Page 115 of Something Borrowed

“Absolutely not.” I cup his face. “You’re my something borrowed,” I say slowly.

“Like a blue lacy garter?”

“You are much prettier. I let him borrow you for a little while because I never dared to face what I really knew inside me.”

He smiles. “And what was that?”

I run my fingertips over his lip. “That you’re mine. You always have been, Stanley, and you always will be. You’re everything to me, and my life isn’t any good without you.” I take a huge breath and say the words I’ve avoided saying to anyone, because as a child I learned they were useless: “I love you.”

It comes out far too fast and ungraciously, but his face lights up as if I’ve recited poetry. I know what he’s going to say before his mouth opens, but he still rocks my world with the words.

“I love you too.”

I know now that those three words are incredibly powerful. They can topple worlds and make me so happy that I could burst.

He kisses me, and I taste Kir Royale and happiness. “And you’re mine too,” he whispers. “Only mine.”

“Of course.” I stroke his cheekbone, feeling the sharpness of the bone against my skin. “Stanley, I may take a while to make a decision.”

“Awhile? We once spent two hours in Selfridges while you tried to decide between two moisturisers.”

“But,” I say, talking over his laughter-filled voice. "Once I do, I’m like glue. I stick no matter what.” I take a breath. “I don’t ask for much, but I want to be with you.”

“Done,” he says promptly. “But I hope you learn that you can ask for much more from me, Raff. You can have anything you want from me.”

I take a breath and step off the edge I’ve hovered near all my life. I’ve avoided it for so long, but now I have to wonder why.

It’s incredibly easy to say, “How about forever with nothing borrowed?”

“Somethin’ Stupid” by Frank Sinatra starts to play inside, the music flowing out to us, mingling with the sound of the sea and becoming a part of this sunlit, slumbering afternoon. I start to sway with him, loving the feeling of him against me.

He turns his head, kissing me, and when he pulls away, his words are like an enchantment—a bit of simple magic like the sunbeams dancing on the sea, the music of the cicadas, and the sound of the wind in the pine trees. “You can certainly have that, Rafferty Kendrick. It would be my pleasure.”

Epilogue

Stan

“Where doyou want this box, Stan?”

“Sorry,” I say into the phone. “I won’t be a second.” I reach out and feel over the box for the braille label. “That’s for the bedroom,” I tell my brother. I skim the label underneath that, which tells me what’s in it, and bite my lip. “Maybe don’t open this one, either.”

“Oh god. I’ll be emotionally scarred by the time we’ve finished moving you.”

“That’ll make up for all the trauma you’ve inflicted on me and Lottie.”

“Preach it,” my sister calls. “I’m afraid I’ve run out of the light boxes. What atragedy. Shall I dust something instead?”

“How about the whole house?” Vinnie suggests. “It’s like Miss Havisham’s home minus the wedding dress.”

“And the mouldy food,” my sister adds.

“I could actually manage that,” Vinnie says mournfully. “I haven’t been fed since seven this morning.”

I hear footsteps, and my mum’s voice says, “You’re not at the zoo, Vinnie, where someone’s going to throw food at you. There’s a shop only twenty yards away.”

“Yes, but it’s Stan’s job to feed me after I gave up my entire weekend to move him and Raff.”

“You gave up six hours. Quit whining,” I instruct him and turn back to my phone. “Sorry to keep you. Yes, that is the right gas meter reading. My father did the reading.”

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