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“I forgot to take my sleeping pills.”
“Oh. Do you need them every night?”
“No, I—” I look at her, something shifting in my chest. “I’ve taken them every night for years. But the last few nights with you . . .” I shake my head, almost laughing at the absurdity. “I forgot. And I slept through the night anyway.”
She touches my face tenderly, her eyes saying everything: You’re safe, you’re okay, you’re not alone anymore.
Then she drops a kiss on my forehead. “And you didn’t even sleepwalk.”
“Well, how about that?”
I haven’t sleepwalked since the night I wound up in Cristina’s room, because since then I’ve been settled, grounded, and it’s all because of her.
This woman has cast a spell over me, and what can I say other than, I’m here for it.
I shoot her a lopsided grin. “You sure you don’t want to join me back in bed? Just for a moment?”
She eyes me hungrily and I pump my brows, suggesting she’d have more fun with me than going down to work. I’m a terrible role model and boss in this moment, I’ll admit that.
“I really have to go.”
I rise and stretch before pulling her into my arms and holding her so tight my heart jumps. Just for her. Everything I am, just for her.
“Hey, I almost forgot—we’ve got dinner tonight with Pane, Stone, and their ladies.”
She tips her chin up at me and lifts a brow. “Their ladies?”
“Would you prefer I call them their women? Because I can do that.”
She laughs. “No, I prefer ladies.”
“That’s what I thought. So, how about dinner? Is that okay with you? I probably shouldn’t have accepted an invitation without asking, but they’re your friends, too. And I figured we might as well make this official.”
She cocks her head like she’s confused. “Make what official?”
“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”
“I sure as hell am,” she teases.
Her smile is contagious. It takes over my whole body, making my blood hum with happiness. “I mean us. I know being in the competition might feel like we’re official, but I don’t think we really are until we go on a double—or in this case, a triple—date.”
“So you’re saying”—she walks her fingers up my bare chest—“we’re officially a couple.”
“Yes, ma’am. If you want to be.”
“I want to be.”
“Me too.”
I kiss her, lifting her off the ground and holding her in the air for a beat before I slowly drop her back down. Then I look deep into her eyes and say, with my whole heart, with it pounding and screaming and kicking, trying to get me to listen to the tiny part that’s still scared but which I ignore, “I love you, Cristina Palmer.”
“I love you, too, Rhett Maddox. Now, let’s get to work.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As she slips through the connecting door, I catch myself smiling at nothing. The pill bottle sits untouched on my nightstand, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel guilty about it.
Maybe healing doesn’t have to feel like betraying Sarah’s memory.
