Page 79 of Shades of Grey & Gold

Her smile hits like sunshine and a rainbow after a three-day storm. “I’m wonderful.”

I pull her towards me, kiss her—slow, grateful. Pouring every ounce of me into the kiss.

“Another door we walked through together,” I murmur, brushing hair from her face.

“And another door you have to build me.” She glances to the other side of the room at the broken door.

“Yeah.” I tuck her closer, already planning ice water, a warm cloth, the stupid broken door I’ll fix before she’s awake tomorrow morning. I look at her and it’s easy to make promises. “Whatever you dream up next, Sims,” I tell her. “I’ll build it. We’ll build it together.”

“Question.”

“Anything,” I whisper.

“If I sleep in here, will I still get my nightly pillow mint? I’ve really gotten attached to those.”

A bright smile breaks across my face. “I’ll give you anything, even two chocolates, to sleep in my bed with me.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Max

Iaminthemiddle of explaining the rules Cal gave me—all of them, with editorial commentary—when Becca sits down on the guest room bed, makes a show of peering around the white room, looks at me, and asks:

“How big is this apartment?”

“Don’t.” I point at her as I say it.

“I’m just asking.”

“I know whatyou’re doing.”

“I’m assessing the square footage of your new life.” She bounces slightly on the mattress and smiles like a menace. “This bed is incredible, by the way. It’s like lying on a cloud that someone then covered in another cloud.”

“Becca.”

“I’m just saying.” She holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I’m not going to make it weird. I drove like two hours with Bart and forty-seven of his favorite toys and I am simply taking in the environment.” She looks at the ceiling, then at the window, then goes up on her knees to gaze at the city laid out behind it. “Max,” her tone is dramatically exasperated.

“I know.”

“Is that a river?”

I know she isn’t actually asking.

“I know.”

“He bought this apartment for the—”

“I know,” I say, louder than necessary and throw myself next to her on the bed, covering my face with my hands. Bart's head comes up from the floor where he’s already made himself at home, which he did within four minutes of arriving. “Can we focus? I need to tell you the rules before Cal gets back.”

Cal arranged for her to come to Providence for the weekend, apparently, which I found out when Becca texted me from the road asking if she needed to dress like she was meeting the mob, and what, exactly, that entailed. She sent a picture of what you probably get when you search ‘fancy mob wife’ on the internet—complete with a skin-tight black dress and fur coat.

When the law school thing became a real decision I made—a clothed decision—it was clear I’d need more of my own things and Bart if I was going to stay here. I missed Becca and Bart so much more than I realized, too. And Cal knew both of those things before I did. Of course he did.

“Right, right, the mob rules.” She crosses her legs and gives me her full attention, which with Becca means her eyes are wide and she looks like she’s watching something exciting happen on television. “Go ahead. Tell me the mob rules.”

She looks practically giddy.

I sit up and tell her. She listens, mostly without interrupting, which is a Becca record.