Page 159 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“I’m sorry,” she whispers against my shirt. “I’m being too much, I know.”
“You’re perfect,” I say immediately. The smile she gives me through her tears feels like a gift. And the answering curve of my mouth? She’s the only one who’ll ever see it.
I tip her chin up with a finger and wipe away the vestiges of her tears. “Anyone who says otherwise can take it up with me.”
She laughs, soft and surprised.I feel some of the tension leave her shoulders.
“Your mom doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” I look down at her sweet, heart-shaped face. Then I take a breath, knowing what I need to say to her and summoning the courage to say it. It’s scary. “You’re not a phase for me. I won’t get bored with you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Her eyes are still red-rimmed, but there’s something softer in her expression now.
“I don’t want to fake anything with you,” she says.
My breath catches. “You mean this? Us?”
She nods. “Every moment we’re together, I feel more sure that I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. And that terrifies me because I don’t know how to trust it.”
“Me too, Firecracker.”
The nickname slips out naturally. She smiles for the first time since I got home. We sit there in comfortable silence for a while, her head resting on my shoulder, my arms around her. I can feel her breathing slowly returning to normal.
There’s something so perfect about being touched by Juliet Monroe. Usually, I’m worried about a million things. But she lays a hand on my chest and looks at me with those chocolate eyes, and my world quiets. Suddenly, I’m drowning, wanting to dive as deep as I can get into her.
“This is real.” I cup her cheek, turning her gaze up to mine. “It might have started off as a convenient lie, but it’s so much more than that now.”
She inhales sharply and puts her hand over mine.
“I don’t think I could ever hate you. Not really. It’s nice to hear that you feel the same way, though.”
“I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. And now I have you. You’re trapped with me forever. But you don’t mind that, do you?”
Her lips tip up in a smile and she shakes her head.
“No, Hux. I don’t mind that at all.”
My heart pounds. I stare at her for a beat. Absorbing the way it feels to be loved by someone who I’m so entirely obsessed with.
“No more fake shit. I’m not doing fake fiancées anymore. No more fake anything.”
“No more,” she agrees. “I’m yours, Hux.”
“I know, Firecracker.”
She looks up at me, her eyes shining, and kisses me. When her lips meet mine, there’s not frantic or desperate like we’ve been lately. We break apart. She’s sprawled across my chest, her hair a mess, mouth kiss-swollen and completely bare. No lipstick. No walls. Nothing buther.
And fuck, she’s beautiful.
I drag my thumb across her lower lip, watching it tremble just a little under my touch.
It was never about the color or about the war paint she wears to face the world. I used to want to be the one who ruined it.
Now? Now I want to be the one who worships it.
“You’re staring again,” she murmurs.
I press my mouth to the corner of hers. “Can’t help it. I’m a lip guy now, remember?”
She laughs. The sound goes straight through me. Because this is real. This moment, this feeling, this woman in my arms who trusts me enough to fall apart and let me put her back together.
