by Fleur Smith
He dragged his arm across my stomach, sending the butterflies skittering around inside me, before stretching languidly. Even a few seconds later, I could feel the blistering trail left in the wake of his fingers as they’d passed across my skin, and I closed my eyes in response. He yawned as he stretched again.
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” he asked.
I had no idea. “We need to try to find a new crib, and some paint and carpet, wasn’t it?”
He nodded. “Can that wait though? Right now I want to enjoy what I’m feeling.”
“What’s that?”
“Something I haven’t felt in as long as I can remember . . .” he responded dreamily.
Neither of us mentioned that “as long as I can remember” for him wasn’t even a few months.
“And that is?” I prompted.
“Free.” He grinned. “I know technically I’ve got the punishment hanging over my head, but that’s just a formality really, isn’t it? You know Aiden better than I do; is he likely to turn back up on our doorstep and escort me away?”
“I don’t think he would. He’s a man, well, fae, of his word. But that’s a different tune to yesterday when you were desperate to be taken away.”
He frowned. The good mood he’d been in evaporated in an instant.
I hated that I’d broken whatever spell had been on him and decided to try to make it up to him. “Why don’t we have a picnic out back? We can go down to the market and get some fresh bread now that you’re allowed out of the house.”
He nodded, but his mood didn’t lift any.
“Damn, we can’t,” I said. “We’ve only got one car seat.”
I mentally added a second car seat to the list of items we needed to get. It seemed never ending. I worried our funds wouldn’t stretch quite far enough, and it was harder to commit fraud when you were stationed in the one place.
“Why don’t you take the car and get whatever you want?” I suggested, trying to give him a taste of freedom.
“Why don’t I stay here with the twins and you go?” he countered.
“I thought you might want to get out of the house.”
His gaze lifted to meet mine. “It’s fine. I’ll watch them while you go. We can still have the picnic.”
Figuring it was easier than arguing any further, I got ready and twenty minutes later was grabbing a few supplies at the Cats Whiskers Country Market. Pulling into the parking lot, I saw a black cat curled in front of one corner of the store. When I approached the door to the store, the cat opened his eyes, lifted his head, and almost appeared to nod as he meowed at me.
“Hi, Kieran,” I murmured as I passed.
When I entered the store, the first thing I noticed was that it was deserted due to the early hour of the morning. Not wanting to be away from the house for too long, I walked quickly amongst the shelves grabbing the few bits and pieces we needed for the picnic, taking extra care to grab the items I knew were Clay’s favorites. When I passed the chocolates, I had to grab a packet of the same ones he’d bought for me the last time he’d been him. I held the packet in my hand and fought back my tears.
“You could have phoned ahead,” a familiar voice said from behind me, causing me to jump. “I would have had it ready for you.”
I spun around and saw the cashier who’d served me on the day I’d first met Kieran. “It’s okay,” I said. “I wasn’t sure what I wanted until I got here.”
She smiled before glancing around from side to side, I assumed to check that we were alone. “Thank you,” she murmured.
I frowned in confusion.
“For helping Kieran with the fae. If it was purely up to the Tribunal, I think he would have been dealt a severe punishment and taken away from the boys, but your conversation swayed them and they let him go. After what happened, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you were baying for his blood. Of course, I’m glad you weren’t.”
“Kieran?” I blinked.
“My husband.”
“Laura,” I read her nametag aloud. The word sparked a memory of my conversation with Kieran a little more than two weeks earlier. “Laura? You’re Laura? But that means that you knew that I . . . That he . . .” I was speechless. It was hard enough to string together a coherent thought, let alone form it into words. “You knew Clay was missing?”
“I tried to tell you what I knew, but I couldn’t come right out with it. There were regulars in the store. I tried to get you to come back down, but you never did.”
I gathered that by regulars, she didn’t just mean customers who came often.
She dropped her gaze and grimaced. “I’m really sorry for what happened and that he helped. We should have been more careful the first time that man came in, but he drew such a striking resemblance to your partner. We didn’t think he’d be a threat.” She was talking about Troy. I couldn’t blame them for not knowing what he had done in the past.
“Well, he’s not anymore,” I assured her as we walked to the checkout together. I placed everything on the counter.
“You didn’t . . .”
I shook my head. “He attacked the fae when they were visiting us. He’s with them now.”
“And your baby?”
I grinned. “Perfect and safe. Both of them.”
“Twins?”
“Yeah.”
She beamed at me. “Congratulations, honey. It’s always wonderful with little ones. Enjoy it though; it’ll be over before you know it.”
“Yeah, I’ve already noticed how much they’ve grown.”
“If you need help outside of the fae, just know that we really are a friendly bunch around these parts. This town is well-known as a safe-haven among the higher beings.”
I wondered whether Clay knew that before we moved in. It honestly wouldn’t have surprised me if he had. It was exactly the sort of choice he’d make for me, and the sort of information he would have kept hidden just in case I was offended. Now, I couldn’t even ask him.
