Wretched (Never After, #3)

by Emily McIntire

Grief is a weird thing. It’s the only emotion in the world people claim to understand yet treat as an inconvenience.

Me and people don’t really get along.

“Just like a man. Giving the bare minimum and expecting us to be satisfied.

“But a man can be successful and still fail where it matters.”

“Especially then. Gives me a reason to fuck the brat out of you.”

It’s that smile again, her real one. Rare and so beautiful.

I know she can take care of herself, but it doesn’t mean she should have to.

You do not know how longingly I look upon you. You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking.’” He bends his head down and ghosts his lips across my cheek. “‘I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you. All is recalled as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured.’” His nose rubs against mine, and my stomach flips and flies. “‘You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me. I ate with you and slept with you. Your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only.’”

I am to wait. I do not doubt I am to meet you again.’” His breath skims across my lips. “‘I am to see to it that I do not lose you.’”

“I’m so fucking in love with you, Evelina Westerly,” he cuts me off. I grin, rising up on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. “Every wretched piece?” He brushes the hair back from my face. “Every single one.”