Page 30 of Manhattan Heart

“I was right about you marrying me.”

“How so?”

“You’re wearing my ring, baby. You didn’t even brush me off when I asked.”

A grin slips out at the memory. Amazing memory. One I cherish. “You caught me at a weak moment, you fed me cereal.”

He winks. “I know your weak spots. So can we agree I’m always right.”

“Only about those two.”

“And this too. India, trust your man.”

All the emotion I’m trying with all my strength to keep locked away, to be strong and dependable, threatens to leak out just looking at his face.

His wonderful Gray face I adore.

The face I want to go on looking at for the next two hundred years.

“With my life.” I whisper.

Gray is my life.

My anxiety isn’t logical. It doesn’t tell the truth. It’s chaos and mayhem inside my head, making me restless and jumpy. Anxiety steals every inch of peace. It lies and plays on my fears and it locks me inside a bubble of doubts and alarms, so when Gray dresses in one of his sex suits… or work suits as he calls them, and kisses me at the door and insists yet again he’s fine. My anxiety slithers through my veins, crawls into my head and lists all the reasons I should be with Gray right now.

What if something happens and I’m not there?

I pace around the apartment, hyperventilating. My heart in a tight squeeze of fear and panic while my anxiety whispers and leads me down very dark paths.

All of those paths show me how I’ll lose Grayson.

I last an hour.

An hour at home alone with my head in panic mode and my throat locked with unspent sobs. I need to get them out. I can’t stand the tightness in my chest.

I’m at the front door when the barking alerts me to the two new additions to our house that I can’t just go out and leave.

So I grab them into my arms, the little gorgeous devils licking me all over my face.

It’s testament to my worry that I even take the elevator on my own.

Of course, I don’t stalk my husband at work.

I’m trying to keep my shit together for him.

But there’s one person I can break in front of and when Noah Fierro opens the door with a quizzical look on his face that I’m at his house so early, I about fall in the door. “Sena. I need Sena.” My voice cracking.

I can tell in his eyes he’s concerned, but thank god for Noah’s stoic nature when he directs me fully into the foyer. “She’s upstairs. Do you want me to take these two?” I forget I’m holding the pups and I thrust them at him. “Yes, please.”

I just need to see my best friend.

I find her propped up against the headboard on top of her bed dressed in Disneyland PJs. She’s surprised to see me because she grins, but then looks perplexed a second later. “India, what…” I’m already kicking off my shoes and crawling onto the bed as my emotional flood gates open.

I’m three seconds on the bed with my face on her shoulder before I’m sobbing.

Sena is the nicest, southern girl you could ever wish to meet. She talks to strangers and loves getting their life stories. She’ll help old ladies across the street and give anyone her last sandwich if they’re hungry.

She’s the completely opposite of me and yet I know in any circumstances she would wade into a war with me, no questions asked.

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