Sara Jane Kingwood

Some days it’s easier to forget what’s happened. I’m caught up in our day, our life, our love, and forget the past. Today, walking onto campus with my coffee in hand and my backpack straddling my shoulders, is one of those days.

I pass Maya, a former classmate of mine who used to drive me mad with jealousy last year. My emotions were all over the place back then, but that stuff doesn’t bother me now. I don’t have those same insecurities when it comes to Alexander. After what we’ve been through, jealousy doesn’t even enter my heart. It’s too full with our love to fit anyway. “Hi,” I say, passing her by and adding in a small wave.

As if she saw a ghost, she replies, “Sara Jane?”

I stop when she does, my hand grazing over my healing side. “Yeah, hi.”

“You’re back?”

“Wrapping up my degree this semester.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Time off. I needed some time off.”

“Oh.” She nods, a small smile tipping her mouth at the corners. But then her gaze redirects beyond me, her pupils dilate, and the smile gone. I know what that means, or who it means more precisely. “See you around,” she says and hightails it in the opposite direction.

I turn around to see Alexander coming toward me. Like my world, my breath slows in my chest as I take him in. All else fades away. The star of my universe has a wide smile on his face, his eyes intense and focused on me. Only me. My body stills to appreciate the sight of him. A white T-shirt hugs his biceps a little too tightly and stretches across his muscular chest. It’s untucked over jeans, as if that will downplay the money spent on it.

It’s like we never veered off this track. I remember him so clearly crossing the campus six or so months ago as I stood a few floors above in the library. He never fit this campus. His presence easily overwhelms us mere mortals.

I asked him years ago why he chose to stay and go to school here . . .

“You have a choice. You could go anywhere with your grades and the financial support you have behind you.”

“You ask as if I have a say in the matter.”

. . . He stayed for me.

I often thought about our vows and the unrehearsed words we spoke from our hearts a few weeks ago. He said he’d choose me. It made me uncomfortable to think he’d choose me over his mother. But maybe it wasn’t a choice between his mother dying and me living. Maybe he wasn’t choosing between us, but choosing his own destiny . . .

His smile could make the sun envious. He touches my cheek and whispers, “I could never leave you behind. You’ve become the best part of my day, so I choose you. Forever.”

. . . Going to him, my arms slip around his middle, his around my waist, and we kiss. Who cares that we’re in the middle of campus or have hundreds of eyes watching our every move? Not us.

My hands slide down his arms. The dips and rises of hard, structured muscle beneath my palms feel wonderful. He’s put on the weight he lost and bulked up even more since he’s been back.

I’ve kept my eyes on him, watching him take out his anger, his pain, his past on the weights in the gym, punching that bag as if it’s someone in particular. It’s a healthy addiction, so I’m not one to complain, especially since I benefit. Holding his hands, I bite my lip, thinking about last night and how I rocked on top of him until we both came, bodies slick with sweat. Sex with my husband is undeniably incredible. Every time.

The heavy heat igniting deep in my body never seems satisfied these days, not since our honeymoon. As much as I tease him about his designer T-shirts, I’m grateful for the good things money can buy—not people or an end to a means, but time together. Ten blissful days alone on an island in the middle of the Caribbean with this man will never be enough. He wanted to buy it. I told him no. Now I don’t know why.

There’s too much money to spend in five lifetimes. Maybe I just need to learn to enjoy it, turn the negative associated with it into a positive by generously donating. We’re considering charities that help get addicts off the street, find homes for the homeless, or offer scholarships for college students in Chad’s name. Shelly wants to run it, and I agree she’d be a great candidate to lead that foundation.

Alexander asks, “What are you thinking about?”

“Our honeymoon and our future.”

The lines around his eyes soften, and he kisses my temple. “I miss the solitude with you on the island.”

“I miss watching you walk out of the ocean—bright smile, wet hair, the sunshine reflecting off your tanned body.”

“That’s quite the visual, Mrs. Kingwood.”

“You always did give good . . . visual.”

He chuckles, and leans down just enough to be eye level with me. “I learned from the best. I can’t wait to see that naked ass of yours later.”

Toying with the bottom of his shirt, the hem twists between my fingers as I hold him close. “One day my ass will droop,” I start, my eyes going wide, “or double. What then?”

“I’ll love you like I do now, if not more. More of you to love, right?” He laughs and I punch him playfully in the stomach. It’s like hitting a brick wall. I’m shaking my hand when he brings it to his lips and kisses it. “Are you kissing my booboo?”

“Yes, I’ll make you feel so much better . . . later.” He takes a step back and adjusts my backpack straps on my shoulders. “Going my way?”

“Unfortunately not. I’m going in there.”

His sky-blue eyes follow the direction in which I nod. They’re clearer these days, the darkness centered in the middle of pools of light. I’ve never seen that carefree side Cruise once spoke about, the side that existed before his mother’s death. But I like seeing Alexander smile more, and I’ll take that on a day-to-day basis. “I’ll see you at home tonight.”

“See you there.” We walk away, not wanting to say the words we’ve said too much in our time together. But I glance back, unable to leave him and not say anything. Standing where I left him, a small smile plays on his lips as he watches me. In moments like these, the raw pain of what happened to us grips me. How our lives would be so empty without each other. My eyes fill with tears, and I return to his open arms. Tucked safely against him, I don’t have to say anything at all, both of us already know.

I’m alive.

He’s alive.

Our fairy tale continues, but now we are no longer pawns in the game. We reign over it.

He’s my king.

I’m his queen.

And that’s enough. For now.

As his hand runs the distance from my neck to my lower back, luring goosebumps in his wake, he whispers, “Magic.”

Magic indeed.

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