Page 135 of A Lie so Dangerous and Fragile

“I’m listening.”

“Those cups I broke—why were you so attached to them?”

He laughed lightheartedly at my question. “They were my grandpa’s favorite cups. He wouldn’t drink from any other cups, and he had a special place for them in the house.” He smiled at the memories. “It was fascinating to see how he treated those cups. Even if I never knew why they were so special, I could tell they meant a lot to him. After he died, I asked for them. They reminded me of him anytime I looked at them. I just laugh at the memories from back then because it drove everyone crazy.”

“What about the paintings?” I asked, and he stayed quiet for a while.

“Fiona loved painting, and she was really good at it. Many of the paintings you broke were her last works before she passed away,” he said and tilted his head to the side to look at me.

“Hmm,” I hummed and stared back at him. “Oh, sorry. Is this the part where I apologize for what I did?” I asked, acting confused.

He laughed and turned around, even with me sitting on top of him. He pulled me to his chest and put an arm around me.

“I’m not asking for an apology. I just can’t believe you’re right next to me and we have our kids next door. It feels surreal. If it’s a dream, I wanna be stuck here forever.”

“I never in a million years believed I could get Kayla back, you know. I can’t believe a year has gone by without an earthquake,” I said, and we both laughed.

“We’ll be the best parents to our kids. We’ll make it work this time, I promise. No lies and no secrets,” he said, and I nodded with a smile.

“Cheers to that,” I said and fist-bumped him.

“I promise I won’t let you or our kids down,” he whispered, brushing my hair back.

He leaned closer and gave me a quick peck on the lips, but I took his lips in mine before he could pull away. I cupped the nape of his neck and moved closer, taking control of the kiss. His hand moved slowly up and knotted in my hair.

He pulled away and stared at my flushed face. He was breathing hoarsely. I leaned closer and kissed him deeply. He returned every kiss. Every soft stroke of his lips and tongue sent heat through my body. He released a low groan when I moved my hips closer till I could feel his growing hardness.

Tristan broke the kiss. Our breathing was ragged as we stared at each other.

“Don’t you think we should wait until our wedding night?” he joked.

“We already have two kids, Tristan.” I laughed.

“I think we should stop if it’s too early for the twins to have another sibling.”

“Oh my God,” I mumbled with a short laugh and hit him playfully.

I pulled away and rested my head on the same pillow he lay his head. My left leg remained draped around his waist, and he absentmindedly ran his palm on my bare thigh as we both laughed.

“You don’t talk about your dad. Why?” I asked, drawing circles on his chest.

“He’s dead. He died a week after my sister was born. He was bedridden three weeks before my mom went into labor.”

“Oh, sorry about that. Was he sick?”

“Yeah, diabetes.”

There was a brief silence between us before he spoke again.

“I really wish we’d met in a different way,” Tristan whispered.

“Me too,” I said softly.

“Tell me about your childhood,” I said, holding his arm.

He smiled and stroked my hair.

We stayed up talking about everything, including stuff that made no sense, and laughed like we were high on drugs. Even when we turned off the lights and the moon dimmed the room, we kept talking until we eventually went to sleep.

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