“Marry me,” he whispers.
I stare up at his eyes in wonder. Maybe he can hear me.
Fingers trace the length of skin from ear to chin so lightly that delicious shivers race up and down my soul. “I know we’re already engaged and all, but—”
Shimmering joy bursts through my veins. “Yes,” I tell him. “Yes.”
All I see is blue right now. Beautiful, wonderful, loving blue. “I wasn’t done, love.”
“The answer is still yes.”
Strands of my hair wrap around his fingers. “I’ve been thinking that life is too short—”
He’s definitely been listening to my heart. “Yes, Jonah. A thousand times yes. And it’ll be yes even after that.”
His mouth is close to mine now, his breath mingling with mine. “Are you sure?”
Silly boy. “Yes,” I whisper just a split second before my mouth meets his. And I show him just how sure I am.
After we’ve made love, he goes downstairs to tell his brother what we’ve decided. We’re going to get married sometime this week, despite our awareness this is the lull before the storm. Just because things have been quiet since coming out of the bunker doesn’t mean Enlilkian isn’t coming; after all, Bios keeps sending word, via the Guard, that his father knows I’m aboveground. But, we’re not going to wait, not when so many things in our lives are so unstable. And that’s a funny thing for both of us to admit, being Magicals, because for most of our existences, we’ve resented the rigid destinies created for us.
Because ... so many people have died. So many people have been hurt. Life is so precious, so short no matter how invincible we think we are.
I want to marry him. He wants to marry me. We don’t want or need big and fancy. The Magical equivalent of a Justice of the Peace down at Karnach will do nicely. And this may seem out of the blue, just ... incredibly sudden, but when I think about it, it’s not sudden at all.
When I was five, I imagined marrying him. He was my prince, I was his princess.
When I was eleven and he kissed me for the first time, I imagined it again.
When I was sixteen and losing him, I wished for it fervently.
When I was seventeen and standing in the middle of a snowy street in Annar, I hoped for it.
When I was twenty and finally sure of what I wanted, I told him about this wish.
Marriage isn’t something to take lightly. As sudden as this change of plans is, it’s not like I’m running to the nearest drive-through chapel, drunk as a skunk. I’m choosing to join my life with the person I love. And it’s not so much that I feel I have to marry him because of some warped, twisted sense of there’s no Chloe without Jonah like I think some blinded romantics do, it’s more ... marriage is our promise to one another, one we are choosing to make.
A ring isn’t needed to do that. Neither are vows. People can promise each other their hearts and support and never need a piece of paper.
But I like the idea of this bit of forever binding us together anyway.
That’s not to say I’m not a nervous wreck as I wait alone in our bed. Love, as we discussed earlier, is not simple in the least. It’s funny how I can be so certain of my love for him, of how right it feels to be with him. And yet, part of me feels like it’s crushing in on itself because, by marrying Jonah, I will officially be forced to let go of any hold I have on Kellan.
I wish love were simple. I wish that, in this moment, all I felt in my heart was happiness. I’m going to marry the man of my dreams in just a few days. And oh gods, that does make me happy. It really does.
I just wish my happiness didn’t come at the cost of somebody I love so very desperately.
Jonah was gone for so long that I ended up falling asleep. In the morning, though, he tells me that Kellan wants to talk to me. He tells me this quietly, tiredly, before going into the office and shutting the door behind him. Minutes later, Kellan comes up the stairs and joins me in the living room.
I love him, I think as he sits down across from me. I love him, I think as he looks up at the ceiling and then back down at me, so much raw pain shining out of his eyes. I love him, I think as he tells me he’s going away.
“Where?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t know.
“How long?” I whisper.
He doesn’t know.
“When?”
Now, he says. Today.
He tells me this is how it has to be, and then he tells me, as tears betray my attempts to remain calm, that he’s genuinely happy for Jonah and me. That he wishes us nothing but the best, and I believe him because I know he loves us just as much as we love him.
Don’t leave, I think as he stands up.
But he leaves anyway.
“Are you ready?”
It’s a question I’ve been asked so many times in my life, for so many different reasons. Was I ready to Ascend? Be on the Council? Fight the Elders? Accept my Fate? Forge forward on my own path? And now, here I am, being asked this question by Cameron as he holds an arm out to me. He’s in a smart suit, wearing the tie I gave him a few months back for Father’s Day, his thick blonde hair peppered with sophisticated, silver strands styled just so. But it’s not how handsome he looks that tugs at my heartstrings; it’s the love and concern in his eyes that tell me he’d have no qualms turning us right around and out the opposite door if I answered in the negative, considering how quickly this day was thrown together.
So much adoration and love for this man fills me up.
“Weddings are supposed to be happy events, hen,” he says, wiping away one of my tears with a thumb.
“I am happy,” I tell him. “So, so incredibly happy.” Gods, am I ever.
He hugs me, his strong and warm arms wrapping around me, and once more I thank all the gods that I found this man and his son and that they accepted me as one of their own. That he’s here with me, ready to walk me down the aisle and symbolically give me away so I can marry the literal man of my dreams.
“You deserve all the happiness in the worlds,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss against my temple.
