I collapsed, burying my face in her neck, her hair stuck to my panting lips and the scent of gardenias in every breath. Her arms looped my neck, both of us damp from exertion, our bodies still linked with no intention of upsetting the fact. I lay languid in her arms, heavy and spent and relishing in the feel of her fingertips in my hair, on my neck, my spine to a trail of goosebumps. I could have stayed right there forever, lost in a timeless haze with her.
But awareness rose again like a gnawing nag, reminding us that life was happening somewhere out there.
I turned to press a kiss to her neck, pushed myself up so I could see her.
My God, she was beautiful, the tiny freckles on her nose and cheeks glistening. Her face was soft and sated, without a line of tension or worry to be found. I’d done that, I thought with arrogant pleasure.
If only I could keep her in this state forever. But the world wouldn’t wait for us, and I couldn’t save her from everything.
“Stay tonight,” I said, cupping her cheek, knowing her answer.
She leaned into my hand. “I wish I could. I don’t know what I’d tell my mother, and somehow, she’d know I was lying. She always knows.”
A string of curses whispered through me at the woman who had Maisie so firmly under her watch. “We’re looking for an apartment. Tomorrow.”
She chuckled like I was kidding. “I can stay for a while though.”
“Good, because I’m not through with you.” I kissed the tip of her nose. “If I can’t have you all night, I suppose I can make do.”
“Would you like to have me tomorrow too?”
“I’ll have you tomorrow, tomorrow night, the morning after. I’ll take you whenever I can get you.”
Her smile made me feel like a goddamn king. “I’m going to have to come up with a story. She won’t believe I’m out with friends every night. I don’t have enough friends to constitute a busy social calendar.”
“Not even friends from high school?”
She shrugged. “A few, but they moved away. And remember—I’ve been living with sheep for the last few years.”
“Ah, and I can’t imagine they’d be entertaining dinner guests.”
“I don’t know. They have their charm,” she teased.
For a moment, we just smiled at each other across the inches that separated us, alive with possibility. Because this was the beginning of something—I knew it in my marrow.
Hang the rest. Because Maisie was mine.
And I wasn’t about to let her go.
13
Perfection Defined
MAISIE
It was nearly midnight when I floated out of Marcus’s apartment and into a cab, tossing my coat and hat in without a care in the world. The city rushed by, but I didn’t see it, smiling stupidly at nothing with every thought consumed by Marcus.
Consumed, all of me, as if I’d been swallowed up by feeling.
Leaving was the actual worst. I’d have given my right arm to stay the night, but I was already pushing it with midnight. Didn’t want to risk anything more. Staying out all night would be grounds for the inquisition to lay its heavy eyes on me.
Nobody wanted that.
This late, Mother wouldn’t be awake, and thank goodness. One look at me, and she’d know more than she should. I didn’t think I could pretend I was the dejected girl I’d been this morning.
Not after Marcus.
Marcus.
Good, sweet God, my imaginings—of which there had been many regarding Marcus Bennet—had paled in comparison. And yet it somehow came as no surprise. It just felt right, exactly as it should be. As if for the first time in many, many years, the stars had aligned, and I was given a perfect moment.
A flash of fear dimmed my smile.
It was too perfect, too good to be true. Was I being blind? Crazy? How could he hurt me, what could he do with my trust?
But I took a breath and pushed the thought away. Because that was the influence of my mother, and I refused to be influenced by her for another minute of my life.
When my thoughts wandered back to him, my smile returned, and absently my fingers rested on my lips as I thought of his.
Tomorrow seemed a world away.
Deciding I needed to be more productive than all that, I tried to come up with a story for my mother—a problem that needed an immediate solution. But it was no use. Instantly, my thoughts flitted like book pages back to him.
I think I’m twitterpated.
A giggle bubbled out of me, and the cabbie gave me a look in the rearview. But I didn’t care. It was blissful, this feeling. Was this what it was like to be happy? Had I lived my whole life thinking happiness was oatmeal, the misconception falling apart now that I’d had a steak dinner?
I told myself it was just brain chemicals. And/or that it’d been a while since I’d seen anyone. Dating was a hassle, a string of awkward dinners with the vaguest of intentions, especially in York. Plus, there had been no reason to put in too much of an effort when I knew I wasn’t staying.
For the first time, I was glad I hadn’t.
We pulled up to the curb, and once I paid, I stepped out into the brisk spring evening. Up the stairs I went, my heels clicking on the concrete stoop. Noting the sound, I slipped them off, hooking them on my fingers so I could unlock the door.
The house was chilly and silent as a tomb, the shadows swallowing everything on a moonless night. Goosebumps raced up my arms, down my spine.
When the light clicked on, I discovered they had nothing to do with the chill.
My mother stood in the entry, her pajamas stiff and her slippers pointed at me. In fact, everything about her pointed at me—from her glasses to her glare to the aggressive shift of her hips and square of her shoulders.
“Why are you home so late?”
“Why are you up so late?” I countered.
“I was working.”
I stopped myself from scoffing. Since we were both lying, I said, “I was out with friends,” and headed for the stairs in a vain attempt to bypass the conversation.
“I wasn’t aware that any of the three people you knew were in town.”
“You are not entitled to every corner of my life. Only Bower.” I marched up three steps before she stopped me with a single word.
My name.
It was the swing of an ax, never spoken with love or tenderness. It was a weapon, wielded for control. And as she’d trained me, I stopped and turned.
“Where were you?” She was the only human I knew who could order someone with a question.
“Why do you want to know? Your adult daughter was out like adults do. I don’t see how it matters to you.”
“Adult,” she mocked. “Adults accept their responsibilities—they don’t run and hide. They don’t keep secrets.”
My eyes narrowed. “Funny, because I have a feeling you have a secret or two of your own.”
Fury smudged her cheeks with crimson. “You will not keep secrets from me. Are you seeing someone?”
“It’s none of your business.” I turned to walk away.
“Margaret Bower. You will answer my question.”
With slitted eyes, I looked down at her. “Or what?”