Page 16
Alex, in her ivory silk robe, is perched sideways on her desk. Her bare legs are crossed over one another in a picture of utter relaxation. In her right hand, she holds a crystal flute filled with a bubbling liquid. A second, identical glass sits waiting on the desk beside her hip. Her face is illuminated by a massive, tired, incredibly smug smile.
“Hey you,” she says.
My stomach drops. Shame on you, Jo, I scold myself inwardly, wanting to sink through the floorboards. God, you didn’t have a single ounce of faith in her. The very second I saw that sliver of light under her door, my first instinct was to assume the worst of her.
As the initial shock of my own stupidity begins to wear off, my gaze drifts past my beautiful fiancée to take in the rest of the room. Surrounding Alex, occupying almost every available surface of the desk and spilling onto the floor, are several wrapped packages, adorned with elegant ribbons. There are tall, flat rectangular shapes leaning against the wall, a few heavy-looking square boxes stacked near her elbow, and a long, cylindrical tube resting near the keyboard tray.
I blink, completely bewildered. “What—” I drag my eyes away from the mysterious mountain of gifts and look back up at Alex, my brow furrowing in a questioning plea for an explanation.
Alex’s smile widens. Her eyes sparkle with a merry, triumphant light that defies her physical exhaustion.
“Happy anniversary, love,” she says, lifting the flute in her hand to take a small sip.
I don’t move. I physically can’t. My feet feel like they have been bolted to the floor. My brain struggles to process the image in front of me, short-circuiting as it tries to reconcile the furious, righteous speech I had prepared with the staggering reality of what Alex has actually done.
It isn’t that I’ve never received gifts before. I have. I’ve had birthdays and holidays, and Alex herself is incredibly generous. But this—this mountain of wrapped boxes, the champagne, the undeniable effort—feels entirely different. I cannot believe she dragged her exhausted, trembling body out of our bed to set this up. For me…
I’m aware, distantly, that Alex has set her champagne flute down, but I am trapped in my own head, drowning in the weight of the moment. One second she is perched on the edge of the desk, and the next, warm arms slide around my waist, pulling me against a familiar body.
“Hey,” Alex murmurs, her voice incredibly gentle. “Love… you’re okay. It’s all good. I’m right here.” One of her hands moves up to cup the back of my neck. “Breathe for me.”
“I’m breathing.”
“You’re really not.”
A single, hot tear escapes, tracking a quick path down my cheek before I can stop it. My arms come up to wrap around her waist, holding her like she might disappear if I let go.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble into her collarbone, my voice thick. “I’m just—you’re so—”
Alex lets out a soft, beautiful laugh. “Don’t cry, love. You haven’t even seen what’s inside the boxes yet.”
“I don’t care about the boxes,” I sniffle, feeling ridiculous but unable to stop the wobbly smile taking over my face. “Look at you. You can barely stand up, and you still did all of this.”
Her thumb brushes under my eye and comes away shiny. “Oh, please, I wasn’t going to let a little paralysis get in the way.” She pauses, her smile turning sheepish. “Though I will admit, I wobbled pretty hard carrying that easel.”
I let out another wet laugh. “You are insane. ”
“You knew that when you asked me to marry you,” she points out.
“I did,” I concede, my thumb tracing the soft curve of her cheek. “But you could have hurt yourself.”
“Well, most of the boxes were already prepared and hidden around here,” she dismisses. “And anyway, it was worth the risk. After everything you do for me, Jo… after the incredible day you gave me? There was absolutely no way I was letting our anniversary end without doing this for you.”
I look at her, taking in the exhaustion tethered to her smile and the fierce affection behind it. There is no arguing with Alexandra when she digs her heels in like this. I shake my head and let out a defeated exhale. That’s when her words cut straight through the sentimental haze.
“Wait a minute. We had a deal, Alexandra.”
“Did we?” she asks, the picture of innocence.
“You explicitly agreed not to plan a single thing for our anniversary.”
“I didn’t plan,” she says, with unbothered gravity. “Shopping isn’t planning.”
“You are unbelievable.”
Alex steps back, picking up the two crystal flutes from the desk. She presses one into my hand and taps hers against it with a delicate clink. “Drink up, love. You look like you need it.”
The mood in the room shifts, lightening into something buoyant and effervescent. I take a generous sip of the champagne, the alcohol hitting my exhausted system with a pleasant, fuzzy warmth. My entire posture relaxes, a cheerful grin taking over my face as I turn to survey the mountain of gifts.