When he asks me again if I’m ready, I tell him I am. There’s no doubt, no worries, no second-guessing. I’m ready. And then I take the arm he offers me, clutching my small bouquet of flowers in my other hand as we head toward my future.
Here are things I hope to never forget:
People I love crowding a tiny room.
How Karl and Will look so bloody handsome in suits.
Cameron smiling down at me with so much love as we approach the altar.
How gorgeous Astrid looks in silver.
Cora’s non-cynical laughter.
Callie’s presence on a day I would not have blamed her from shying away from, and her genuine tears of happiness.
The lace of my simple dress.
How the blue of Jonah’s shirt matches his eyes perfectly.
How it feels like a thousand butterflies clamoring for freedom in my chest when Jonah takes my hand and says, “I will.”
How, when I say it, too, I’ve never felt surer of anything in my entire life.
How his eyes never waver from holding mine, or mine his the entire fifteen minutes it takes us to let go of the past and embrace the future.
The cheers when I kiss Jonah for the first time wearing the same last name as his.
The flowers and sparkling snowflakes that explode all around us because I can’t help myself.
My mother not hiding her own tears of happiness as she hugs me, wishing me well.
Chocolate cake with champagne frosting, baked by my best friend.
The clinking of glasses and all the kisses that follow.
Toast after toast from our friends—some funny, some serious, all heartfelt.
The way my husband sounds like when he tells me he loves me.
And the way my heart nearly explodes from too much bliss when I tell him I love him, too.
I lean against the balcony railing and soak in the late summ
er air and breathtaking sights. Rome at night is magical, all golden lights reflecting off majestic buildings in direct competition with the twinkling stars above. Car horns beep in the distance alongside sounds of city life, and all I can think is: I am so lucky to be standing here right now.
Jonah initially suggested Tahiti for our honeymoon, and ... I love Tahiti, that much is true. I absolutely adore the house resting on stilts out in the sparkling blue ocean; it’s paradise for sure. But to me, Rome and this apartment are the perfect place to spend the first few days of married life in. Outside of pilfering its hidden monetary contents when I ran away last year, Rome holds only the best kind of memories for me. Jonah brought me here to heal once, and I fell deeply, passionately, forever in love with this magnificent city. And now, here we are, Mr. and Mrs. Whitecomb, and I could not be more content.
Warm arms wrap around me from behind, a chin settling on my shoulders. “Penny for your thoughts?”
I close my eyes and lean my head back against him. “I was thinking,” I murmur, “how perfect today is.”
Fingers trail down my bare arms as he presses a lingering kiss against the corner of my mouth; hot hot heat flashes through my body like wildfire. How is it, after knowing each other so long, his touch can still do this to me so easily?
I turn in his arms and lose myself in those cerulean eyes that have mesmerized me from the first moment I gazed into them. My hands cup his face. There’s no blocking of emotions tonight, not today, not when there’s so much happiness inside me that I couldn’t stop it from spilling out even if I tried my hardest. “I am so ridiculously in love with you.”
His mouth finds mine, so soft at first, all brushes and teasing that have me gasping in need. Light fingers draw paths once more down my arms, leaving behind shivers and delicious trails of goose bumps, before curling around my waist. One of my hands sinks into his hair, fingers twirling around dark strands, tugging his face closer. I return the favor, my kisses oh-so soft, my tongue tracing the corners of his mouth and full lips. I want to eat up the shudder that rolls through his body, and hold in my memories the sound that comes through his parted lips, the one that lets me know he wants me just as much as I want him.
And oh, oh, I want him so.
Fingers paint words and stories up my waist to my chest, beautiful ones that promise me wonderful things; my shudders match his. “I love you, too. More than you could ever know.”
I’ve heard these words from him before, and yet, each time he shares them with me, the muscle in my chest that keeps me alive threatens to burst into glittery shards of elation. The funny thing is, I think I do know how much he loves me, because if it’s anything like how I feel, it’s the sum of all our parts chasing infinity.
Our mouths reconnect, hotter now, our tongues dancing in waltzes and tangoes until all the stars in the heavens above us float down into my eyelids and transform into fireworks: blues, pinks, purples and gold and silver. Time stands still, or maybe it speeds up and spins madly around us: minutes and seconds nothing more to us than distant, irrelevant remnants of a past. The balcony disappears as we stumble back into the apartment, shirts and dresses and pants our breadcrumbs for the trail we leave behind. My back finds the bed and, without even trying, I bring the stars from outside in as twinkling lights sway to invisible songs in the warm air above us. Jonah hovers over me, and as I drink in all that is him and good in the worlds, all I can think is how much I love him, how blessed I am, and how forever is not nearly long enough.
But we can start with this moment and work our way there.
I marvel at how golden his skin is in our starlight, how just ... breathtaking he is. How, after everything we’ve gone through, after everything we’ve done to one another, good and bad, we’re here, together, our names the same and our future intertwined. I trace the sweeping line from ear to chin to mouth, my thumb dipping between his lips, and tell him once more, not with words from my mouth but those clamoring within the confines of my heart, secret words only he can interpret: how much he means to me; how much he’ll always mean to me.
