“Wait, just wait,” Caitlin says. She closes her eyes for a moment. “My head is spinning. I need a drink, actually.”
“Water, soda?”
“Water’s fine.”
I walk into my open-plan loft apartment and head across my large living room to the kitchen. I grab a glass and hold it in the refrigerator compartment, waiting for the mechanism to start. As the water pours, I try to see onto the balcony, but the angle doesn’t let me. There’s too much space for me to hear what they’re talking about.
Maybe they’re not talking. Maybe they’re just staring at each other.
I keep waiting for one of them to explode and shout.
I can’t get back out there fast enough.
I return with her drink to find Caitlin standing at the balcony railing, silhouetted by the sunlight.
I arch an eyebrow at Sophia, asking her a silent question.
Maybe I should be stunned by how quickly we’ve eased into these silent communications, but it just feels natural, right, almost like destiny.
The man I was before Sophia came into my life would’ve laughed at such a thought, but I can’t.
Sophia shakes her head, as if to say, I don’t know.
I sigh and place Caitlin’s glass on the table.
“Caitlin,” I say quietly.
“I just need a second,” she says.
At least she hasn’t got a sob shimmering in her voice. That’s something. When I was in the kitchen making her the drink, my mind flooded with a thousand scenarios and none of them were good.
This one isn’t great, either – she won’t even look at us – but at least tears aren’t streaming down her cheeks.
I sit down and fight the urge to reach across and touch Sophia’s face. I can see the sadness trying to warp her features, her eyes twitching with the suggestion of tears.
But the last thing we need is for Caitlin to turn around and see us touching, driving her deeper into confusion and resentment.
“Dad,” she says finally, turning to face me. “You haven’t been with a woman since Mom. I know that. I used to think you were just good at hiding it, but I know that’s not the case anymore. I don’t know how I know. I guess I can just sort of sense it. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “I’ve never felt the urge to be with anyone. To be honest, I thought I was going to be alone for the rest of my life before Sophia.”
Sophia lets out a little intoxicating puff of air from beside me, clasping her hands together. The desire to turn to her and tell her I love her floods up within me, making my chest tight with the need for it.
I don’t know how I keep my gaze on my daughter instead.
“And this isn’t a fling,” Caitlin goes on.
“No,” I growl, the very notion making my body tight, like I want to get into another brawl.
I don’t know who I’d be fighting. It’s just the idea that Sophia could be something temporary for me when in reality she’s everything.
She’s my whole universe.
She’s mine.
She’s going to be the mother of Caitlin’s brothers and sisters.
“Soph?” Caitlin says, turning to Sophia.
“Yeah?”
Caitlin smiles and something in my chest erupts and spreads starry hands. Smiling doesn’t mean she’s automatically okay with the situation, but surely it implies that there’s some acceptance flaring into embers inside of her, embers that might bloom and become something even fiercer.
“Well—how do you feel?” Caitlin says, taking her seat and moving her forefinger around the edge of her glass.
I almost flinch when Sophia reaches across and lays her hand against mine. I don’t expect her to make such an intimate move in front of Caitlin, but once I feel the warmth of her hand and the desire for safety shimmering up her arm, I know she needs this.
I interlock my fingers with hers and give her a squeeze, letting her know that I’m here for her and she doesn’t have to worry.
She never has to worry again, for the rest of her life.
I’m always going to take care of her.
Because she’s mine.
“I feel like all the love songs I’ve heard finally make sense,” she says, giggling full of pure emotion, happiness, and anxiety burning together. “I feel like—I know it doesn’t make sense, Cait. I walked into that office, and suddenly a girlhood crush became something real, something I couldn’t pretend didn’t exist anymore.”
“I always knew you had a crush on Dad,” Caitlin says, nodding and sitting back with a sly smile, one I recognize from when she was a teenager and used to love pulling pranks.
“You did?” Sophia murmurs.
“Yeah. I didn’t really mind. It was harmless, right?”
“And this?” Sophia says, unable to hide the uncertainty in her voice.
I squeeze her hand harder, fighting every instinct I have that tells me to drag her into my lap and envelop her in my arms. The primal protective part of me roars that I need to shield my woman. I need to pull her close and make it so nothing, not even her heartache, can hurt her ever again.
“It’s weird,” Caitlin says. “I won’t deny that. But the thing is, when I look at you two like this, I can’t deny it.”
“Deny what?” Sophia and I say together.
We turn to each other, laughing at the same time, as though we’re sharing the same voice for a bliss-filled moment. Her eyes glint in the sunlight and her cheeks are shiny, and as her lips twitch into a smile, I imagine our children grinning in that same way.
I hope they have more of their mother in them than me.
I hope they have her beauty, her kindness, her affection, her everything.
“That,” Caitlin giggles. “Look at you two. You’re both happier now than I’ve ever seen you before. Especially you, Dad. I mean … you’re smiling.”
“Am I?” I chuckle.
“You are,” Sophia says with a thrill in her voice. “Oh my God—”
“Don’t you mean oh my gosh?”
