Page 44 of Storm

“Bastard,” I hiss, and push past him towards Sunny. “Come, Sunny. We need to get ready for dinner.”

Noticing his father for the first time, Sunny bypasses my outstretched hand and goes straight for Melek. “Papa, papa, look what I made!”

My stupid heart does an awkward sideways beat. I clench the blanket around me, a breeze whipping my long, onyx hair around my face.

The commander instantly changes his demeanour, crouching down on the ground, listening to his son’s detailed description of how he made his flying creature with recycled paper from one of our drawing sessions.

Stern grey eyes meet mine, my heart erratically sitting out of rhythm. A curl plops over his right eyebrow, and I take a deep breath. Damn him. Why did I get the one hollow in all of Halo who looks like a walking god? Even his scent is a special mix of sin. I can’t shame myself for wanting to seek comfort in him. He’s never lifted a hand in rage towards Sunny or me. In all the ways that count, he’s been a good husband and father. Fuck. It’s those thoughts that keep me drowning.

A tickle runs through my throat.

Melek delivers a secret to our son. The sight of this overpowering man on his knees for our five-year-old has me in a chokehold. Sunny spins on his heel and runs back to my side, clasping my hand. “Let’s go, Mama. Papa said we have to get dressed for our dinner guest.”

As I’m being pulled inside by our too-easily-excitable child, I turn my head to find my husband watching us. He mouths something I don’t quite catch.

We sit at the table, waiting.

Our dinner guest didn’t get the memo that we were eating at six. If we don’t finish eating by six thirty, Sunny doesn’t have enough time for bath and story time. For him, those things cannot be compromised. Plus, I’m so tired these days that if I don’t get him to bed early enough, I cannot muster up the extra strength I need to push Melek’s buttons, and that would be a damn travesty.

Sunny holds a floppy green bean under his nose. “Look, I’m Papa.”

I chuckle at his joke because he does not have to try one bit to look like his papa. Our son is growing into his exact likeness in every way. Melek is currently growing out his beard and moustache, so the resemblance is uncanny, minus the colour of the bean.

“Remind me again why you have this situation on your face?”

Giving me side-eye as he tickles our son’s side, Melek answers, “For your information, I’m doing it for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, you.” I frown. “I’ll show you later.” He winks.

I nearly gag on my beeken, seeing Melek’s left eyelid casually close and open. Who stole my controlling commander husband and replaced him with this robot who spends time with his family, wants us to be happy, and winks?

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

Insides melting, I squirm, hoping no one else can see how I am turning into a puddle for this man. I focus on my food.

As I concentrate on the taste of the succulent beeken, wondering which herbs Mary could’ve used to season it, the woman herself comes through the doorway with a guest in tow. Not just any guest—Adam.

This time, I suffocate for real. Shit.

“Alora, are you okay?” I hold up a hand and take a dramatic swallow of the half-chewed breast, followed by drinking my whole glass of water.

“Sorry, you startled me,” I say to the tall green fairy behind Mary. I rapidly blink a few dozen times to make sure the mossy green skin is, in fact, happening.

Nothing changes.

His green skin.

His hazel eyes.

His pointed ears.

It never fades.

He’s real.

“Sorry. That’s my fault. I had some business to attend to at The Academy, and it made me late for dinner. Please forgive my tardiness.”