mouth salivating as I remember the sweet butter sauce that I had drizzled on my lobster.
“I’m definitely getting the rib eye.” He sits up and pats his abdomen, and my gaze lingers on his navel.
“Can I help you?” Max teases, noticing my stare.
Without responding, I tug his shirt over my head and straddle him, kissing him long and hard until he’s inside me again, my need to consume him overwhelming. I hold him tightly after we finish, threading my hand through his hair, trying to memorize the way his strands feel between my fingers.
“Look at us, you’d think we were a couple of newlyweds or something,” I say without thinking, and quickly panic, not wanting to see his face contort at the mention of going through with our wedding.
“We will be soon enough!” Max says and kisses me gently on the mouth. “Not a problem for me that we’re getting started early.”
As he steps into the shower, I realize this is the first time since I can remember that he’s talked about something that would happen between us after our wedding. I let the knot in my stomach loosen slightly, thinking of Jules’ words. I’m winning the fight.
? ? ?
When the hostess seats us at a table by a window that overlooks the main street in the quaint downtown, I notice Max seems more relaxed than he has in a long time. After the server pours our wine, he holds up his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast,” he says, the gold flecks in his eyes shining from the candlelight.
I raise my glass and wait.
“To us,” he says, tapping his goblet against mine.
“To us,” I mimic, then add, “To being us.”
“So, Kate, I want—I need—to talk to you about something,” he says slowly, and I feel my stomach twist back into a knot as I watch his face tense. Had I misread the entire situation?
“Okay,” I say carefully, hoping he can’t see the fear in my eyes.
“I know I’ve been a little distant—okay, make that a lot distant—lately and I owe you an explanation.”
“Okay,” is the only word I can manage.
“Would you two like to hear about the specials?” Our server interrupts and we must have matching looks on our faces that scream no, because he nods his bald head in our direction and scurries off.