Chapter Fifty-Five
A bowling ball is on my belly.
Or is it a head? It could be a head. A head seems more realistic.
Though, it could also be a bowling ball. Because my life is weird like that.
I stir, my eyes blinking open and peering down at my belly.
Not a bowling ball. A head. A very lovely head. A head I’ve not seen in four whole days. A head I’ve missed like crazy. A head I’m happy to see.
After reclaiming me on the tarmac four days ago, less than an hour after bringing me home, Jaxon had left to go on one of his classified missions. I’d just gotten him back. We’d just reconciled—and just like that he was gone.
He’d promised he would be back in two days.
Four days of no contact has been a lot harder than before. Maybe because things are different now? Because I know he’s truly mine?
Because I know he’s in love with me?
I don’t know, but it’s been really hard.
I flick a glance across the room to the Deadpool clock on the wall.
4:45 a.m.
Reaching down, I comb my fingers through his dark, silky hair.
His head moves, cants upward, and his tired eyes peer up at me. “You’re awake.”
“Mmm-hm.”
He shifts, crawls up the bed, and stretches out beside me. With a hand to my waist, he flips me so I’m facing him. His eyes are bloodshot, lazy, yet alive as they trace the lines of my face with open appreciation.
“You told me two days,” I say. “You were gone for four.”
He regards me. “How’d that make you feel?”
I missed this calm, tranquil voice of his.
“I called Markus and cussed him out,” I say. “I told him he better bring you back to me, or I was going to blow up his whole damn glass building.”
Jaxon looks mildly amused. “You did?”
“I stayed up waiting for you on night two. I’d ordered new lace lingerie. You know, because I know how much you love me in lace.”
“I do,” he agrees. “But you didn’t wait up for me tonight.” He sounds disappointed.
“I did, too. Until midnight. Then I got sad, because I realized I’d have to blow up Markus’s glass building today. So, I drank wine. Chianti. That did me in.”
He smiles, and it’s all the colors that have been missing from my life for the past four days. “I missed you, too,” he says.
“Show me,” I whisper.
He shows me. Moves in and kisses me. Softly. A gentle brush of his lips to mine.
I sigh.
He sighs.
We breathe each other in.
“Why are you two days late?” I ask against his mouth.
Closing his eyes, he brushes his lips back and forth over mine. “I wanted to get you the moon.”
“You— What?”
“King Solomon had everything—all the silver and the gold. All the wisdom. All the promises. Still, he couldn’t get the Queen of Sheba to stay with him. Couldn’t get her to give up her kingdom. And I wondered, what if he’d been able to get her the moon? The stars? What if he was able to hold the sun in his palm for her?”
God, he’s sweet sometimes.
“Okay, Sophocles.” I laugh. “Clearly, you need sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”
He shifts off of me. “You still don’t trust me to love you.”
I open my mouth… But I have no idea what to say.
Is he right?
Maybe.
He rolls to the edge of the bed and swings his legs over. He’s still fully dressed, in a black thermal shirt and black cargo pants. “I hate what they did to Raphael.”
I frown in confusion. “Who?”
“The writers,” he says. “They took Mona Lisa away from him, revamped her, and made her into a hideous space lizard with a fish tank over her head.” He gives me a look. “Don’t let Dad revamp you, Timber. Don’t let the world change you. Don’t put a fish bowl over your head. I like you as you are. I like you here with me.”
Oka-ay. I’ve no idea what kind of mission he’s been on, but it’s clearly done a number on him. “I like you, too, Jaxon. And I’m glad I’m here.”
As I watch him rub his eyes it occurs to me I’ve never actually seen him rest. He’s always working. Always gone. Whether for Markus or for Alessa, he’s always on the move.
I make a mental note to ring Markus and Alessa later on and point this out. I need their help. I need them to free up the next few weeks of Jaxon’s schedule and help me plan a getaway.
To Bora Bora.
Just the two of us.
No work, no mission, no games. Just us. Real and true as we are.
I lie there watching as he takes off his shirt, tosses it aside and heads for the bedroom door, debating whether I should follow him, make him a cup of chamomile tea, or something.
Just as I’m about to do that, he comes back, holding a medium-size gift box.
He walks over to my side of the bed.
I sit up against the headboard as he holds out the gift box.
“This is why you’re two days late?” I ask with a laugh, taking the box.
Lowering to the bed, he nods, all serious.
I’m a little taken aback. I meant it as a joke.
With a mixture of anxiety and excitement, I remove the cover from the box and peer in. A glass and stainless steel capsule sits inside. Inside the capsule sits…
A rock.
Strangely shaped, it is gray and rusty brown, and interspersed with peridot crystals.
Curious, I lift the capsule out of the box. It’s got some weight to it.
I peer closer at it, and—
Excitement surges through my whole body.
No. Way.
“DaG 1058,” I whisper reverently.
“Yep. Dar al Gani,” he confirms. “Your very own slice of the moon.” He quickly adds, “Don’t worry, it’s not stolen. Won in an aggressive bidding war.”
My jaw drops. I can’t take my eyes off it. It’s… It’s…magnificent.
Oh. My. God.
“You went and got me the moon?” I ask in wonder.
“Tell me you trust me to love you.”
Tearing my eyes away from the rock, I look at him.
He’s watching me, waiting.
I place the capsule back inside the box and set it gingerly on the nightstand. Crawling over to him, I lock my arms around his neck and whisper. “I do. I trust you to love me, Jaxon King.”
With a soft sigh, his eyes close and his forehead meets mine. “It’s me and you, Timber.” His lips press to mine, slowly at first, and then wholly. “It’s me and you.”
We don’t talk.
We just…are. We don’t need words to express the sheer amazingness of…us. It’s not until the sun’s first golden rays starts creeping through the windows that I break the peaceful silence. “Can I ask you something?”
“Maybe.”
I roll my eyes. Always his answer. “It’s about your comics.”
“Ah,” he says, a smile in his voice. “I was wondering when you’d bring that up.”
“Well?”
He chuckles. “You want to know if it’s about you. Except it can’t be, because I never knew you when I first published them.”
“Then how do you explain the similarities to my life? To me? The resemblance. The name.”
“I can’t.” He brushes my hair off my face. “When I saw you that night at Castellos Museum, I thought God was screwing with me. I mean, you were the girl from my comics.”
I gave him a skeptical look.
“Swear to God, Timber, I drew those when I was seventeen. Actually, she came to me in a dream, and I put her on paper. So, maybe”—he walks his fingers along my spine—“it’s you who’s been stalking me.”
I feign a huff. “In your dreams.”
“Literally.”
I spill giggles all over him. “Shut up, you idiot. I never stalked you in your dreams.”
“Then how do you explain the comics?”
“You drew them!”
“You dreamed me.”
“You’re delusional.”
“You’re in love with me.” He rolls on top of me.
“I am,” I admit, gazing up into his hypnotizing blue eyes.
“You are,” he whispers, before touching his lips to mine.