cheek.
“You’ve always made me feel beautiful, even when I didn’t think I was, but now…” I swallow at the growing tightness in my throat. “For months now, all I see when I look in the mirror is the monster living inside me, but not you. You don’t see it. You still see me. Just me. You look at me the way you always have. Like I’m perfect. Like I’m still perfect.”
Cupping my face, Nate leans his forehead against mine. “You are still perfect. No one will ever be so perfect in my eyes. Ever. I’ll want you this much, this way, always. Always.”
When his lips take mine, they are at once gentle and passionate, reverent and reckless. Nate never loses control, though. Not once does he hurt me, not even with the grip of his strong hands.
But he thrills me.
God, how he thrills me!
He lets me know with his body how very much I mean to his heart. He whispers his love into my ear, he moans it against my flesh, he strains with it between my legs.
And when our release finally comes, and Nate is buried deep within my body, I hold him to me with every ounce of strength I can muster. I draw him into me—his body, his seed, his love—and tuck away the memory of it, far into one corner of my mind, knowing that every breath and every heartbeat we share are some of the best of my life.
And some of the last.
Seven
Someday Just Might Be Tonight
Lena
Six weeks.
It’s already been six whole weeks since we left the States. To me, it feels like the blink of an eye. London, Paris, Germany, Switzerland—I’ve explored them all with my favorite person by my side, and each location was just as amazing as I expected. While it could be my mindset, the kind rife with the determination to enjoy every millisecond Nate and I are afforded, I suspect that Europe is, all in all, just a great place, full of beauty and charm.
The only less-than-ideal moments begin on our first morning in Rome when I wake to a debilitating bout of nausea. Since being diagnosed, it has never been this bad. My heart fills with dread and disappointment.
Again, I pray. I pray that it is transient. Maybe even something I ate. Because I know that if it is related to the progression of my disease, it will officially end our vacation. I know I won’t be able to go on like this for six more weeks. And that makes me feel emotionally sick.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call for some crackers or some juice? I think if you get something on your stomach it—”
With eyes still closed in an effort to keep from having to race to the bathroom again and heave up nothing more than bile, I reach out until I feel Nate’s hands. I take his fingers, fingers taut with the helplessness I know he’s feeling, and I quiet him.
“No, but thank you. It won’t help. This is…this is just part of it.” It’s all I can do to keep my voice strong, without waver. I turn my face further into my pillow, hoping he won’t be able to see the fine tremble of my chin. It’s one of the many things about my body that has sprinted beyond my control—my emotions.
“I know, baby, but…” Nate kneels by the side of the bed, resting his mouth against our entwined hands. “I just thought we had more time. I thought for just these three months, we’d be enough ahead of it that you wouldn’t feel this way. I just wanted to give you a few weeks of peace and freedom and happiness. Three months of perfection.”
I crack an eye and find my husband’s worried gaze on my face. “I know you did. I had hoped for the same thing, but the progression is unpredictable. Doctors can estimate and give educated guesses, but no one really knows. Maybe this will pass, though. Let’s just wait and see. Give it a few days. We don’t have to give up yet.”
“I know,” he sighs. “It just…I’m just… It makes me mad as hell. Can’t we have this? Christ Almighty, can’t we just have this?”
I’m surprised by his sudden burst of anger. Nate hasn’t gotten angry even once since the diagnosis.
Maybe he’s due.
Still, my response is calm. I don’t need to add fuel to his fire. “I hope so. I’ll do everything I can to make it work