Page 39 of Forbidden Vows

I can’t let her go. Can’t let her out of my sight, my bed, my arms.

I don’t care if we are hydrogen and oxygen. Together, they don’t always explode, they can also create water. We all need water to live, right?

And I’m starting to need Cleopatra to fucking breathe.

Chapter Eleven

Cleopatra

I wake naked. In his bed. Whoa. Not what I was planning.

I’ve really gotta lay down some rules of my own. Like no overnights. Do our naughty things and then I sleep in my bed, he sleeps in his. Spooning is all kinds of dangerous. Cuddling can lead to some very confusing feelings on both sides.

And the most important rule?

When we go back to the city for Lydia’s wedding, this fun vacay sex is over, O-V-A-H kinda over.

His arm is thrown over me, a heavy weight. He’s got a shock of dark hair over a closed eye, softly snoring through parted Hollywood-ready lips, soft breaths just reaching my cheek as he breathes.

He’s out cold. I’ve forgotten what a heavy sleeper he is. When we lived together, I made him set two alarms so he wouldn’t be late for work: one on his phone and a cheapplastic blue one I’d bought him from the dollar store. The same one that now sits on his nightstand, ticking joyfully away.

I can’t believe he kept it. He could afford a much nicer one now.

I need to pee, shower, and leave this bed without giving him the impression that we're playing happy family. I meant to make it to the guest room last night, but I hate sleeping alone. He’s so warm, like a heated weighted blanket. It’s calming to lie beside him, tucked into his luxurious bedding.

I gently circle his wrist, attempting to lift his muscled arm without waking him. Scooting toward the end of the bed, I slip underneath and carefully place it back on it.

He lets out a louder snore, flipping over with such gusto that he almost leaves the bed. Now, he’s lying on his side, facing away from me. I grab his discarded white tee from the floor and put it on. He’s still sleeping. Perfect. I not only need the toilet and a shower, but I need some alone time to process.

I tiptoe across the plastic that lines the floor in the dusty hall, where the walls are patched in preparation for painting.

In just a few days, I went from picking up an invitation at my ex’s place to being here. The thought of visiting Keith’s makes my stomach turn. No matter how much I try to suppress it, every so often, a flash of that humiliating video invades my mind, and the memory of the sound of my moan makes me cringe.

Fortunately, Blaze took my phone for security reasons, so I’ve been spared the distress of dealing with the fallout.Blaze replaced my old Android with a sleek, black, high-tech phone that features the Bachman Brotherhood BB symbol emblazoned on the back of the case.

I haven’t bothered to turn it on with my family and Seraphina here.

The pain stands out even more than the embarrassment of everyone seeing my va-gi-na. It’s something only your worst enemy would do to you. Not the one who is supposed to love you more than anyone.

The person who is supposed to be your person.

They aren't supposed to cheat on you with a younger, more attractive version of yourself named Candy, either.

Then I remember the way Blaze looked at me last night in my bare-naked vulnerability, and his words, how he made me feel beautiful. The warmth of the memory washes over me, taking away the pain.

That feels good. Really good. I’ll focus on that.

I reach the guestroom Blaze mentioned as ‘my place to land, when you need some time.’ I am touched, knowing he wants me in his bed but also cares enough to give me space.He knows I have to retreat sometimes and get my introvert recharge on.

While the room is clearly under construction, it remains a comfy place to spend some time. A cushy-looking carpet and bed are in the center, both pushed away from the stripped walls, where peels of leftover floral wallpaper are being removed. The bathroom seems to be finished, exceptfor the dark wood walls, which he’s in the process of stripping to lighten the space.

A gorgeous shower with multiple showerheads, including a rain one, calls my name.

I let the warm water wash away the heartache from home. Soon, the lathering suds from the expensive, deliciously fruity-scented body wash and the steam rising around me bring up newer, more pleasant memories. Like last night. Goodness, that was so naughty, so delicious.

But people are expected to date within their league. I’m the clumsily dressed mascot at a county baseball game, while he’s a major league all-star. I glance down, rinsing suds. Is my right breast bigger than the left one? He’s probably used to being with women who have perfectly symmetrical breasts.

Unless everything sweet he says is a lie, there’s something about me that he likes.

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