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I croak, “I know.”

“I think, once he stops believing I’m going to be your undoing, maybe we’ll get along.” Wynnter taps on a bulleted list of traits my father has deemed vital for my husband to possess in a thriving relationship. “I value a guy who uses bullet points.”

Though it’s wet, I giggle. “So I’m thinking I can put a check next to organized?”

Wynnter kisses my temple. “Hopefully, you can put a check next to everything.”

I scan the list, grateful to note that gentle is nowhere on it. “Yes, I can.”

“This is a far more effective way to communicate than whatever nonsense we were doing before,” Wynnter mutters.

“Bless August and her wisdom.”

“Guess little sisters are good for something.” He plops his chin atop my head. “Don’t tell her I said that, though.”

“You’d withhold something I could use as leverage in getting her to write me a yandere jester story?”

Wynnter settles his cheek against my hair, causing his mumbled words to vibrate in my skull. “Yes, I would.”

I pout and mentally uncheck the box next to the character trait reasonable. On account of the fact that I am actually being abused. With a despairing little sigh, I set the pages down on the nightstand, turn my face, and soak in the steady beat of Wynnter’s heart. “I’m not crazy, right?” I whisper, closing my eyes. “This all seems like a really good sign, doesn’t it?”

“You’re not crazy, sweetheart. I think this proves that your father isn’t willing to lose you, no matter what you decide. Even if it scares him, something has to have gotten through. Personally, if someone I loved told me that they wouldn’t talk to me anymore unless I changed my attitude, I’d be changing my attitude.”

“It feels manipulative. I don’t want to act spoiled.”

“You’re the furthest thing from spoiled, and it’s not manipulative to tell someone that if they don’t start respecting you as an adult, you’re going to cut them off. That’s a bare minimum, baby, and all throughout this, you have been clear that you love them and know they love you. You’re all making efforts to understand one another. A boundary asking for bare-minimum respect isn’t disrespectful.”

Sinking, I wrap him in my arms and let our legs tangle together beneath the blankets. “I’m not trying to hurt or blame them.”

“I think they know that.”

“Communication is hard.” I bury my face against his chest.

His fingers slip through my hair. “You can do hard things.”

Pouting, I tip my face up to meet his eyes. Chin propped on the firm plane of him, I say, “One could suggest that all your muscles make you hard.”

He chokes, and red slashes across his starry cheeks. “Ten days.”

“So many.” I slump, puddling in my despair.

Swallowing, he swipes his rough thumb over my cheek. “So…very…many.”

My heart skips a beat, and I smile. “Tomorrow, we’re in single digits.”

Beautiful, he melts for me, eyes warm, lips soft, fingertip tracing my dimple. “Yeah. Then it’s just a few more days until it’s less than a week away.”

“So close.”

His palm flattens against my back, thumb bumping over every bone in my spine. “So far.”

I kiss him, and he welcomes me closer. His hands wrap around my body, hot and large and gripping as they beckon me into a deeper caress. Long moments pass, then he lands me on my back, beneath him.

“Ten days,” he rasps into my flesh as he buries his face in my neck. “So—” He swears. “—far.”

I feel that sentiment distinctly. Especially since a whole entire conversation with my parents stands in the space between.

Chapter 22