“And I know you have your own contacts, but if you ever need another medical opinion, especially with those special babies, Doc Galen is a Paean.” She winked.
“A what?”
“A healer of the gods.”
“I don’t know that I need anything like that.”
The bell over the door rattled and another customer walked in. I stared at them with suspicion, suddenly uncertain whether anyone I’d encountered here and places like it around town were human or not.
Laura must have caught my gaze. “It takes a bit of getting used to, but you eventually learn who is and who isn’t something else.”
“You’re not though, are you?” I didn’t even know how to ask whether she was other. I didn’t think she was. Clay certainly had never mentioned if she wasn’t.
But then he wouldn’t if he hadn’t wanted you to know he set your family up in a safe-haven for others.
She giggled. “No, I was just lucky enough to have caught hold of a dream one night.”
My thoughts turned to Clay. “I know exactly what you mean.” Lifting the groceries into my arms, I smiled in thanks. “I’ll see you next time. Maybe I’ll even phone ahead.”
JUST AS I was returning home, I saw Fiona and Louise heading back toward the fairy ring in the forest on the other side of our driveway. They waved goodbye before disappearing just as I stopped the car. Before I’d even killed the engine, Clay was at the passenger door to help with the groceries.
“What did they want?” I asked.
“They brought the crib from the court. Louise and Ethan told Mom about the damage, and she insisted we have it.” He said Mom as if it left an unusual taste in his mouth, rolling it around his teeth as if trying it out for the first time.
“It’s a shame they couldn’t stay for a while longer.”
“They’ll be back in the next few days.”
“How—”
“How do I know?” he asked, pushing the front door open. “Mom’s bringing a small working team out
to redo the nursery.”
“How were things between you two?” Fiona hadn’t seen Clay since his return, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that she’d given up on him when he’d disappeared.
“Okay, I guess. I don’t know how things were before though. All she said was to tell you that she was wrong, whatever that means.”
I smiled secretively, pleased that she saw what I’d tried to tell her in the beginning. Memory or not, Clay was still Clay.
“There was something else too, apparently Abe contacted Ben just as Dad broke in here.”
“So they must have been in communication?”
Clay nodded. “It doesn’t surprise me. Apparently Ben had a little more success with Abe though. After finding out what happened to Dad, he’s had a bit of a turnaround and is willing to try the new way.”
“Do you think we can trust it?”
“Louise seems to think so, at the very least they’ll be able to keep a better eye on him if they know where he is.”
“And Terry?”
Clay shrugged. “I think he genuinely thought he was helping. That’s the impression I got when Dad introduced us. Besides, I don’t think that he’s really a threat.”
“How are the twins?”
“Asleep. Again. When do they grow out of that?”
I laughed. “I have no idea. Let’s just enjoy it while we can.”
We packed a sleeping Ava and David into their stroller and gathered up an old blanket before locking up the house and heading toward the forest that rimmed the back of our property.
I STRETCHED out on the blanket and enjoyed the peace and the sunshine of what could be one of the last almost warm days before winter began to creep in.
The picnic had been somewhat of a success. The only down point had been when Clay had mentioned that he absolutely loved the cream buns I’d bought.
“I knew you would,” I’d said with a sly grin. “They were always one of your favorites from there.”
He’d frowned and there hadn’t been any conversation for the next ten minutes.
Shortly afterward, David had woken and I’d fed him before Clay changed him and things finally settled back to normal—or at least our own personal version of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
AFTER WRESTLING BOTH of the babies through feedings, baths, and bedtime with Clay’s help, I fell onto the sofa, utterly exhausted. Not long after, Clay flopped down beside me.
A moment passed where his hand brushed against the back of my neck and across my shoulder. I closed my eyes and tried to remind myself that whatever had been there before wasn’t there anymore. It was long cemented as a permanent mantra in my mind, but it didn’t stop the butterflies in my stomach or the way his touch scorched my skin. It was true, even if waking with his arms around me had become a regular occurrence, rather than a one-off. My nightmares were frequent and recurring, or so I was told each morning.
Despite how wonderful Clay had been about everything as much as his presence made each day that little bit easier, I was still reminded regularly that he wasn’t my Clay. Not because he didn’t have his memories but because I couldn’t hold him the way I wanted to. I couldn’t press my lips to his without worrying about what the long-term consequences might be.
It had been almost three weeks since we’d returned home, and it was becoming impossible to pretend that his presence didn’t affect me or that I didn’t long for my husband’s touch every second of the day. I wanted more than ever for the real Clay to return, even though I’d come to accept that he never would.
Sitting side by side with him on the sofa, I knew I couldn’t let our crushed and wobbly orbit continue any longer. Louise and Ethan had been right; it was starting to hurt too much.