She rolls her eyes.
“You’re grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning, Solomon.”
“She’s right, Dad,” Caitlin laughs. “It’s sort of freaky, actually.”
I shake my head, but I can’t stop grinning, more happiness flooding into me each moment.
“Does this mean we have your blessing?” I ask.
Caitlin glances down at the table, still moving her finger around and around the edge of her glass.
Sophia and I exchange a glance. Our expressions mirror each other, both of us growing taut with anticipation.
What if Caitlin changes her mind now?
I can imagine her flurrying to her feet and grabbing her glass of water, tossing it over the balcony, and turning to us with rage-flooded cheeks.
“Are you kidding?” she’d scream. “That was a test, you idiots. Of course, I’m not okay with this.”
Finally, her finger stops its endless motion around her glass.
She looks up at us with the suggestion of a smile on her lips, and then her cheeks dimple and her smile widens.
For a brief sun-filled second, she looks exactly the same as she did on her first day of high school, grinning and waving as I watched her from the front seat of my car.
“Yes,” she says, “you have my blessing. But you need to know something, Dad. If you ever hurt Soph, you’ll have me to deal with.”
“Understood,” I say, glad that my woman has such a protective best friend.
“You mean it?” Sophia cries, standing up and walking around the table.
She leans down and throws her arms around my daughter. Caitlin hugs her in return, patting her on the back as Sophia lets out tears of joy.
“I was so worried,” she says, voice strangled with a sob. “I shouldn’t have gone behind your back, Cait. I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know how to tell you. I value our friendship so, so much. I thought I’d ruined it.”
; “You could never ruin us, Soph,” Caitlin says. “I’m not saying this is the most conventional setup in the world, but if it works for you two, it works for me.”
“It does,” Sophia says, looking over the top of Caitlin’s head to aim her shimmering eyes at me.
I love you, Sophia Clarkson, I think but don’t say.
Something holds me back.
Just like taking her virginity, I want the time to be right.
Caitlin turns and faces me, adding her smile to the happiness that Sophia brings.
“Dad, I hope you know how lucky you are,” she says.
“I do,” I tell her firmly. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sophia
“I think it’s wonderful,” Mom says, flipping the pancakes with so much flair her fluttering summery dress dances around her. “I know it’s not the most conventional thing, but I can see how happy you are, Sophia. I can see how changed you are. No—not changed. I don’t mean that.”
I giggle, delighted Mom’s taken this news in her stride. After telling Caitlin and the possible pain I thought it might bring, the task of telling Mom reared up inside of me with the aura of a threat.
“What do you mean, Miss C?” Caitlin asks from beside me.
The morning is bright, as though nature knows how much lighter my heart feels after the scene on the balcony.
It’s been a few days since then, and I’ve spent as much time as possible with my man, exploring a sexual side of myself I never could’ve guessed existed before we came together.
The dinners and the small private moments have been just as important, though, filling me with so much light I feel as though I could burst with it.
“She’s not changed, exactly,” Mom says, giving the pancakes another flip. “It’s more that she feels confident enough to be more herself. Your father – her boyfriend – he’s helped her feel more comfortable in her own skin.”
“I can’t deny that,” Caitlin says, smiling over at me.
Part of me expected her to regret her acceptance of mine and Solomon’s relationship after the revelation on the balcony, but in the passing days, she’s only become more enthusiastic about it.
“I can see the change in both of you,” she said to me on the phone last night. “I went to visit Dad at his office earlier, and he was humming. Do you know how weird that is, how amazing?”
I keep waiting to jolt awake and discover that everything after the fight, telling Caitlin and the love-filled moments, has been a crazy fever dream.
Everything’s just going so perfect.
I don’t want anything to spoil it.
Love.
I suppose that’s the only root of anxiety still twisting its way through me, the way the L-word hovers on the tip of my tongue every second I’m with my man. I’ve almost blurted it out during sex several times, just throwing the words out there in the heat of our unleashing on each other.
But somehow I’ve managed to restrain myself.
What if I say it and he doesn’t say it back?
“You don’t know how much this means to me,” I say. “I was so scared I’d be forced to choose between my best friend and my soulmate.”
“Soulmate,” Caitlin smiles, shaking her head indulgently. “I’ll never get used to hearing that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No,” Caitlin rushes to add. “Not in a bad way. What I meant is …”
She pauses, chewing her lip, and then her eyes get that just-Caitlin playful quality, the look I remember from countless times in my childhood.
“It’s never going to stop sounding special,” she says. “It’s never going to stop sounding amazing. I’m so happy for both of you.”
I blink back budding tears as love brims into every part of me, so much it feels as if I could explode in a big ball of soul-soothing emotion.
“Are you okay?” I ask Caitlin. “About Kenny, I mean.”
She sighs and shrugs. “I chose the wrong man and it got me into some trouble. It happens. I’m seeing it as a learning experience. Plus, he’s going to be in prison for a long, long time, so I don’t have to worry anymore.”
I smile.
“You know you can call me, day or night, and we’ll talk for as long as you want. You know that, right, Cait?”
