by Nicola Marsh
At last, some of her old fire sparked in her eyes. “An engagement party?”
“Yes, if you’re okay with us having it at your place?”
She sat up straighter. “Of course. There’ll be lots to plan—”
“Leave it all to me. You focus on getting better, and that means having a home nurse to help speed up your recovery.”
If she guessed his underhanded blackmail, she didn’t call him out on it. “I suppose you’re right. I do want to be able to enjoy my only grandson’s engagement, especially if it’s at my house.”
“Good, that’s settled.”
“Manish?”
“Yes?”
“I’m . . . not feeling myself.”
Her admission out of the blue shocked him, but he was pleased she’d finally chosen to confide in him. “What do you mean?”
Her lips twitched, like she was trying to form the words but wasn’t sure how. “I’m scared of dying.”
His heart fractured, a tiny piece splintering off. He’d never seen Izzy so vulnerable, but facing up to her mortality and the prospect that the endocarditis could be life ending was a common response to serious illness.
“I’m angry and frustrated at lying here feeling so damn helpless, and I’m worrying about how I’ll cope if my health deteriorates . . .” She shook her head, her mouth pursed with regret. “And I feel guilty. Have I done something to contribute to this? Should I not have eaten all those gulab jamuns when the doctor warned me sugar isn’t good for my health? Or cooked with ghee that made my cholesterol shoot through the roof?”
She pressed a hand over her heart. “And the craziest of them all, I don’t feel like me anymore. I feel like I’m defined by this stupid heart condition, and I want my old life back.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but everything you’ve said is a common emotional response to dealing with a serious illness.”
She waved him away. “You’ve got your doctor voice on. Please don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not.” He scooted his chair closer to the bed and grasped her hand. “Everything you’ve described is perfectly normal.” He lowered his voice. “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”
Amusement flickered in her eyes. “Will I ever snap out of this?”
“Of course, but it may take time.” He squeezed her hand. “But I won’t lie to you. You may always feel resentful, a bit of ‘why me?’ On the upside, you’ll have me to snap you out of any funk.”
“And don’t forget I have a wedding to look forward to.”
The old Izzy was back, focused on one thing and one thing only: seeing him married.
“Exactly,” he said, not having the heart to tell her they hadn’t even discussed a date.
Proposing to Harper had been impulsive, but it had been the right thing to do. It gave Izzy a reason to fight, a reason to live.
Plenty of time to get the rest planned.
55
Harper arrived on Manny’s doorstep with groceries in one hand and an overnight bag in the other.
This was it.
The first time she’d stay over at his place.
The first time she’d reveal her vitiligo to him.
The last time she’d have to hide her true self.
She’d been a jittery mess all day, swerving between wanting to cook him a three-course meal and lead into her revelation, or jumping him as soon as he opened the door and doing it with the lights on.
She’d finally settled on whipping up homemade pizzas with store-bought dough, sauce, roasted vegetables, and pesto, with extravagant macadamia and honey nougat ice cream for dessert. Less time in the kitchen, more time feasting on each other.
Another thing she’d dithered on all day: her choice of outfit. The patches on her body had diminished considerably in size since she’d started UV treatment, but the ones around her eyes were still stark, considering she’d had a one in a billion reaction to the tacrolimus ointment and her white patches had turned dark brown.
She resembled a panda without concealer and foundation, and the thought of Manny seeing the real her set an aviary of butterflies loose in her stomach.
But she had to do this. They’d been engaged for two weeks, fourteen long days in which she’d barely seen him. But his gran was home now, and they were throwing a small party tomorrow to celebrate, and she wanted there to be no secrets between them before that.
With her hands full she kicked the door twice, her nerves solidifying into a hard ball in her gut when he opened it and she felt the full impact of that spectacular gray gaze.
“You come bearing gifts,” he said, reaching out to take the grocery bag from her and placing it on the floor before leaning in for a lingering kiss that made her weak-kneed. “What’s in the other bag?”
“My stuff for the party tomorrow.”
Smart guy, he understood the implication straightaway by the slightest widening of his eyes. “You’re staying over?”
“If that’s okay with my fiancé?”
“More than okay.”
As she stepped over the threshold and dumped her bag inside the door, his arm snuck around her waist and he hauled her against him.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck, setting her nerve endings alight. “You smell good.”
“Missed you too,” she said, burying her nose in his hair, loving the faintest hint of sandalwood in his shampoo. “How hungry are you?”
“Starving.” He lifted his head, his greedy gaze focusing on her lips. “But whatever you have in that grocery bag can wait.”
“I like the way you think, but there’s ice cream to pop in the freezer and cheese for the fridge.”
His hands drifted from her waist to her hips, caressing the curves before landing on her butt, pulling her flush against him. “But that means taking my hands off you.”
“Only for a few seconds,” she said, gasping as he ground against her. “Then I’m all yours.”
