Page 47 of Unravel Me

I force my jaw closed, ignoring the violent cracking sound it makes. My eyes twitch, desperate to coast down, just once more, but I’m not doing it.

Okay, I’m doing it. Fuck. Damnit. My gaze bounces down, then right back up. Adam’s eyes follow, and his mouth curves as molten heat rushes to the tips of my ears.

I dash by him, heading for the stairs. “I’ve gotta put my bathing suit on.”

“I brought your bag into my room. You can change in there.”

I halt, already halfway down the stairs. “Oh.” Whipping around, I strut by him, keeping my eyes on my feet. “Thanks.”

“Rosie?”

I pause at his door, watching his feet come closer, until all I can smell, all I can breathe, is him.

“Need help?”

I swallow. “No.”Maybe.

“’Kay.” Sizzling fingertips slide up my arm, hitching the strap of my dress back up to my shoulder. “Holler if you change your mind, trouble.”

I do need help. All sorts of it. Help cooling my jets, because I haven’t had sex in over a year, and looking at him, it’s suddenly all I can think about. I’m flustered. So flustered. He’s so sweet and kind, so patient, and then he springs these little things on me, lingering, searing touches, starved gazes, hot, teasing words drenched in intensity. I’m horny as hell, clearly, which is new and scary, but I’m not ready to jump into that, and what if that’s what he’s expecting?

But beyond that, I need help finding the confidence to walk out of here in this bikini.

I don’t want to feel pretty for Adam. I want to feel pretty for me.

And right now, as I stand before his mirror and take myself in, I’m struggling.

I remind myself that this body gave me the love of my life. That it grew something from nothing. That it endured endless bouts of sickness, days spent hugging the toilet, aches and pains that made me feel like I’d never walk properly again, an emergency surgery that—so briefly—convinced me I was less of a woman because I couldn’t push my child out. A surgery that had me unable to stand on my own for days, to take more than a couple steps with my newborn in my arms.

This body isn’t perfect, but it’s strong. Physically, mentally, in everything I’ve worked so hard to overcome.

This body isn’t perfect, but for all it’s done and everything it’s given me, it’s beautiful.

I tie the string of my sheer cover-up at my hip and take a breath before opening the door, starting down the stairs.

The photos lining the wall of the staircase catch my eye, and I pause to take them in. It’s Adam in every single one of them, I’m sure of it. Even the tiny boy tucked into the side of the smiling couple is so clearly him, vibrant cobalt eyes, the most genuine grin with just a hint of mischief.

And the couple…they’re everything. From the way they look at each other, full of devotion, endless love, to the way they look at Adam, like he’s their whole world.

I’m so enthralled with the love flowing from the pictures, I don’t notice Adam until he’s at my side, towering over me though he’s one step below. He’s smiling at the pictures, a hint of longing in his eyes that makes me a little sad.

“Those are my parents.”

I look back at the couple, their deep brown skin and warm eyes, the dark curls spilling down around the woman’s shoulders.

“I was adopted.”

A strange feeling grips my heart, the weight of that single word refusing to settle in my chest, questions I want to ask but can’t, for fear of overstepping.

Fear of revealing parts of me I’m not ready to.

So I tell him, “You can see the love between you three.”

“Mmm. I’ve always been able to feel it too.” His mouth hitches up on one side as he stares at a photo of him on his dad’s shoulders. “Even if it took my dad a little longer to figure it out.”

“What do you mean?”

Adam takes my hand, pulling me down the stairs. “I was in a group foster home.”

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