Page 102 of Desperate Actions

But they are.

And suddenly, I am too.

“Oh, baby, I am so happy for you,” my mother says, dragging me into a hug. “I always dreamed you would find real love. Are you happy?”

“I think I am, Mom.”

“He’s a good boy, my Sammy. He’ll work hard to make you happy,” Ellie whispers, pressing her palm to my cheek.

“He does. He makes me feel special,” I whisper, like I’m afraid if I say it aloud it will all disappear.

The moment is warm and real and overwhelming, but at the same time guilt creeps in.

Because Sammy hasn’t heard me say it yet.

He should have been the first to know.

I should have told him in Vegas, in bed, in the heat of whenmy body and soul are completely his.

But I didn’t.

And now? Now I don’t know how.

I know I have to.

I promise myself I will.

Soon.

Very soon.

But not here.

Not now.

Not with an audience waiting to pick apart every expression on his face.

I push the thoughts away as I carry a bowl of sautéed spinach and potatoes into the dining room.

Ellie follows with a platter of rib roast, and my mother brings a dish of roasted root vegetables.

Everything smells warm and rich and perfect.

I feel Sammy’s eyes on me before I even see him.

He’s standing, chair pulled out, hands extended to take the bowl from me.

I hand it over, watching as he sets it down on the table.

Then I sit and he pushes my chair in.

Leans in.

Whispers.

“You good?”

There’s curiosity in his gaze, but also concern.

---