Page 104 of Beautiful Beast

“Hysterical.”

“Let’s go to Aldo Sohm tonight.”

It’s a dark wine bar that I researched a few weeks ago, so Adam should be comfortable enough with it. He has to come out of his shell and get over his aversion to going out.

“No,” he grumbles. “I’ll order you whatever you want instead. Plus, we have pizza.”

“But it’s our anniversary. You know, officially.”

“You’ll be happy to know that you corralled me into booking an appointment to talk about what happened in Syria. While I’m there, I’ll get my pills adjusted, too. And now you already want date night? What happened to baby steps, princess?”

“I just want to show off my man,” I say.

He cocks his head, studying me, as though waiting for the punchline. But there isn’t one. I mean exactly what I’m saying. And when that realization washes over him, the intoxicating mix of awe and devotion in his eyes makes it impossible to look away.

“You should already realize this, woman,” he murmurs. “But I know you want to hear it. I love you, too.”

His heart belongs to me and he still wanted to push me away, thinking that it was for my own good. He wants me to be happy and doesn’t believe that he can be the one to fulfill my dreams. But he already is my dream come true.

This time I do squeal and throw my arms around his shoulders. “I love you so much. Does this mean we can go out tonight?”

He chuckles. “If that’s what you really want to do, then fine, we’ll go. Go downstairs and get ready, and I’ll come to get you in an hour.”

“Buster can stay here?”

“Of course. But Belle, there’s one thing I want to say.”

“I figured you’d have some kind of provision.”

“No sleepovers. Ever. I mean it.”

My heart sinks because this is such a shitty sacrifice to make and there must be some kind of compromise that makes us both happy. I don’t have a lot of experience with sex, but I’ve learned that not staying close to the person I just did it with makes me feel like garbage.

“What if I sleep in a different room?” I suggest. “It’s not like you have a shortage of space here.” This isn’t a perfect solution, but we can work toward being safe together in the same room. I’m confident it will eventually happen.

When I was a kid, I hated the heavy blanket of dread that enveloped me when someone else was in the apartment. I hate the sound of footsteps and wondering who was coming for me, the ear-piercing arguments, and the cold, dirty rooms with bugs crawling everywhere.

Being alone at least meant that no one could hurt me.

But with Adam, it’s comforting to know that he’s sharing space with me, and I hate not getting to cuddle in bed with him. Leaving right after we share physical intimacy is terrible, but surely it would be marginally better if we were at least in the same house.

Plus, I can stop him from accidentally hurting himself.

I understand his hesitation, and it’s not like I’m looking for a repeat of our last sleepover. But if I’m in another room, at least until a mixture of therapy and drugs helps his PTSD, then I don’t understand why it’s a problem.

“No,” he insists.

“Adam!”

“I’m serious. It’s not safe. You can just sleep downstairs at Annie’s place,” he says. “Even if you walk right back up here for breakfast. You’ll be asleep anyway, so you won’t even know I’m not there.”

But I will.

We’ve only had one sleepover, which obviously didn’t end well. But before it happened, my heart was at peace being wrapped in Adam while I slept.

Even if I wasn’t conscious to appreciate it, I still slept with his scent in my nostrils, his bare skin pressed to mine, the comforting rise and fall of his chest, and the beat of his heart. At an instinctual level, I was completely aware he was with me.

“And what about when I move?” I ask. “I want to be close to you, not on the other side of the city. I can’t afford to live here, or anywhere near here, so it’s going to be a trek.”

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