Now she’s the one with tears glittering in her eyes.
“Of course I do,” she smiles. “That’s why you’re my best friend.”
“Okay, you two,” Mom says, bringing a tray of pancakes over. “Enough of this emotional stuff. Who wants syrup?”
When I wake up the next morning, I stretch my hand across to the broadness of my man’s back like I always do. It’s like my internal body clock knows to wake me up a few minutes before the alarm goes off so that I can run my fingers over the ridged fullness of his muscles, over his shoulders, down the taut tightness of his lower back.
Sometimes he’ll roll over with an animal snarl, pulling me close to him, his length a solid promise in his boxer shorts.
Other times, I’ll just squeeze my body against his and it will feel as though we’re floating together on the mattress, unified in the moment.
This morning, my hand meets with empty sheets.
Even now – even after everything that’s happened – a part of me sends unfair messages surging through my body.
He’s run out on you, a vicious voice whispers. This has all been a trick from the beginning.
But then my fingers come to rest on a business-sized card on his pillow. I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes with my other hand, and pick up the card. The morning is bright, the wide windows letting in swathes of glowing sunlight, Solomon’s marble floors glittering.
When you wake up, my love, the note reads, come to the roof. I have a surprise for you.
I clasp the card to my chest, to my heart, letting out a shivering breath that’s full of hope and possibility. I try to tell myself that this could be anything, that letting my fantasies gallop ahead of my reason isn’t the right thing to do here.
And yet there’s an excitable part of me that can’t fight the smile spreading across my face, so wide it makes my cheeks ache with excitement and love.
Love.
I’m not afraid of that word anymore, even if we haven’t said it to each other yet.
“Love, love, love,” I murmur as I leap to my feet, dancing across the room to the dresser drawers where I’m keeping a lot of my clothes.
Despite such a short time passing, Solomon and I have become so comfortable in each other’s company. I’ve basically moved in, and he’s encouraged it every step of the way.
I choose a flowing spring dress, the sort I know drives Solomon wild. Just last night, he savaged me from behind when I walked into the bedroom in one of these dresses, his hands magnetizing to my hips as he let out a carnal snarl of pure domination.
“Do you really think you can flutter around in that thing and not set my blood boiling?” he growled, claiming me as only my man ever will.
I lay the dress on the bed and then quickly go into the bathroom, walking across the pristine marble to the waterfall shower.
Standing under the water in this luxury shower, I’m stunned by how at home I feel. I thought there would be more of a transition for me to get used to a life of so much luxury, but with my man always hungry to treat me like a princess, I find that I can sink into the role with a fluttering belonging soothing any doubts I might have.
Just because I was born poor, it doesn’t mean I have to be ashamed of being spoiled by the man of my dreams.
I fix my hair and get dressed, and then walk through his large loft apartment to the private elevator. My stomach tingles with a thousand possibilities as the elevator rides up toward the heavens, nerves dancing and gallivanting up and down my body.
But these aren’t the self-doubting nerves that have plagued me my whole life.
These are tinged with starlight, with closeness, with love.
>
The door opens and for a long moment, I just stare in awe.
We came up to the roof a couple of nights ago to watch the sunset, and it was nothing like this.
It’s been transformed into a rooftop garden, greenery everywhere I look, trellises sporting ivy and large luscious leaves. Roses and dozens of other flowers form a pathway through this secret garden, an archway at the end sporting the words This way, my little dreamer, in love red letters.
I walk through the dancing scents, a hundred of them vying for my attention with each step I take. My heart couldn’t feel lighter, flooding with the importance of this moment until I feel as though I could take off from the roof and float into the sky.
I walk through the archway to be met with more impossible nature. Amidst the flowers and the trees and the colorful, scent-laden bushes, Solomon has placed prints of my artwork on easels, pieces I’ve only ever uploaded to my website.
I’ve never seen them blown up like this.
He’s chosen my nature landscapes as well as some of my portraits.
My eyes sting with tears as I drink in all the effort he’s gone through, and then I move my gaze to the ground, where he’s littered rose petals just like he did on our first date.
The rose petal path leads to another archway.
Keep going, my love, the words read.
I smooth my hands over my belly, certain I can feel my womb swelling and throbbing and singing at the majesty of this moment. If she had arms and legs, she’d be shaking them manically right now, dancing in the magical beauty of what Solomon has done for me.
Surely this means he feels the same way. Surely this means I’m not misreading this situation.
Surely this means I can finally stop doubting myself.
I walk through the archway into what seems like a grove in the middle of the forest. Solomon has had trees moved here, tall trees that rise up and make the sunlight hazy and beautiful. Leaves litter the floor, verdant greens that get my artistic juices flowing.
Solomon stands in the middle of the grove, wearing a steel-colored suit, his eyes filled with the same iron certainty.
“Hello, sleepyhead,” he smiles.
He smiles.
He doesn’t smirk, but he really, actually smiles, a big ear-to-ear grin that sends more and more waves of belonging crashing into my soul each moment.
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