Page 68 of Sin

It meant something. I just wish I knew what exactly.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ethan

She stirs in her sleep, flipping from side to side like a flag fluttering in a storm.

She’s been doing that all night long, and I’ve barely slept a wink. My eyes are as dry as sandpaper. Three times now, she’s bolted up in bed and muttered nonsense into the dark room. Each time, I coaxed her to drink water before tucking her back in bed.

I don’t mind it at all. After the doctor assured me that nothing is seriously wrong with her, it became my pleasure to take care of her. It feels like my job, and my job alone, like this intimate side of her belongs to only me.

She’s mine.

At least for now.

All night, I’ve been torn by two needs. I have to make sure she’s alright. I don’t think Lily would be very diligent about following doctor’s orders given her spontaneous personality. How many times did she dismiss being sick in the first place?

But a deeper, more melancholy part of me is possessed by the selfish craving to etch every detail of her face into my memory.

I don’t know when the guilt will come. It hovers in the distance like a specter, haunting the edges of my consciousness.

I don’t want this to end. Fuck, I want to die at the thought alone.

I’ve always been taught that sin is deceitful. It lures you away from the light by seducing you with empty promises. Guilt has never failed to tug at my heart whenever I’d done something wrong.

But this thing with Lily doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like I’ve finally found the path to my true home.

Lily’s head lolls in my direction. Her brow is furrowed, and I brush my thumb across it before setting my hand on her chest. The gentle rise and fall of her breathing is a balm to my restless nerves. I think she’s getting better.

She stirs again. “Wh-what time is it?” Her voice is a raspy whisper.

“I think it’s around three,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

Beneath the faint glow of the streetlights seeping through the window, she blinks slowly, her dazed expression ebbing away. “I think…my fever’s gone.”

“Really?” I press my palm against her forehead, and a smile lifts my lips. She’s cool under my touch. “I think you’re right. Your fever broke.”

“Thank God,” she mumbles. “Now you’ll stop harassing me to drink water.”

Calm floods every part of me. That was my sassy girl speaking just now. Her voice was clear and cutting, so unlike the delirious, incoherent ridicule she’s been throwing at me all night.

The idea of her being anything less than her fiery self clawed at my insides.

“Right,” I say. “I’m not trying to make sure you get better. I’m vacuuming up your joy.”

She snorts and then winces, setting her hand on her forehead. “My head feels like an elephant sat on it. But overall I feel much better.”

“Sleep,” I command.

She wrinkles her nose. “Bossy.”

“Always.”

“I’m not tired…” she mumbles, but her voice drifts off at the end as if she’s already falling asleep. I smile. She’s so damn stubborn, and I love it.

I feel like I love her, but how could I if this is really a sin? Just two weeks ago, I knew in my soul that I was meant to save myself for my future wife.

Is it her, God? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? The thought sends a surge of possessive heat through my whole body.

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