Page 11 of Beautiful Forever
Until we meet again,
Aleksander
It’s mindboggling how something as simple as showing a small kindness can change someone else’s life.
Carefully folding the paper back into its original shape, I press it to my breastbone and wipe at the wetness dripping from my eyes as the floodgates of my heart open wide for this incredible man who has loved me his entire life.
How could I forget that he used to go to my school? I know it was only five days, but still. Perhaps I didn’t forget. Perhaps it’s one of those pieces that’s still missing in the fractured ether of my mind. Even after all this time, I’m recalling things that I lostthat night. Last month, I was cooking dinner with Hendrix when I remembered the squirrel I found in the backyard when I was four. Just went right up to it and picked it up. I snuck it into my room, intending to keep it as a pet, but it got out and scared the shit out of Mama when it jumped on her head.
“Can I have this?” I ask.
“It’s always been yours,” he replies, flipping over onto his back and laying his head in my lap, those storm-cloud eyes gazing up at me.
Leaning to the side, I reach for the nightstand drawer where my journal lives and tuck the letter under the front cover with my pressed clover and other flowers Tristan has given to me over the years.
“How about we take Fénix camping soon?” I suggest, brushing locks of his hair from his forehead. He let his hair grow out, and I love touching it. “October would be a great time. The leaves will have turned, and the weather will be cooler. We couldteach him how to survive off the land like Brian inHatchet. My only stipulation is that we sleep in a tent.”
“I’m kind of surprised you didn’t demand a tricked-out RV.”
“I’m still a small-town farm girl at heart. I can handle the outdoors,” I assure him. Just not the mosquitoes and spiders. And the outdoor smell that clings to your clothes. I’ve gotten better at ignoring the compulsion to change clothes every time I venture outside, but I know I’ll probably pack three suitcases just to go on a two-day camping trip. Speaking of camping, the thought of s’mores has my pregnancy hormones demanding chocolate. “I think there are some brownies left from last night.”
“Should we wait for everyone to come home before fixing dinner?”
Family and home. Two very important and quintessential things made even better because it’sourfamily andourhome.
“They’re fending for themselves tonight.”
A slow grin that’s both charming and sensuous curves his lips, and my heartbeat literally skips at the sight. “Dinner out on the back patio?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Aleksander jackknifes upright, picks up our journals, and pats the back of his shoulder. “Hop on, Songbird.”
I’m a grown-ass woman. I shouldn’t get this excited about getting a piggyback ride. That doesn’t stop me from quickly climbing onto his back.
“Don’t you dare drop me.”
Turning his head, he playfully nips my hand when I loop my arms around his neck. “You’re light as a fucking feather.”
I dare him to say that in eight months. I gained over seventy pounds when I was pregnant with the twins. It all went to my butt and my boobs, much to the guys’ delight.
Standing, Aleksander slides one arm under my ass, anchoring me to him with ease. “I think there’s some leftover spaghetti from last night.”
I nuzzle my cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt, still faintly scented with his cologne. “I want a turkey and Swiss hoagie and brownies.”
“I think I can handle that. It won’t look Hendrix-pretty, but it’ll be edible.”
Hendrix can turn two pieces of bread and a slice of processed meat into a Michelin-star worthy meal, but food is food, and I’m starving.
“You’ll get style points for extra mustard and pickles,” I reply.
Aleksander backs out of the bedroom and carefully navigates around the toys and trip hazards Fénix left scattered in the hallway. Undoing the lock to the child safety gate, he carries me downstairs to the kitchen. The automatic lights flicker to life as soon as we enter, muting the slashes of orange and pink along the walls created by the setting sun through the window glass.
My bare feet lightly tap the cool tile when Aleksander lowers me to the floor, but before I can make a play for the plate of covered brownies, he sets the journals on the kitchen island and curves a hand around my waist, pulling me flush to his body.
I’m instantly singed by the heat that scorches between us, something that has always existed, but something I had been too scared to accept and fought every step of the way. I spent years suffocating under enormous guilt, like I was selfishly betraying Constantine, Hendrix, and especially Tristan because I couldn’t stop my heart from falling for Aleksander.
I had the love and devotion of three incredible men. My childhood best friends. My lovers. My husbands. The fathers of my children. That should have been enough, and it was. They were more than enough. I was fulfilled in every way. Happier than I ever thought possible. But there was still this one missingpiece. Not just in me, but in Tristan and our family. And that piece belonged to Aleksander.
