Page 98 of Reckless Vow

The thought immediately triggers the dread.

Because this level of belonging is painful.

I know from experience.

* * *

“Fuck, Brook,” he cries, and collapses beside me.

I bury my face in the pillow, coming down and dealing with all the emotions.

Well, we fucked. We fucked a lot this morning. But we still didn’t talk.

And now it’s even harder, because I feel like we need more than to talk about what my revelation did to him.

Now I feel like we need to talk about us. About what this all means. For us. And for our family.

Ironically, we’re on our fake honeymoon, but our relationship has never been this unclear. We either were or we weren’t. Now we’re lingering somewhere in between, and it feels in some ways harder than what was before.

“We should finally get you clean, dirty girl.” He swats at my ass.

“Yes, please.” I jump out of bed and pull the tee over my head.

I hesitate for a moment, but what the hell, I can’t hide any longer. I don’t want to hide any longer.

I turn in the doorway to the bathroom. “Are you coming?” I wiggle my hips.

Baldo rakes his eyes down my curves and swallows. “Are you sure?”

I bite my lower lip and crook my finger to beckon him to me. I’m showing more confidence than I feel.

Other men saw my scar, but they didn’t have a story to go with it. Or the story wasn’t in any way personal to them.

I mentioned the knife last night. I think I did, but it’s still unnerving to have him see it.

I walk into the cubicle and turn on the water. It’s a huge shower. I can dance on the white tiles around the glass walls.

While Baldo’s apartment is all dark wood and earthy accents, this bathroom is almost exclusively white, chrome and glass.

I sense him coming in, but he doesn’t step closer.

Submerging my head into the hot stream, I close my eyes.

With unwavering certainty, I know my maimed skin won’t repulse him. I also know I can’t hide it from him forever.

And yet, I’m frozen under practically scorching water because I want to delay the moment.

I don’t want to see his sympathy. Or even worse, his horror. It would break me all over again. And I’ve been mending those pieces of myself for years.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

His voice washes over me like a warm blanket. I didn’t even realize when he stepped closer. He’s not touching me, but I feel his presence in my every pore.

He reaches for shampoo, squirts some in his large hands. “Tilt your head.”

“You don’t have—”

“Hush.”

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