He kisses me again, and I pity all the women in the worlds who will never know just how wonderful it is to be kissed by Jonah Whitecomb. Long minutes stretch out between us, easily filled with both languid and urgent touches, of my hands memorizing the maps and planes of his body and his mine, even though we already hold close to heart every inch of skin. I gasp when his mouth leaves mine only to travel to one of my breasts, sigh when my blood goes molten as his fingers trail down my belly, between my legs. The stars in the room flare white-hot as I fall apart in his hands, pausing in their dance to transform once more. I ache to return the favor, to bring him to such heights, but as heavy breaths escape me, he cradles my face and kisses me gently.
He undoes me, this man.
I cup his buttocks as he slides into me, losing all those heavy breaths to heart-racing gasps. Our bodies move in unison, worthy of Olympic medals for perfection of synchronized thrust and kiss. Each stroke in and out spirals me further into the wide universe, brings me nearer to that place where he and I are no longer separate entities, where we’re two souls of stardust mixing together to form one, brilliant, beautiful being. Each kiss births new stars above us, each touch carries each of us closer to the perfection of oblivion.
We’ve made love dozens and dozens of times over the last three months. Tonight, though, with my name the same as his for the very first time and our forever stretching out in front of us like a wide, open road we’ll travel together, it feels different. There’s no guilt in this moment. No what-ifs, no should have beens, no wishes to change the past or our situations, no wondering if what we’re doing is right or wrong. So when we instinctively merge into each other’s heads at the same time and our bodies erupt and the stars above us supernova into those pinks and blues and purples I saw in my eyelids earlier, I take hold of this moment and promise
promise
promise that it will stay with us
f o r e v e r.
Two days. Two days filled with some of the best food in all the worlds, coins in the Trevi Fountain, sinful gelato on the Spanish Steps, making love for hours, laughing over how badly I butcher Italian while the language flows off of Jonah’s tongue so easily, and driving by the Colosseum on the back of a Vespa. Two days are all we get in Rome before we have to go back to Annar and face the brutal task of hunting Enlilkian down.
Two days to pretend that he and I are just Jonah and Chloe, that we are like any other newlyweds in history and have no other worries other than writing thank-you notes for wedding gifts received. Except ... this is our wedding gift, our escape to Rome while loved ones back in Annar hold back the flood of responsibilities and realities that lay in wait for us for good or bad. After everything that’s happened to me—to us—these last few years, it was surprisingly easy to sway our loved ones to see our point of view and accept what we insisted we were going to do, blessings or no. I’ve been protected, hidden, and I get the reasons why, I really do, but Jonah and I need these two days, these moments of freedom. Astrid gave us the gift of holding the Council at bay for forty-eight hours; Cameron’s turning off our cell phones and hiding them in a drawer; Karl is serving as our gatekeeper, the only one who knows our exact location in case of emergency. Yes, a Tracker can be sent after us, but ... not for two days. We get all of two Guard-free, no one watching over every second days to float in a bubble of normality before we’re expected at a Council meeting to discuss the festering Elders problem.
Every moment of these two days is sacred to us. There is no Enlilkian, no Elders, no Council, nothing but Jonah and Chloe.
It’s funny how two days can feel like mere minutes.
There’s a mini war meeting less than an hour after we arrive in Annar. There are hugs and kisses, but there is no time for small talk. The usual suspects are present, including the Graystones, the Danes, and the Lotuses, alongside the Mesaverdes and Erik; our normally spacious home grows two sizes smaller
as I’m forced to create new seating just to accommodate everyone.
Everyone but Kellan, who is still MIA to everyone but his brother. For all we know, he’s cavorting around the planes, convincing Métis to find their way home to Annar. But I do not allow myself to dwell on these possibilities—not now, not when Karl and Astrid bring us terrible news. The Elders attacked and murdered a household full of Magicals on the Elvin plane, including a small child.
Helplessness races through my bloodstream. How much more can we risk? Lose?
“Thierry Basswood was an Elemental,” Karl informs the starkly silent group. Nobody else knows what to say. Do. Helplessness and rage go hand-in-hand inside every person seated in my living room. “Not too powerful, nor influential—more of a middle-of-the-road worker.” He leans forward resting his elbows on his knees as his wife gently rubs his back. “It’s believed that he was most likely targeted to help bolster the loss of Callieache, although he’s officially classified as missing.” His eyes flit toward Jonah. “He was seen crossing into Annar hours before the rest of the family’s bodies were discovered.”
So much inside of me sinks. Had I not erased Enlilkian’s wife, this man, his family ... they might still be alive. And now, they are dead and he is most likely housing an Elder in his slowly rotting body.
Jonah’s hand finds mine. Squeezes, like he knows I’m on the verge of breaking something near us. “Does anyone know where he is now?”
“No.” Karl’s face is set in bleak lines. “Zthane has the Guard searching, but wherever the Elders are holing up here in Annar is still beyond our reach.” His frustration is tangible in the room. “I went and talked to Bios again, but he had no information about the attack. Or, at least claimed he didn’t.”
A Matter of Forever (Fate #4) Page 15
