It was impossible not to question myself leading up to that day in the hotel room. I knew Adam and I had something unique, but it was hard for me to describe. If someone asked me why I felt so connected to him, I would say, “I just do, I can’t explain it.” I knew it had nothing to do with his tumor or the mural. It had to do with that thing, that feeling that allowed me to walk away from my apartment in the middle of the night seven months ago. When I looked into Adam’s eyes, I felt like I could see his sincere, genuine soul.
When thoughts of Seth would pop into my mind, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a twinge of guilt. I hoped he’d understand, but if he didn’t, it still wouldn’t change my decision to be with Adam now. It wasn’t about Adam’s wish, it was about Adam and me and seeing it through. Everyone always said I dated men who were off-limits so that I wouldn’t have to get serious about anyone. Adam might have been dying, but he wasn’t off-limits. He was baring it all for me and I was going to do the same for him, even though I knew it would break me into a million pieces.
I turned and straddled him in the tub. Our kisses became more demanding. When he touched me down below, I lost all sense of our circumstances. I wanted him and I could tell he wanted me, and nothing else mattered.
“Let’s get out of here and go to the bed,” he said.
Adam stood and wrapped a towel around his waist. He was strong in that moment. He was driven.
I dried myself off and then met him on the bed. When we ditched the towels, I could see how turned on he was. I climbed on top of him and kissed him hard before sitting up and letting him look at me. My body was totally exposed to him in the well-lit room. He watched with wonder in his eyes. “I’m in heaven, right?” he said. It looked like he believed it.
“Yes, this is heaven, Adam.” I bent and clutched his face with both hands and kissed him delicately before moving to his neck and shoulder.
“Mmm, you’re an angel for sure,” he murmured.
“This is heaven for me, too,” I whispered near his ear. A moment later he was inside of me and I was moving on top of him. I was unself-conscious. He gripped my hips and thrust into me, matching my movements. “Adam . . .” I moaned.
I pressed my hands to his chest and moved harder and faster. For just a few minutes the whole world slipped away and it was just the two of us. Adam’s body felt warm and strong, for the first time since that night in his loft.
He pulled me to his chest, gripped my bottom with both hands, and thrust harder as I lay on top of him. “Feel me inside of you,” he whispered. My mouth was on his neck, kissing and sucking while he continued his steady movements. “Feel me, Charlotte.”
All I could do in that moment was feel Adam, everywhere around me and inside of me. I kissed him hard on the mouth. Our tongues twisted as our movements became more urgent. Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, I felt the tension start to break apart. “Adam . . .” I said with my mouth against his chest. He didn’t make a sound, just one last hard thrust and then his hands dropped to his sides. He shut his eyes and turned his head. He was grinning but his arms and legs had gone lax and he wasn’t moving or making a sound.
“Adam?” I was smiling at first, but when he seemed unresponsive for a moment I began to panic. “Adam!”
“You killed me,” he said softly.
“Open your eyes, you scared the crap out of me.”
He looked up and smiled wider. “That was amazing.”
“It was perfect.”
“I mean, I really thought you killed me, Charlotte. I had already decided it was the best death ever.”
I glanced at the clock behind him. “I feel like we should get going,” I said.
“Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. I don’t even get a cuddle?”
“We can cuddle at the hospital.”
“Come here, calm down. What’s going to happen?”
“You’ll get in trouble.”
“Ha! Are they gonna put me on restriction? I’ve already been reduced to Jell-O and broth. What will they do next, take away my TV?”
“Maybe they’ll tell me I can’t stay.”
He tilted my chin up so we were eye to eye. “Charlotte, are you worried about that?”
“Of course.”
“They wouldn’t do that. Plus, my dad is paying for a new cancer wing. They’re not going to kick my girlfriend out and jeopardize getting a fancy new Adam Bramwell Memorial Wing, complete with Adam Bramwell paintings.”
“Girlfriend?”
He tensed. “I mean . . . friend. Whatever. Hey, you’re the one who said you were my girlfriend. Remember that little fib you came up with that night at my loft?”
“I liked that story,” I protested.
“Me too.” We were silent for several moments before Adam spoke in a strained voice. My face was resting on his chest so I couldn’t see his expression, but it sounded like it pained him to speak. “Why does the story have to end?”
“It doesn’t,” I said immediately.
“Then tell me about our life, Charlotte.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Well . . . okay, let me see . . . we moved into your loft together at some point. I loved your loft, by the way.”
“Me too.”
“So we lived in the loft and then we . . . got married? Yes, we got married. I finally said yes to you.”
“Of course. I had to make an honest woman out of you. But that’s not why I married you.” The story began to take on a life of its own, with both of us participating. “We got married because we were in love.”
“Yes, we were in love.”
“Tell me more. Tell me about the wedding and the honeymoon.”
“We did our honeymoon first, actually. You surprised me by whisking me off to Paris. We wandered along the Seine and bought trinkets at the bouquinistes. We toured all of the major museums, wandered through Saint-Germain, ate at the brasseries where the American expats used to hang out in the twenties, and spent hours at Shakespeare and Company. Then you took me out on a boat and taught me to sail.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, on the French Riviera.” I had closed my eyes at that point and was imagining a healthy Adam wrapping a line around a winch as we sailed on the crystal-blue Mediterranean.
“How’d you know I could sail?” he asked. “Did I tell you that?”
“I saw a copy of a sailing magazine in your loft that night.”
“So, I taught you how to sail and you were a quick study?”
“Obviously.”
“Is that what you want? Is that your dream, Charlotte? To learn how to sail in France?”
Don’t ruin this, Adam. I don’t like reality very much right now. “I’m just telling you what we did.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, go on.”
“So you taught me how to sail and then later that day we found a little chapel and we got married.”
“That sounds nice,” he said, but then he went quiet for several moments.
“It was, Adam. Not just nice—it was perfect.”
“Hmm.” Several moments passed before he said, “Too bad, isn’t it? Too bad it’s not true.”
I leaned up and kissed him. “We have right now and yesterday and the night we met. That’s all real to me, and it’s enough.”
He smiled piteously. “I know you have someone else waiting for you, Charlotte.”
I swallowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you have someone in your life. I overheard you and Helen—”
I put my finger to his mouth. “Shhh. I’m here with you now, Adam. I want to be here with you.”
“We should get back to the hospital,” he said.
I sat up on the edge of the bed with my back to him. “Please don’t do this.”