“I think we need to talk about what happens next,” I said as the pang of regret over what we’d once had hit me again.
“What do you mean what happens next?” His voice was fearful and quiet as he gave me a look that I didn’t understand, something akin to regret or perhaps even longing.
“I’m not sure how much longer I can pretend that nothing has changed. I’m not sure how much longer I can sleep beside you and act like it’s normal. Or wake in your arms and pretend I don’t care. We need to talk about the long term. About exit strategies.”
His gaze dropped away from me as he frowned.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Why does anything have to change?”
“You said before that you didn’t want me to get hurt out of this charade.”
He nodded.
“Well, it’s starting to . . .” I trailed off, not sure I could give a voice to the pain inside. One look in his eyes though, and I had to. “It’s starting to kill me. I’m worried that if it goes on for too much longer, I’ll be ruined. Especially now that everyone knows the truth and there’s no need for this façade.”
He gulped down a mouthful of air and his palm found the hair at his nape. “What if it’s not a façade?”
“What are you saying?” My stomach rested somewhere near my tonsils as I waited for him to answer.
“I—I don’t want to go.”
My hope soared even as I tried to repeat my well-worn mantra through my head.
“I can’t imagine being away from my children.”
Feeling my hope rush out of my body with the breath I released, I nodded. I’d suspected as much for a while, but could I continue the charade indefinitely for their sakes? Maybe it was time to investigate the second bed option again.
“Or you,” he continued.
I blinked back my surprise as the spark of hope in me ignited, twisting around my heart until it ached with the need for him to say the words that I could only dream of hearing again. I couldn’t speak for fear of shouting at him to tell me exactly what he meant, which would probably scare him off saying anything at all.
“I may not remember what things were like before,” he murmured, “but I know what they’re like now. And Evie, I know that I said I didn’t feel anything for you, but I do. There’s this thing that crawls through every part of my body and makes me long to touch you.” He reached for my hand and drew it to his lap, wrapping his fingers around it. “To kiss you.” He lifted my hand and pressed his lips softly to my knuckles. A knot twisted in my stomach. “To caress you.
“Even that first night we shared a bed, back in the court, it felt right. Like my body recognized you long before I did.” He leaned forward and began to whisper the rest of his words against my cheek. I closed my eyes as the butterflies began to flutter around the knot. “I was wrong when I said I didn’t feel it. I just didn’t recognize it then. It’s why I gravitate toward you every damn night when I sleep. I try to fight it because I know you don’t feel the same way about me, because you’re still in love with your husband, but I can’t help it. I’m drawn to you.”
A flood of hope rushed through me again at his words. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered the question, unwilling to break whatever spell was passing between us.
“How could I?”
The question confused me. How could he not? Did he not see I was holding myself aloof because I thought he didn’t want me?
He sat back, dropping away from me. “I’m not who you want me to be.”
I blinked in response to his words and the hunger in his eyes. “You’re all I want.” I said. “Please?” I begged, even though I didn’t know what I was asking for.
He tentatively raised his hand into my hair and threaded his fingers into the strands at my nape before he guided my lips toward his. The instant our mouths met, a shudder of pleasure rushed through me. I sighed against his mouth, and he took advantage of the space, his tongue pressing forward to meet mine.
For an instant, it was as though nothing had changed. For one precious moment, I could forget the last few months. Despite the length of time it had been since we’d last kissed, and despite Clay’s memory loss, our bodies recognized one another instantly. A rush of wa
rmth raced through my body and settled heavily between my legs.
He shifted his position so that he was leaning over me, pouring every ounce of himself, of his emotions, into the kiss. His fingers worked at the buttons of my shirt slowly, as if waiting for me to stop him. Instead, I twisted my hands into his hair and pulled his face closer to me as a low moan escaped my lips. He pushed the thin material away from my chest and moved his mouth to caress my neck and shoulders.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked against my collarbone with a husky voice.
I shook my head. “I’m really not. You could shatter me, but I really don’t care. I’ve longed for your touch.”
We sunk deeper into the sofa as his hips ground against mine. A new hardness pressed against my pelvis, demonstrating that he was just as desperate for me as I was for him. I realized that he might have been using me—I could have been nothing more than an easy conquest for him—but I let my heart and body lead. They were the ones that would suffer the consequences if he was lying, but both were more than willing to take the risk.
God, I hope he’s not lying.
I helped him shed his shirt. When I saw the scars that crisscrossed his torso, I remembered the game we used to play. He’d probably never regain his memory, but I could help him build a picture of his old life.
My fingers traced along a series of three-inch long cuts near his left shoulder. His eyes dropped to watch my fingers trace the marks, confusion lining his features.
“Harpy,” I whispered. “You were fifteen.”
He placed his hand on mine to still my fingers before meeting my eyes. An instant later, to my surprise, he sighed and pulled away. He moved to sit on the other side of the sofa, leaving me bereft and confused.