Page 105 of Red Flag, Green Light

He sighs. “We’ll work on that.”

I clench my fists against my skirt. “I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry I’ll be relying on you so much.”

“As though your dependency isn’t a blessing that soothes my own insecurities? Come now, little goddess…don’t act like I’m not in love with your mere existence alone.”

Lying back, I stretch my arms above my head and stare at the ceiling fan. “Marriage is hard work. Some days, you won’t love me. We’re going to frustrate each other. There needs to be a strong foundation. I need to do better.”

“You need to understand that there will never be a day I don’t love you. I scarcely can imagine a minute I won’t like you. You fit perfectly inside my chest. Your behaviors scratch an itch inside my skull. To me, you are a reason for life given flesh…and I’m far too brain-fogged to continue my odes. I’m likely to say something concerningly intimate, which we are saving for marriage.”

“You’re such a good boy,” I murmur.

He frees a congested laugh and lowers his gaze to his tea. “At…heart, at any rate.”

“You are exactly what I’ve always wanted, Mars. Exactly. It’s like you were written for me.”

“Maybe I was. Maybe that’s what soulmates are.”

I laugh. “Now we’re soulmates?”

“Yes. Always have been.”

Who am I to argue with ill delusion?

Beneath the blankets, Mars toes me in the side. “You should really get out of here before you get sick, too.”

“Mars germs,” I reply, because that seems to be an acceptable answer in this Rogue family.

He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling and sets his tea down in order to break into his chicken noodle soup.

“Is your brother feeding you well?” I ask.

“He brought me some carrot cake earlier.”

“So, no?”

Mars scrunches his nose. “Slander.”

“You shouldn’t have cake while you’re sick. You need fruits and veggies.”

“Carrots are veggies.”

“You may have raw carrots.”

“You may keep your sickness rules and beliefs to yourself. Also, I know you put essential oils in this.”

I let my lips part in a perfect circle. “Whatever are you talkingabout?”

“Chicken noodle soup…should not smell like mint.”

Point taken. I mixed up the bottles.

Yet, I continue smiling as I enjoy the atmosphere in Mars’s room. So neat and tidy and twisted. Plucked straight from the demented mind of the kinds of characters I love. It shouldn’t bring me as much peace as it does, yet here I am, ready to fall asleep in the cocoon of madness.

After the horrors of going to the store by myself this morning, this is a reprieve.

I hope that recreating this in what is presently my guest room fabricates half this much joy after we’re married.

Gradually, my attention slips from the walls to his desktop monitors, and I find…

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