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“Wish I was there.” “Me too. We could have laughed all night together.” Oscar’s lips slowly rise and his brown eyes flit to me. “I like having you here, Highland.”
“I thought it fell out.” Oscar studies me for a long beat. “You would’ve been upset about that?”
Hazily, I remember Oscar at the jewelry store, saying drunkenly, “Three diamonds to express three classic words from a couple classic gentlemen…” He teed up with a long pause. “I. Love. You.”
Right here, inside the most beautiful palace, next to the most beautiful man, I come to a clear understanding. I have zero regrets.
He’s smiling, and he clasps my hand firmly. “Don’t forget Spanish, Arizona.” Arizona. I shake my head with a wider smile. I confess, I never loved my middle name until this second. Hearing Oscar say it. Like the entire state belongs to me.
“What do you like about it?” I ask him. Charlie’s response is in French, and my eyes are on Oscar. He slowly smiles. “He said ‘what’s not to love?’ And that is a prime example of a non-answer from our man Charlie Keating Cobalt.”
A part of me considers turning it off. He’s high. But the producer in me keeps rolling. He has final say in what makes air, anyway.
Charlie runs two hands through his hair, not reaching for the water. Panicked eyes return to his bodyguard. “You’ve got to get me out of here, Oscar.”
Tears brim. “Please.” He chokes on a breath. “I can’t be trapped here.”
He gasps air. Silent tears slide down his cheek. His eyes flit from me to Oscar and back to me. “What does love feel like?”
All I know is my love for Oscar carries me like the water. A feeling of invincibility. The patience as the ocean laps underneath my body. The anticipation as the perfect wave rolls near. The cool excitement and power as I stand up. As I ride those impossible swells, and once I’m in the barrel, all the doubts and fears wash away. Leaving a bright burst of indescribable bliss. That is his love to me.
“I sometimes think that maybe it’ll stop one day. This feeling inside me…frustration…all the fucking time.” He blinks into more tears. “But it never really goes away, and…it has to be drowned out by something stronger. Either…pain or love.”
After filming Charlie for so long, I’ve realized he calls his dad any time he’s feeling off. Like someone would call a therapist. It’s almost a daily phone call.
“Dad?” Charlie says, his voice controlled. “Can you just talk to me for a second?” He slides down the wall and tucks his head between his knees.
“If intelligence is a ladder,” he tells me softly, “Charlie’s trapped at the top. And it’s a frustrating place to be.”
He’s currently crying on the ground, high out of his mind, talking to his dad.
Luckily, I can relax here. Especially with Jack around.
Being with me isn’t easy, and I don’t want to trap him here after a drunken, stupid night. I loved that stupid night.
“I have all of you. Charlie gets Work Oscar. Bodyguard Oscar. Which is a very particularly endearing version of you, but it’s not the complete package. You’ve given me all of you.”
“You could be married to someone else that’d give you more time.” “I don’t want time,” Jack breathes. “I want you. Your support. Emotional, mental, physical. I want it all.”
“I love you so fucking much, and having that type of negativity attached to a marriage feels crushing. You deserve confetti and congratulations and every good thing that comes with this type of announcement.” “You deserve that too, Highland.”
In his heart, I don’t think Jack wants to end this marriage. I breathe easier knowing that, but it still doesn’t change the fact that our rings are going to remain in our pockets for a good while. Maybe forever, depending on where his head lands.
“Because I know you’re close to Farrow and Donnelly—” “They’ve kept so much shit from me, bro. Farrow dating Maximoff. Donnelly hooking up with Luna.”
“I’m sorry you have to wait for me.” To make a decision, are the unsaid words. “For you, I don’t mind waiting,”
“How do you feel about fucking a married man?” “Depends,”
“On what?” His eyes fall to my lips. “If that married man is married to me.”
But we’re playing with fire by talking about our marriage while we do this. Because it feels a little like twisting a rope around our hearts. Squeezing the organs until they rupture.
“You stay and keep looking beautiful. I’ve got it.”
“Meu raio de sol, we’re married. For tonight at least. I’m your husband.”
“Do me a favor, Long Beach,” I say in heavy breath. “Keep your hands on your head.” A. It’s fucking adorable. B. I don’t want him touching himself tonight.
“Then I can’t touch you, Os.” Ah, yes. This is his insecurity about being selfish. “You don’t need to touch me,” I tell him. “I’m inside you, Highland.” His face flames. “God.”
We just made love, and emotion still strings between us like a lit flame. His head buries against the crook of my neck. I am so in love with him. And I’m so fucking scared of losing him.
I shouldn’t feel this need to tell people that Oscar Oliveira is my husband.
YUM. So when Oscar’s done with Charlie and Jack? Can I get a bite of that? And that last comment charged me up enough to almost type out the words: You can’t, I’m married to him. Okay, I did type out the words, but I restrained myself from posting. Partly because it wouldn’t change a thing.
And they’ve noticed that Luna has worn pants practically all summer long. She didn’t want to talk about it for the show, but she told me that Donnelly tattooed her leg, up to her hip, and she’s afraid of her dad finding out. I promised, like always, to keep the secret.
There’s nothing like it. Maybe one day I can take Jack.
That thought does a number on me. Because here I’m thinking about the future when we can barely scrape together what we are now.
How Maximoff and Farrow are on the Ferris wheel with their son, a bucket above Thatcher and Jane.
Donnelly rounds the corner with a plate of funnel cake. My stomach lets out an audible groan. “Donnelly,” I say. “Please say that’s for me.” “Why else would I come over here?” He holds out the plate, and nods to Jesse. “Hey, little J.”
Ten minutes ago, I took pity on the kid and grabbed one of the bags. It’s heavy on my shoulder, but it won’t break my back like Jesse.
“Where’s Big J?” Donnelly asks me. “Jack,” I emphasize,
“Are those dragons?” “Yeah.” Along with horses and boats, people can ride unicorns and dragons. “Xander would’ve loved this.” Donnelly glances around at the amassing people, the sun beginning to drop behind the rides and food stands. “Not these crowds though. Fuck me, there are a lot people here.”
While Xander’s at home, SFO put a temp on his detail, letting Donnelly join the carnival’s security for the night.
“I was just thinking,” Donnelly says, “that Kitsuwon’s giant-sized manual clearly states not to carry production equipment for We Are Calloway. You a rulebreaker now or what?” “Just a motherfucker in love.” “With Jesse?”
One thing people never get right when they first meet Donnelly: he’s a smart motherfucker. He plays dumb too well. His smirk lands on me.
Still makes me nauseous that he’s essentially protecting Xander for free. Since he joined security, he’s been doing tattoos on his own time because he loved it. Not because he needed the money.
“Boyfriend’s here.” It takes me a minute to realize Donnelly is talking about my boyfriend. Or I guess my husband.
“Akara to Donnelly, head over to the ring toss. Eliot and Tom need extra security.” “Cobalts who slay together, stay together,” Donnelly says as he leaves, throwing up a hand gesture that means love you.
God, if I had to do this without him…I can’t think it. Don’t want to even imagine it. I realize it doesn’t matter what he’s here as—my boyfriend or some limited edition husband. It makes no difference. His support is still the same spellbinding force that carries me tonight.
“Telling you won’t change a damn thing,” he breathes. “Other than kill me and hurt you.” “This has already killed you, bro. It’s already hurt me.”