“Ten seconds and counting,” he said, releasing her to grab the grocery bag and dash to the kitchen.
She laughed, picking up her overnight bag and heading for the bedroom, unable to release all her insecurities at once. There was a vast difference between showing him her body in the harsh light of his living room and the muted lights of a bedroom.
“There, made it back in nine seconds,” he said, sliding his arms around her waist from behind, his hard-on pressing against her ass, leaving her under no illusions how much he’d missed her. “Now, are you ready to satisfy my hunger?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
She turned in the circle of his arms, and this time, she grabbed his ass and writhed her pelvis against him. “Just for the record? I want everything you dish up and more. I’m greedy that way.”
He growled and hoisted her over his shoulder, leaving her upside down and pummeling at his impressive ass with her fists. “Put me down, you crazy man.”
“Crazy for you,” he said, lowering her gently when they reached the bed. “And I’m about to show you exactly how much.”
* * *
• • •
With her body languid from her third orgasm in two hours, Harper stretched, savoring the pull of muscles that had been given a thorough workout.
Sex with Manny was better than any gym.
He snuffled next to her, a cute little snore that made her want to hug him tight. Instead, she watched him sleep, feeling like a creeper but unable to stop.
This gorgeous, intelligent, sensitive man was hers.
They were engaged.
And she’d get to wake up next to him for countless days to come.
How had she got so lucky?
It felt like she’d stepped on a carousel since Nishi’s wedding and had been moving at a whirlwind pace ever since. Heck, her best friend didn’
t even know yet, because Harper hadn’t wanted to bother her on her honeymoon.
Nishi would be happy for her, but her friend wouldn’t understand the impulsivity. Nishi had dated Arun for five years before they’d got engaged, and every aspect of their massive wedding had been coordinated down to the last bhindi. Harper didn’t care if she got married at the registry office, as long as Manny was by her side.
Who knew, maybe she’d had to undergo a man ban to find the real deal?
Manny stirred, blowing out a puff of air from pursed lips, and she stiffened. This would be the time when she’d carefully slip from the bed, grab her handbag, and make a dash for the bathroom to check her makeup remained intact. She invested in the most expensive sweat-proof, budge-proof, water-resistant foundation on the planet, and so far it had done its job.
But tonight was different.
She wanted to take her makeup off.
With her heart racing, she lowered the top sheet and glanced down at her torso. At the large white patch extending from under her right breast to her tenth rib—she’d counted; at the patch shaped like Australia on her left hip bone; at the circular patch high on her right thigh, in the skinfold. There were several more on the back of her thighs too, and her ass, along with the ones circling her eyes and mouth and along her chin.
A regular patchwork.
That Manny would soon see.
Her pulse pounded and her palms grew slick as she picked up her overnight bag beside the bedroom door and headed for the bathroom. She didn’t care about being particularly quiet, but Manny never stirred. He’d been staying at his grandmother’s the last few days since she’d got home from rehab, and while nothing could diminish his outrageous good looks, he looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him.
They may not have spent much time together since they got engaged, but it hadn’t mattered. They’d spoken every day, and it was so effortless it felt like she’d known him forever. Theirs was the kind of relationship she’d always wanted; no muss, no fuss. Not that she was naive enough to think they’d never disagree or argue or have conflicting opinions. But she knew as long as they could communicate freely, they could sort out their differences.
Manny shifted, his head thrashing side to side before he settled into a fetal shape, and her heart almost exploded with tenderness. But she couldn’t stand here and watch him sleep. She had important things to do, like strip away her mask and let him see the real her.
She’d never been inside his bathroom and couldn’t resist peeking in his cabinet. Nothing terribly exciting; men’s toiletries, a shaving kit, spare tubes of toothpaste, and aftershave in a funky spiral bottle. She uncapped it and inhaled, the smell making her receptors zing in memory of following this very scent trail all over his body . . .
Giving her head a shake, she recapped it and closed the cabinet. Not surprising, her hand shook as she removed her makeup with cleansing wipes she’d brought with her, revealing the patches that had defined her for over a year.
She stuck her tongue out at her reflection before getting in the shower and turning the jets to hot. As the water sluiced over her, she wished it could wash away her nerves as easily as the suds. Manny deserved to know everything about her, but the thought of walking into his bedroom, totally stripped of her usual armor, made her legs wobble.
After the longest shower in history, she toweled off and slipped into a robe. She’d brought her favorite one, a soft cotton with tiny poppies scattered all over it, that reached the floor. How many nights had she spent in this robe, curled up on the couch, alone and pretending to be content? Too many, and now she had a lifetime of having Manny by her side. And maybe others . . . they hadn’t had the kids conversation yet; the proposal had come out of the blue, then his gran had been in the hospital, and the kids chat needed to happen face-to-face. Not that she was worried. It would happen.
