Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
I panted, out of breath, as I spat the last word of the vow. But I felt something in my chest break as the fucking vow was done. I would never be able to do this.
“River?” Mae whispered and took the final few steps until she was before me. “What are you doing here?”
I couldn’t fucking speak any more, so I held out my hand and pulled her down into my lap. Mae called out, laughing, as she gently landed on my lap and I wrapped my arms around her waist. She turned her face toward me and, before she could speak, before she could even ask me what the fuck was wrong, I crushed my lips to hers. Mae sighed into my mouth as I took her tongue with my own then broke away.
She settled into my chest and closed her eyes. I fucking let her as I stared out over the field, eyes focused on nothing. “I love you, River Nash,” she said sleepily. “I cannot wait to be your wife.” I squeezed her tighter; then she said, “We should go home. I am tired. I am struggling to keep my eyes open today.”
But I only held her tighter. I never wanted to let this bitch go. Taking a deep breath, I said, “St-Stay. St-Stay h-h-here w-w-with me.”
Mae looked up at me through her long black lashes and smiled, taken aback. Her cheeks were pink from the sun, and she’d never looked more fucking perfect to me. “Okay,” she said softly, her eyes closing again. “We will stay. It is warm enough, and I have you.”
As her breathing evened out and she fell asleep against my chest, I closed my eyes too and mouthed the vow once again.
I River Nash take you Mae . . . And I mouthed it over and over again until I fell asleep too.
Funny how I didn’t stutter in my dreams.
Chapter Four
Mae
I lit the final candle just as I heard the lock turn. I sat on the edge of the bed and waited.
I heard his footsteps move through the house, and I knew who those feet were searching for: me. Each night, every time he returned from his run, his trajectory was to wherever I was.
Always me.
I waited for the call of my name. But as it had been for the past few weeks, his arrival home was silent. My fiancé was silent. He was never silent with me. With me his words—although stuttered and weak—were many, expressive . . . loving. But the silence that had befallen his soul lately was suffocating—just as the effort to speak was suffocating for him. And worse, he was not using his hands to tell me what was wrong. There was just . . . nothing.
I held my breath as I heard him approach the door. My heart beat as fast as it always did in his presence. I was sure with each passing day that beat increased in both volume and rhythm. I was sure it would until my very dying day.
Styx suddenly filled the doorway. I became breathless as his hazel eyes fell on me, sitting on the edge of the bed. His nostrils flared as he drank me in, and I smiled. I knew he liked me like this, dressed in a sleeveless white slip, hair falling to my waist, and no makeup on my face. And my gaze roved over him too. I loved him like this: in dark jeans, a black shirt, and his cut, his face stubbled, and his dark hair messy.
Styx did not speak. He cast his gaze around the room and raised his pierced eyebrow in a questioning gesture. Lifting his hand, he nodded toward the candles and the soft sounds of Johnny Cash playing from the bathroom. “What’s all this?” he signed and, as it had been doing for endless days, my heart broke.
I couldn’t answer as sadness welled within me. Instead, I held out my hands and rose from the bed. Styx came toward me immediately, as I had known he would. As the scent of tobacco filled my nose and his callused palms slipped against mine, I pulled him close. Tipping up my head, I waited for his kiss. Styx released my hands, cupped my face, and drew his lips against mine. I closed my eyes as his taste burst on my tongue. And we kissed. We kissed so deeply and so gently that I became liquid in his arms.
When I broke away, Styx’s hard hazel eyes stared at me, searching my face for answers. I pushed his cut from his broad shoulders, silencing any questions. The muscles on top of his shoulders, leading to his neck, tensed under my hands. His biceps corded and the tattoos of Hades and demons and hell’s denizens danced over his tanned skin. He hissed through parted lips when my hands traveled to the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his wide muscled chest and over his head until it landed on the floor. I met his eyes and he met mine as I leaned forward and pressed a whisper of a kiss in the center of his chest. Styx’s skin bumped under my touch, and I smiled when his hand threaded into my hair. My fingers made lazy circles on his abdominal muscles until they drifted lower and lower to the waistband of his jeans.