With You Forever (Bergman Brothers, #4)

by Chloe Liese

I want to tell her that you can have all the traditions and family recipes you like and still not feel like you belong. But I would never tell her that. I’ve never told anyone that.

“The deeper you love, the deeper the risk of disappointment, and hurt, and loss. The more you care, the more pain you might face. And yet, I hope you won’t always let that stop you,” I tell him. “Fear of failure, fear of not living up to these standards you hold yourself to, which sound pretty damn high. Because…well, have you ever considered that the depth of feeling for the subject is the reason you’re the very best person to paint it?”

“Because I…I think I missed you. Because I hate kissing, but I love it when it’s you, and that means something. I don’t know what, and I wish I knew more, but I do know this,” he says roughly, and then he nuzzles me. I don’t know how else to describe it, this tender nudge of his temple against my cheek, the whisper of his mouth over the shell of my ear. “I want to kiss you so badly, it’s obliterated every other thought in my brain. There’s nothing but wanting it. Wanting you.”

I watch her watching the sunrise, knowing I could do this the rest of my life: witness sunlight painting Rooney better than I ever could, the day wrapping its arms around her, illuminating what’s inside her heart—warmth, hope, a depth of joy I never thought I’d know, let alone love, yet here I am.

She glances my way and catches me staring at her. “You’re not watching the sunrise,” she says. “No.” A blush stains her cheeks as she smiles faintly, her expression perplexed. “You love sunrises.” “I love you more.”

“But now, I think I understand. It’s not that marriage is this fortifying element in and of itself. It’s not the teary wedding-day promises or the legal license or the indestructible rings that make a marriage strong. It’s the people. It’s their choices. It’s how strong they make it.”

When did it happen? When exactly did I fall in love with him? I always thought realizing you loved someone would be this epic moment, an emotional firework grand finale. But this wasn’t. It was quiet and steady, tender and unexpected. Just like the man I married. The man that I love. The man who looks at me and says, “I love you.”

Viggo gapes at me. And then he pulls out his phone and attacks his text messages. “Did you just send a Bat Signal GIF to the guys?” I ask. “Hush up. I hear you judging me.” Viggo pockets his phone. “Report to the basement in five.” “What? No—” He’s gone, sauntering out of the room nonchalantly. Ren’s next, planting a kiss on Frankie before he stands and stretches, then wanders the way of the basement. Oliver whines from the pantry, followed by a slapping sound, then an “Ouch!” Ryder kisses Willa’s temple, then strolls through the kitchen, swiping a beer from the fridge before he turns the corner. And then Aiden walks in the front door, dark hair dappled with snow, bright blue eyes shining from behind his thick-framed black glasses, looking like a pissed-off, nerdy Lucifer. “This better be good,” he growls, before he stomps down the hall. Resigned to my fate, I clutch my beer and head for the basement, too.