I looked over at the salesman, wishing he'd hurry the fuck up before I bought every fucking piece of vintage furniture in the place to sate my fiancée's appetite for 1960s décor.
I glanced at the clock; we were cutting it close to my next group therapy session. I turned to remind Nadia of my weekly sessions that she accompanied me to, but my breath was stolen from my lungs at the sight of her browsing tables on display. I still couldn't believe she chose me, of all people. I was the lucky son of a bitch who struck gold with this woman.
Her timid and shy touches skimmed over old pieces of furniture, some tattered and tarnished. She'd ensnared me exactly the same way. Her soft of tentative touches on the roughest remains of my heart had somehow chipped the shield. She brought her full love and attention to everything she desired, me included.
Nadia looked at me, as if my thoughts had conjured her gaze. I mouthed, "I love you," and watched her vibrant smile light up the room before she responded the same. She was mine, my wife-to-be, my light guiding me out of the dark.
About the Author
Arissa Alexston is a being of the night and enjoys writing a menagerie of characters that reign over the various worlds created for them. Her interracial stories sway toward spicy contemporary romance and often feature southern males that cuss like sailors and are as cuddly as Tasmanian devils. Arissa dreams of living some place exotic but she lives in the lower region of the States with her supportive family.
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