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My power is in maintaining the illusion that nothing can get to me, and I accept that as part of doing business. But some days? Some days, I want to crumble. I want…comfort, touch, release.
It’s not the daily minutiae of a relationship I crave, but the simple physical connection. I want to be wanted. Craved above all things. Needed with a breathless devotion. I want to be seen, not just as a quick fix—but as something essential.
Her heels strike a click-click, clickety-click on the pavement. I hear that rhythm in my dreams sometimes. She’ll never know it, but that rhythm is the bass line for “Forget You.”
“Berry?” I glanced up, finally, to find him smirking. “You turn berry pink when you blush.”
“I hope to afford you more clarity in the future.” The retort dies in my mouth as realization hits. “Did you just quote Pride and Prejudice
“The attraction between us was always there. You can deny it if you want, but it’s true. We’ve been like two magnets facing south, repelling because we can’t do anything else. Then I overheard what you needed, and I flipped north. Toward you.”
Up close, I’m struck by her beauty. Brenna’s features aren’t conventionally pretty. Her beauty is austere, striking. It is the difference between Vivaldi’s “Spring” and “Winter.” The lilting notes of “Spring” lull you into peaceful compliance, whereas the vibrant tempo of “Winter” stirs the blood and reminds you what it means to be alive. That is Brenna: thrilling, lively, vital.
And I’m left with the cold fear that I might never be able to convince her that love isn’t what breaks people apart; it’s what holds them together.
“And in those non-looks, everything is exposed. He is either in love with you or falling fast.”
This man is mine. My friend. My lover. My home. My heart.
They are Sophia Webster Evangelines. I’ve admired them from afar, but they seemed too frivolous, too ethereally pretty, to buy. And yet the fact that Rye bought me the loveliest pair of princess heels I’ve ever seen has my vision blurring and my heart swelling. “They’re perfect,” I get out. His expression fills with tenderness as he runs a finger along my forearm. “Wings, Bren. So you’ll never forget how far you can fly.”
