Page 44 of Selfish Desires

“I’m scared, I guess. Or maybe just permanently fucked up.”

“Don’t say that.” Vincent reached for my arm, his fingertips heating my skin. “You’re not fucked up, and your feelings are valid. That’s why I will continue to prove myself to you daily.”

“But I don’t want you to feel like you need to do that. You’re here.” I cupped his face. “We’re here. Let’s just live now.”

“I thought we were living.” His brow furrowed, drowning in confusion.

“You need to get a job, Vin.” My fingers traced his square jawline. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the cooking, the fresh coffee in the morning, and fresh flowers everywhere.” I gestured to the empty air.

His expression turned stern, his royal eyes hardening in a way I hadn't seen before. “I'm not running away from anything, Wendy. Not anymore. But I have to make up for the time I lost.”

“But it isn’t about making up for lost time. It's about building a life together now.” I paused, my eyes searching his. “We need some stability, Vin.”

“Stability,” he repeated, rolling the word around his tongue like it was foreign. “Right.”

“I don't want you to spend all your days worrying about how to make it up to me. I want you to be happy,” I sighed, my fingers brushing through his hair.

He looked down at our intertwined hands, his thumb slowly circling my palm. His chest rose and fell in slow rhythm with his deep breaths. “Fuck, I need a job.” Vincent buried his head in his hands. At first he was silent, but then his shoulders started to shake.

I straightened, leaning forward, touching his smooth, muscled shoulders. “Vincent, babe? Are you crying?”

He answered my questions with quick, short laughs, and I joined him. “I’m sorry.” Vincent shook his head, wiping the happy tears away. “Do you know earlier today I started to read up on how to whittle wood? Like maybe make a desk or something like that.”

“Vincent…” My chin dropped. “You need to find something.”

“You’re right. I do.”

“Something legal,” I added.

“Obviously.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m just so bored.” Vincent held up a finger. “Hold on. To clarify, I’m not bored with you. Being with you is a dream.”

“I get it, Vin. You need something to keep you busy.”

“I’ve been so focused on trying to make up for what I did that I lost sight of what we need.”

“And what is it that we need?” My voice was soft, almost a whisper, as I looked at him.

He was silent momentarily before answering, “We need normalcy. We need routine. We need...stability.” The last word was spoken with a certain resolution.

I took his hand in mine, toying with his thick fingers. “Do you have any ideas of what you can do?”

“Actually, babe?” Vincent leaned forward, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I do. But I might need your help. Will you help me?”

“You want to buy a house on the Cliff Walk? Can you even afford this?” Wendy asked, edging toward exasperated. Her eyes swept the inside of the dilapidated mansion’s living room.

I leaned against the peeling ornate floral wallpaper, almost amused at Wendy’s befuddlement of this insane investment. But the payoff would be worth it tenfold. Wendy didn’t see it, but I did. My feet scraped against the splintered wood-worn floors. Certain spots faded more than others from the sun’s punishment over the decades. This immense Victorian estate hadn’t been touched in years, but I already spoke to the town. So long as I didn’t impair the structure's integrity and simply restored it to its previous glory, this was mine to take and do as I wanted with it. I walked past Wendy, the floor creaking below my tan work boots, something unusual for me, and stopped when I reached the floor-to-ceiling drafty windows. Everything in here needed to go. I couldn’t think of a better project.

What captured my attention when I first spotted this house was not only the low price but the bones of the structure. This place's view, overlooking the sparkling Atlantic Ocean when the sun shined like this morning or the looming doom when a storm approached, was breathtaking and worth every penny spent now and in the future.

“I said, can you even afford this?” Wendy repeated, her voice whipped up by disbelief and concern. She'd yet to move away from the grand entrance, her gaze darting around the room as though she were looking for something that might convince her that this was indeed a sane idea.

“Yes, Wendy,” I began patiently, my eyes never leaving the view held captive beyond the glass. “I can afford this.”

Wendy’s footsteps crunched from a distance, growing closer until she leaned against the window, staring at me, her dark, bottomless orbs grabbing my attention from the placid ocean. “Okay, so you buy this house, and then what? Do you want to live here or something?” A nervous laugh escaped her lips, thinking I wanted to live here with her, but I didn’t. That wasn’t the plan at all. “Because I’ll be honest right now, I love my house.”

I pressed my index and middle finger against her soft lips, silencing Wendy. “Baby, I don’t want to live here with you. I don’t want to live here, period.” I held her gaze. “What I want,” I paused, my hand shifting from her lips to the side of her face, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Is to transform this into the most luxurious bed and breakfast Newport has ever seen.”

Wendy did a double take and blinked hard. “You what?”

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