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After, I kiss my way back up along the gorgeous, perfect expanse of her body, until my mouth finds hers. I kiss her again, hard and deep, knowing she can taste her juices on my mouth. She tastes so fucking good. When we break apart, I grin.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“Mm…” She shifts a little, reaching up to hook her arms around my shoulders. “Can you wake me up like that every morning, please?” she murmurs, laughing a little.
With a smile, I lean in to kiss her again, harder. “Every morning for the rest of our lives,” I promise when we break apart. The smile I get in return is enough to keep me going for a long, long time. “But there’s one more thing.” I wink, and leave her staring after me in confusion, still piled under the covers of our bed.
After a few minutes, she calls from the bedroom, “Am I supposed to stay here?”
“Just be patient,” I respond from the kitchen. It takes a little longer than I intend, truth be told. It’s been a while since I’ve tried to cook anything for myself—one of the benefits of being first rich, and then working as a swim instructor at a resort where board was included. But I still remember one dish, which one of my nannies taught me as a child, saying I’d need it at some point.
It takes a couple of tries, by which point Sinclair has probably guessed what I’m doing, to judge by the distant laughter from the bedroom. But eventually I get it right. I fill the breakfast tray I’ve had lying around for years, completely unused, with the pancakes I’ve just made. I add a little flower to the corner—the kind of flowers I’ve been bringing home for her every few days, just a little reminder of Maui.
Passion flowers, of course.
Then I add coffee, and bring the tray in to her, lying it across her lap as she stares at me over the top of the book she picked up to read while she was waiting.
“Okay, seriously.” She’s smirking. “What’s the occasion? Why are you spoiling me?”
“Because I want to,” I reply, dropping into the bed beside her and stealing her fork to take a bite of the pancake. I lean in and kiss her cheek quickly. “And because you deserve to be spoiled like this. Every day of your life.”
She eyes me, one eyebrow lifted. “Are you agreeing to make breakfast every day of our lives?”
“Okay, maybe not exactly like this, but…”
She laughs and takes a bite, then nods.
“Good?” I ask, my eyebrows rising.
“Fantastic,” she murmurs, and leans in to kiss me, her lips tasting like butter and syrup. Then I kiss her back, and we both forget about breakfast for a while.
13
Ankor
It’s been three perfect months in New York. Three months of life with Sinclair. And in those three months, I’ve learned more about love and romantic relationships than in my entire life before now. There’s nobody else I’d rather spend every day with. Nobody else I’d rather come home to after a day at the office; nobody else I’d rather spoil every chance I get, with carriage rides through Central Park and trips to the opera. The look on her face at the singing alone was more interesting to me than the show itself.
I love her reactions to everything. How overjoyed she is at life itself.
We take weekend trips up to my parents’ place in the Hamptons while it’s still warm. I convince her to swim at the beach, even. The waves aren’t as big here in the north of the Atlantic as they were in surf-central Maui. She swims out deeper than I’d have expected her to, surprising me. Even when we rent a fishing boat to go out, she doesn’t seem scared anymore. She leans over the edge of the boat, laughing as dolphins appear and jump alongside us.
In the evenings, we grill fish on the beach with my family, laughing and joking. Margot and Sinclair spend more time together, especially on days when I need to go into the office to help with new product development or launches. It makes me happy to see them getting along. My sister has always been critical of the women I’ve dated—and to be fair, unfortunately, she’s always turned out to be right in the end. So it makes me smile to see her approval of Sinclair.
Not that I’m surprised. Nobody who meets Sinclair can resist her.
On weekends we’re not with my family, we go to the theater, musicals and plays alike. Or we see concerts in the park. One day we walk all the way down to the south pier just to see it. She gasps at the sight of the Statue of Liberty, then, and I can’t resist. I book us a private helicopter ride, taking us around the statue itself, so close it almost feels like we should be able to reach out and grab it.
