Page 126 of Silenced

Her smile is so luminous it could light up the whole restaurant for weeks.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, smoothing her knuckles over my jaw before gracing me with a soft kiss.

I fade into that kiss, sinking and drowning in her.

“I’ll come with you,” she promises.

I grab the end of her braid and tilt her head back. “As my woman?”

Her eyes flare wide at my roughly spoken demand. With a sigh, she whispers, “Yes, plea— I mean, yes. I’ll come.”

That answer deserves a smirk.

And a fourth round with my fingers...

30

CASSIE

A Case Of You - Joni Mitchell, Ana Moura

* * *

When he takesa bite of the Stroganoff I made, one I could easily have poisoned but didn’t want to, his groan is beyond satisfying. More so than the dish that’s one of my favorites as well as one of my specialties.

Harvey used to tell me that he kept me around because of my cooking, and it’s actually something I’d consider to be a talent.

I hate that he taints this too, but Nikolai’s genuine enjoyment soothes my unease.

As does the fact that this is a dish I never made for Harvey.

He didn’t deserve something so delectable.

I can even remember the time before we married when I almost made it for him, but we had an argument so I prepared risotto instead.

“This is delicious,” Nikolai signs.

Happy he’s enjoying it, I smile at him as he uses his fork to shovel some onto a spoon that he places against my lips.

Humming my agreement, we savor the meal in silence until I share, “It was my father’s favorite dish and it was one of the first my mom taught me how to cook.”

His arm slides around my waist because while I might have been allowed out of the house, might have been given access to the kitchen, I still have to sit on his knee at mealtimes. “You don’t speak of them.”

“You don’t speak of yours either,” I retort.

“Mine are dead,” he dismisses, but the scar on his eye ruches in a quick twitch that tells me he feels more than he’s showing.

“My father passed away a long time ago.” It’s an internal wound that’s never healed. “I was a daddy’s girl. I think grief led me to make a lot of dumb mistakes I might not have otherwise made.”

“The darker the night, the brighter the stars. The deeper the grief, the closer is God.”

My brows lift. “Heavy.”

“Dostoevsky. True, no?”

“I-I guess.”

I press a hand to my heart where the ache of loss is still raw. Warmth starts to thaw the deep chill in my soul when he leans down and bestows a kiss on my knuckles.

---