Shaking out her arms like a prizefighter about to enter the ring, Harper dragged in a few deep breaths, blew them out, then opened the bathroom door.
This was it.
Showtime.
Literally.
She would show Manny her biggest physical flaw.
And pray he was the man she thought he was and wouldn’t run.
He must’ve heard the bathroom door open, because his eyes opened. He knuckled them, blinked before focusing on her, and his slow, easy smile went some way to soothing her rampaging nerves.
“Hey, beautiful.” He pushed up into a half-sitting position. “I like your robe.”
“Thanks.”
“But I prefer what’s under it.” He crooked his finger. “Come here.”
“I hope you still feel that way in a minute.”
With the room in darkness and her body silhouetted by the bathroom light at her back, he couldn’t see her face yet. But as his eyes adjusted and she moved to stand beside him, he’d see everything.
“I love your body,” he said. “I love everything about you.”
Her heart pounded so loudly the sound filled her ears as she moved toward his side of the bed, forcing her feet to move forward when all she wanted to do was run out of the room.
When she reached the bed, she turned toward him so the light would show him the truth all over her face.
She watched him carefully for the slightest sign of revulsion. But other than the barest widening of his eyes, he showed nothing but curiosity.
“You have vitiligo?”
Biting down on her lip, she nodded. “For about a year. I hate the patches, which is why I hide them all the time.” Her breath hitched as she murmured, “I feel ugly.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, all but leaping from the bed to reach for her. “Those patches don’t define you. You’re still you, and you’re beautiful to me.”
Tears stung her eyes as he plucked at the sash holding her robe, untied it, and pushed the robe off her shoulders. It slithered to the floor and pooled at her feet, leaving her exposed and trembling and wishing she could dive beneath the covers.
“Truly beautiful.”
His fingertips skated over her skin, caressing, stroking, tracing every patch. He followed with his mouth, tiny kisses that made her shiver with want, his tongue outlining each patch like he wanted to commit them to memory.
Tears trickled down her cheeks as he worshipped her with everything he had.
As he made her feel beautiful.
She’d never loved him more than at that moment.
56
“I like having you here,” Manny said, topping up Harper’s coffee cup. “You should stay over more often. Like forever.”
“I’ve been here since last night and all day, so it’s nice to know I haven’t worn out my welcome.” She smiled, and his heart did that weird flip thing it had been doing ever since they’d met. “I guess that’s another thing we need to discuss: where we’re going to live.”
“Plenty of time to figure out logistics.”
One step at a time. Proposing had been the right thing to do, but planning an actual wedding made him want to get a script filled for hives. He hated fuss of any kind, and he hoped that wouldn’t clash with Harper’s ideas. Most women he knew wanted the big, fancy wedding, and their partners went along for the ride. Harper didn’t seem the flamboyant type, and he hoped she’d appreciate low-key.
“Speaking of logistics, we haven’t discussed kids.”
He choked on his coffee and coughed, several times, while Harper grinned at him.
“Don’t worry, handsome. Considering we haven’t set a wedding date, I’m not planning on procreating within the next week or so.”
“Phew.” He made an exaggerated swipe at his forehead. If setting an actual date made him break out in hives, the thought of being a father gave him a bad case of poison ivy.
“But you want them, right?”
Kids would depend on him to keep the
m safe and healthy. He would love them unconditionally. And they would leave, just like his mom had left him unexpectedly.
Eschewing relationships all this time had ensured he’d kept his heart intact. Letting Harper in was a big step for him. But kids took love into a whole new stratosphere, one where he wanted to run and hide.
When a tiny frown creased her brow, he knew he had to say something, other than This is all happening too fast.
“I do, but I’d want us to spend some time together as a couple first.”
“Agreed. Makes sense, as we hardly know each other but you proposed regardless.”
He smiled at her dry response. “What can I say? When I know what I want, I do whatever it takes.”
“It’s still crazy though.”
“I know.”
They sipped their coffees in silence, lost in thought. She hadn’t applied her makeup yet, and he loved that she felt comfortable enough to do that now. Revealing her vitiligo explained so much: why she’d freaked out in New Zealand, why she always insisted he stay over at her place, why she always had an immaculately made-up face.
The thing was, when he looked at her, he didn’t see the patches. He saw the woman he’d fallen for. And if she had any idea how much of a big deal that was for him, opening his heart to her, she’d know she could’ve trusted him much earlier.
“Are you sick of the treatment for the vitiligo?”
Her eyebrow arched. “That came from left field.”
“I know it can be repetitive.”
The adoration in her gaze made him feel ten feet tall. “I guess it’s handy having a doc for a fiancé after all.”
“I’m here for all your needs.” He lowered his voice. “Medical or otherwise.”
She laughed. “You have no idea what it means to me to be able to discuss this openly with you.”
“Your parents must be supportive?”
Her expression blanked as she stared into her coffee cup. “I haven’t told them.”
