Page 74 of Speechless

“No.” My lack of hesitation seems to shock him, but it’s true. I’m done hiding from Henry. I only want to be closer to him.

“Are you sure? I worry you could get terribly lost if it’s dark out. Maybe I could put a bell on y—”

I move quickly, grabbing his arm and tucking myself underneath it while I press my mouth against his. At first, I’m afraid he won’t respond, but his lips part almost instantly, inviting me in for something deeper.

Every kiss we share is so distinctive, and this one might destroy me. With each soft stroke of his tongue I feel my whole body liquify, my skin turning to vapor underneath his touch. I pull back to create the tiniest sliver of space between us.

“I think I was tired too. Of not kissing you. Let’s just never stop kissing each other, okay?”

“Lucy,” It’s just my name, but he says it with so much longing, like those two syllables cause him physical pain. “We should—”

“Don’t say talk. Please? This day, this week, this . . . can you let me enjoy this a little longer?”

His lips find mine again, but the frenzy is over. His tongue moves slowly, his lips finding each corner of my mouth before searing a trail down my throat and licking at my collarbone. It’s fucking torture. He nips at my shoulder before nuzzling his head into me.

Henry is like a magician the way he communicates. His lips let me know how much he wants me, and somehow also how much restraint he has. And now his fingertips start tracing every part of my body, like he’s worshiping me, showing me how deep his feelings run.

“You’re so beautiful.” His words fall like petals onto my skin.

“You’re more beautiful.”

He scoffs. “Lucy—your beauty is suffocating. When you smile, it could light up an entire continent. When you laugh, the sound is more vibrant than any music I can make.” His fingertips follow the curve of my waist down to my hip, and I’m unable to suppress my audible reaction to his touch. “That little whimper—God, Luce—I’ve been trying to find the right note, the right key to recreate that perfect sound you make. It’s impossible.” He doesn't stop tracing my skin, following the path down my legs before trailing back up again. “Everything about you is exquisite.”

At first, his touch made me tremble, but I’m finally sinking into it, finding its comfort. I used to think Henry’s music was a drug to me, but now I realize it’s just him. Being in his presence, physically connected by nothing but a fingertip, and I’m as relaxed and content as I’ve ever been.

“Henry Turner, I think you should be a songwriter.” I giggle just a bit, but I don’t expect him to respond. I’m learning to love his silence, to read it just as easily as ink on a page. His fingers sliding through my hair tell me everything I need to know.

“Please be here when I wake up,” he whispers.

And with that, he silently folds me into him, our bodies tightly pressed together. One kiss behind my ear, some hushed words I can’t make out. I easily fall asleep, more attached to Henry than ever before.

finale

Where words fail, music speaks.

-Hans Christian Andersen

34

Henry

Lucy may thinkI’ve been overprotective since she came home from the hospital, but endless bed rest (her term) has given her a lot of time to work on her book. She sent the final manuscript ofBeautiful Beaststo her agent this morning, and she’s been diligently working on an outline for something new. She seems quite eager to be doing her take onAlice in Wonderlandfor her next novel. We’ve been watching it constantly in bed together—every version.

She hasn’t wanted a bit of distance from me lately, and even though she’s been spending most of our time together writing, I'm addicted to the feel of her body curled into me every night as we fall asleep. I might as well turn my room into a library for her. I live here now.

I’ve just finished reading her newest outline forWonderlust. It was not easy getting her to show it to me but I have sworn to write an entire score for the book to use as she pleases. Her extortion feels a bit extreme, but there’s not much I’d deny her these days. Though now that I’ve read through it, I’m feeling a bit guilty for how vigilant I’ve been as her caregiver. While I think Sarah’s visit was enough drama for ages—I’m still trying to wrap my head around it—it seems Lucy may need a bit more excitement, something I’ve known for a while I need to work on if I’m to have a real chance with her.

I’ve gone back and forth about ways I can show Lucy we’d be great together. I’m still unsure if golf is something she’s actually interested in, but I do know she loves to travel. She seems to have been everywhere along the eastern seaboard but has never gone further than Mexico or Bermuda. Traveling: something else Graham may have brought up to me, something thatnormalcouples tend to do together. Something that I typically require copious amounts of drugs to handle. But I’m different when Lucy’s around, I’m not scared of wandering out in public. I suppose I could take her to a country where we don’t speak the language, that might be a safe bet to ease my way into it. But that would interfere with the other plan I have brewing, the one that will get Lucy to finally understand how I feel about her.

“I think we should go somewhere, take a trip. Are you up for an adventure, Luzu?” I set down my tablet and roll toward her. Rowan is curled into her side between us. At my question he pops up and starts kissing my face with vigor. I wonder if he’s also in need of a change in scenery.

“Row, enough! An adventure? Really, Henry? I’ll be happy to go outside of this house. Are you actually gonna let me do anything?”

“Look, I’m sorry for being overprotective. I just want to keep you safe, but I get it. You’re feeling cooped up. You’re literally writing about a girl doing wild and reckless activities just tofeelsomething. I’m not daft.” The story does sound quite interesting, but it doesn’t take a genius to draw parallels to her current situation.

I slide closer to her, reveling in the fact that I no longer have to fight against every impulse to stroke her hair and catch her lips between my own. So I do. She tastes like sugar and cinnamon and I notice the slice of apple pie on the nightstand. The one she said I should stop buying for her.

“I want to make it up to you. Have you ever been on a private plane before?”

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