Page 88 of The Sculptor

Leaning into his touch, I finish confessing everything that stopped me from leaving France and running back into his arms. “You were destined for greatness, and I had already taken so much from you. I wanted you to move on, to have a second chance at the life you wanted.”

“But I wanted you.” He seems so confused.

“And I you. But sometimes, you love someone so much that you sacrifice your wants for theirs. The world deserved you, Duke Potter, not me. You didn’t need to grieve all year with me. You needed to live for all of us.”

His face turns serious, and he sits up. “You say true love makes sacrifices.” He huffs out this sound of disbelief. “But I didn’t. I knew you wanted to marry Langston, but I took you anyway.”

He’s so cute, trying to paint his actions as the bad guy. “You knew I didn’t love Langston,” I say, pushing him back down to the floor. “You knew it because you’ve always known me better than anyone else. You knew I was up to something, so you did like you’ve always done. You saved me.”

“And made things worse.” He moves his hands to my hips like he intends to move me off him. And like the understanding wife I am, I lift up just enough to ease his pants to his thighs, halting his wiggling.

“I’ll admit,” I say, trailing the paint up his thigh, swirling it dangerously close to his thickening length, “you certainly complicated things.”

The muscles in his neck tense as I draw a heart on his hip. “But, I’m used to your mess—even if it complicated the plan.”

“Please,” he begs, his eyes drifting closed. This heart-to-heart is turning into his favorite type of conversation—the naked kind.

“Please, what?” I squirt more paint on his chest, holding him captive. “Put you inside me?”

He nods, his hands gripping my hips. I can feel how badly he wants to grind me onto his cock, but he knows when he’s the muse, and the muse is never the one in control.

“Fine,” I agree, flashing him a wicked smile. “But only if you show memyheart.” I place my hand on his chest. “Is it still here?” I ask. “Is it still where I left it?” Inside him.

Something heady passes between us—a bond that formed when we were merely kids. I’ve seen this boy grow into a man. I’ve witnessed his gift become a passion—a passion he used to save our son. I’ve watched him fall in love with me to the point that I fell in love with the girl he loved. I wanted to be the woman he thought she was.

So, I did.

I became the woman he deserved. I fought for her through the grief and pain because I hoped, one day, she would return to his side. I might have wanted him to heal and move on, but I never stopped loving him. I never stopped knowing that the only place I belonged was at his side.

That is the woman he’s asking to help remember.

To remember who we were before we broke.

I smear the paint over his chest, making two loops at the top that fall into a V at the bottom. “Are you still with me, Dr. Potter? For whatever future lies ahead?”

It’s the same question I’ve asked many other times, but when you’ve lived with grief, you understand the power twenty-four hours can have on a person. Some days, you can conquer the world. And others, you simply hope you can get through the next few minutes.

Duke’s hand comes up and interlaces with mine as several emotions pass through his eyes, the most significant being determination. “I’m with you, Mrs. Potter. Now and always. Us against the world.”

It’s all I needed to hear as I guide him inside me, each of us offering the only thing we can give right now, our love and devotion.

With each rock of our hips, we solidify the bond and promise we’ve kept to each other.

No matter the future, we will endure just as we always have.

Together.

Because a love like ours only happens once in a lifetime.

And ours isn’t over yet.

It’s just getting started.

Ramsey

“His cheeks were chubbier.”

I glance up from my sketchpad. “How would you know what he looked like? You weren’t there that night.”

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