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But then I look into his eyes and I can’t deny it. Max brings his mouth back to mine, nibbling at my lips. He tastes like café au lait, demerara sugar, and cherry jam, as if while making our breakfast he tasted the coffee and stuck his finger in the jam jar, licking it clean.
He’s kissing me like he loves me. But even more, when he pulls back, leaving my mouth wet and buzzing, he’s looking at me like he loves me.
No. Like he adores me.
Like I’m his Venus. His one true love.
Like he would die for me.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” he asks, tilting me back on the cloudlike bed, laying me bare on the mattress.
He settles over me, his legs cradling mine, his hands busy working magic.
“But—” I gasp when he manages to flick mejust right. Then I say, “But ... we’re still here. Are we ...?” I gasp again, losing my train of thought for a moment when Max moves his finger in a lazy circle, causing a heat to spread through my abdomen and then lower.
“Of course we’re still here,” he says, giving me a conspiratorial grin. His eyes are clear, happy, and intent on pleasure.
“But ...” I close my eyes. “Are we ...? Did our wish work? Are we still married?”
Max makes a noise in the back of his throat and sinks on top of me, pressing me into the cushiony bed. He smells so good. The soap he used reminds me of what we did in the shower last night. I drag in a deep breath. Outside the dove coos again and the morning light shines a bit brighter.
“We’re still married?” I ask again, gazing up at him.
He presses a gentle kiss to my mouth.
“I hope so,” he says, gruff laughter in his voice. He takes my wrists in his hands, binds them in his grip, and holds them over my head as he starts to rock into me. “This next bit might be awkward if you weren’t my wife.”
He grins down at me as if he’s planning very, very wicked things.
And—
I freeze.
Beneath the warmth of Max’s body, in the heat of his bed, with the sun spreading over me, I go cold.
All the fuzzy, floaty, blissful orgasmic ecstasy that I woke up to disappears in a sudden, unexpected pop. That shimmery heat running through me? Now it’s ice. It’s prickly and cold, and I’m frozen.
When Max and I wished on the parure I believed that when we woke up we wouldn’t be married anymore. I thought we’d be sent back to Geneva, back to how we were. I even worried Max might not remember our time together and he might hate me again.
I wished for us to not be married. Max wished for everything to be set right.
Is this setting things right?
Was his wish granted?
Or is this the second half of my wish?
I wished Max and I were married. I wished Max loved me.
Max stills. His hips stop rolling and his hands loosen on my wrists. He looks down at me, a line forming between his eyebrows.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his expression searching, his deep brown eyes concerned. “Anna, love? What is it?”
Oh no.
No.
Max looks like he’d happily take a sword to the chest to make whatever is upsetting me go away. He looks like his only wish in this life and the next is to love me and make me blissfully happy.
