Page 63 of Lilies in Autumn

“They are, but I’m just more interested in the eggs.” I move to grab the eggs, but he pushes them out of my reach. “Hey—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“Nope, you’re going to tell me why you’re not eating one of your favorite foods and instead settling on eggs. Don’t bullshit me, vixen. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

I scrunch up my face, my annoyance stamped all over my features. He wants to get into this now? Fine. “I’m not eating the pancakes because as good as they smell, and as delicious as I’m sure they are, one bite will have me reeling and obsessing over the calorie intake all day. A full pancake will have me starving myself until dinner, just so that I can eat a salad and promise myself that I’ll do better tomorrow. If I look at a piece of bread sideways, I get bitch-slapped with ten pounds on my ass.” I take a breath, slowly releasing it before I continue, “I have a shit metabolism, and I need to watch every single piece of food that goes into my mouth. I’m already feeling guilty for the bowl of pasta I ate last night and the french toast yesterday morning; I cannot afford to compound that with a pancake.”

Grey drops the plate and grabs my face, tilting it up to meet his eyes. Wiping the tears that I don’t realize are falling from my eyes, he has a gutted look on his face. “Baby, if I knew the pancakes would trigger you, I wouldn’t have made them. Fuck.” God, I’m such an asshole for making him feel bad for making me breakfast.

“No, Grey, I appreciate it so much. You have no idea. God, you have no idea what you mean to me. But it’s just part of who I am. I’m better now; I get help and talk to a therapist when I need to, but I need to control it because when I don’t, I spiral, and it overtakes every aspect of my life. The ‘good’ foods, the ‘bad’ foods, I’m learning how to break down and dispel the thoughts I’ve had for most of my life around food, but I’ll never wake up and be one hundred percent comfortable with food or with my body.”

“How long have you been dealing with this? Vixen, Ava, shit you’re fucking perfect, but not because of your body, because of you.”

“Since I was a little girl. I’ve always been different from my sisters, always bigger and heavier; I take up more space. My body isn’t slender or petite. I’m this bullshit in-between, a designation that, up until a few years ago, was unaccounted for in most stores and fashion brands. I would either squeeze into clothes that didn’t flatter my shape or swim in clothes that were too overpowering for my height. It’s all-consuming,” I let out my final words with a ragged breath. “I just… I don’t want the pancake, but thank you.”

Grey doesn’t say anything, just wraps me in his arms and holds me together while I break apart over pancakes in his pristine kitchen.

“Shh, vixen. It’s okay, I’ve got you, baby.” He rubs my back, offering comfort for wounds that he had no idea existed. “I know my words won’t fix your perception of yourself, and it fucking guts me to hear you speak so damn poorly about your body, but baby? When I look at you, the first thing I see isn’t your ass and stomach, it’s your smile that brings me to my knees, your sass that keeps me humble, and how fucking devoted you are to everything and everyone you care about. Yeah, I love how you look, but I loveyoueven more. Even if I was a fucking blind man, I’d be stunned by your beauty. Your worth isn’t physical, it’s in what you do, who you are, and what you believe in.” He kisses my head and I burrow closer, letting his words wash over me.

“I want to stand beside you as you work on this; I want to help you love yourself and this gorgeous body for what it can do. One day, one fucking day, I’m going to watch this body grow my children and be even more in awe of it than I already am. So, we need to take care of it, and I need you to take care of yourself. You need to speak with your therapist, vixen.”

I pull away from him, puzzling through the bombs he just dropped. “Children?”

“This? Us? We’re forever. You’re not getting rid of me unless you kill me, which you’ll probably want to do on occasion but remember that I can eat your pussy better than anyone else can.”

“I’m not even touching that. But yeah, you’re right. I need to call my therapist.” He’s not wrong, I’ve been feeling the need to speak with someone more frequently, ever since the texts and photo started. We pull apart just as the front door opens and heavy footsteps pound on the hardwood.

“Are they running or is there a stampede of elephants?” I question.

“I—”

“Holy shit, you’re official,” Celeste yells as she runs into the kitchen.

“What?” I look at Grey, who is conveniently looking away from me and piling eggs onto his plate. “Greyson, what the fuck did you do?”

Greyson

I wince at the shrill note of Ava’s voice. It’s normally deep and husky, not high-pitched. I busy myself with the eggs, trying to prolong the shit she’s about to give me, but that just makes me think about the conversation we had moments earlier. I’m fucking wrecked to learn what she thinks about her body, and how she could view herself as anything less than the goddess that she is. I’ve spent enough years in therapy to know that nothing I do or say will fix her perception, but I’m damn well going to help her shift her mindset.

Yeah, the first thing I saw when I looked at her was the indents of her waist and how it led to the flare of her thick hips. Her tits are works of fucking art, and I would gladly die between her thighs. But now, I see everything that she is: the aspiring chef, the sassy little brat, the clumsy mess that freaks out over coffee urns. I love all the parts of her, all her weirdness. The best fucking thing I ever did was lock her down, and I’m making it my mission to show her just how perfect she is.

“What did he do? He posted this to all his social media.” Celeste hands Ava the phone, showing her the picture I posted earlier this morning. In my defense, she looked like a fallen angel wrapped in my sheets with the flower I left for her on the pillow. Laying on her stomach with her face angled toward the flower, her face is void of makeup and glowing from the number of times she came last night. She’s covered up to her shoulders by a sheet, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s in my bed and that we probably fucked.

Beneath the picture is the only caption worth writing: “Mine.”

Probably one of my best posts, if I’m being honest. I feel Ava’s eyes on me, and I guess my time at avoidance has officially ended. I look over at her, taking measure of the furrowed brow as she stares at Celeste’s phone. Her cupid’s bow lips are drawn down, giving her mouth a pouty look, and now I’m envisioning those lips around my dick. Shifting, I adjust my semi; Celeste is a little pit bull and can probably smell how turned on I’m getting for her best friend.

Reaching out, I smooth the creases on Ava’s forehead and tug the phone out of her hand. Throwing it on the island, I tug her to me until she’s perched on my lap. “Vixen, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“You posted a picture of me.”

I roll my eyes at her statement of the obvious. “Fuck yeah, I did. I need everyone to know that you’re fucking mine.”

“But, Grey, what about the texts?” She pulls the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling in worry.

“Vixen, it’s been over a month. There’s nothing there, they lost interest. And if they didn’t? I told you, I’ll fucking end their shit and make them wish they never fucked with us.”

Celeste huffs, stealing my attention from Ava. “What, pit bull? You sound like you have something to say, so fucking out with it.”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Celeste begins, drawing out the moment. Fucking lit major, so damn dramatic. It’s no surprise Dante is obsessed with her. “You’re both being imbeciles and acting like it’s not Felicity and Jordan. Are you not putting together the timeline of events and drawing a reasonable conclusion? My God, it’s like I’m speaking to freaking children.” She throws her hands in the air, flapping like a damn bird in the kitchen.

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