Page 64 of The Marriage Narrative
When it happened again, she was sleeping completely face down and at a forty-five-degree angle, head near his shoulder with her feet dangling over the side of the bed.
The third burst felt infinitely longer—a dream so torturous it had to be real.
Zinnia had cuddled up against his chest with one leg flung across his hips. Wrestling through his sleep-addled haze, he managed to move his arm and lightly brush her cheek.
She’d thrown an arm across his shoulders in response, pulling herself up until her chest was flush with his, clinging to him like a body pillow. Nuzzling his neck. Happily mumbling his name.
She was gone now.
Sunlight poured into his room through the window. His skin already felt sticky from sweat and a heat-induced headache pulsed around his temples. Summers like this, when the previous day’s heat survived the night and created depressingly hot mornings, made him want to move to Antarctica.
Jordan rolled over with a groan, burying his face where Zinnia had been. Traces of her still lingered all over his bed. Her scented lotion. Dents in her pillow. Her silk hair bonnet?
He snorted with laughter, completely unsurprised. It must’ve fallen off during the night and she forgot to take it with her. He neatly folded and placed it on the bedside table, swapping it for his phone.
Waking up to a slew of notifications was still his normal. Except now there were some from Fiona—all Beta Carotene–related—and one from Zinnia.
She always woke up first. Her morning messages had begun as a briefJordan. Good morning.
But had now escalated to:
ZINNIA:Remind me to tell you why I go skydiving every leap year on leap day. You should come with me next time. Also, hi. Did you sleep well because I CAN HEAR YOU SNORING and it sounds so peaceful so I’m guessing yes. It’s like a chorus of angels with sacred kazoos in there. Thank you for entertaining my little experiment last night. We should do it again some time. I’m eating breakfast now. Hurry up and wake up so we can have second breakfast:))))))
Helovedhis Zinnia Morning Ramble messages. He wasobsessedwith them to a concerning degree. They made him giddy—like he was fifteen again and getting high for the first time kind of giddy. This shit was borderline embarrassing. He was too old to feel like this and yet…
Mornings were hardest for him. In more ways than one.
I think we should sleep together.
Zinnia routinely said things that fried every nerve and brain cell he had to a filthy crisp. She was inexperienced, sure, but not oblivious. His first thought was that she was testing him, seeing how far she could push before he pushed back. Common sense kicked in a second later. When had she ever done thatinsidetheir bungalow? She’d genuinely meantsleepingin the same bed. Nothing more, nothing less.
And then she took off her nightgown—torment and trust and less than a handful of fabric between them.
He’d tried to take in all of her as quickly as he could. Frantically trying to memorize every curve and slope and birthmark from clavicle to breasts to waist to belly button to hips, legs, and feet. Fighting against vivid flashes of where he wanted to put his mouth first. He’d been dizzy with greed, body hot and muscles excruciatingly tight.
He’d forced himself tostop.
The cameras gave him purpose. A driving motivation keeping him detached while going through theNewlywedmotions of loving her out loud. Without them…
She’d see it wasn’t an act at all.
He wished he could allow himself fifteen minutes—just fifteen fucking minutes to open his vault and let everything he felt for his wife breathe and run as wild as she slept.
But on their introductory call, she’d told him that she wasn’t interested in falling in love with anyone. And during their engagement dinner when she’d said it again, he’d promised her that he understood.
At the time, he’d sincerely believed that he wouldn’t fall in love with his wife.
Jordan had no choice but to keep pushing his feelings down and hide everything inside of his vault. He turned the key, spun the dial, and wrapped it in chains. Laid imaginary hands on it, whispering and begging for it to hold.
Because it was swelling now, nearly bursting at the welded seams. Every day there was more to lock away. Every day she’d done something worth remembering. Every day she made him feel like a besotted sea captain, honored to go down with his doomed ship.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d ask how but he already knew the answer.
Chapter 17
Zinnia
If seeing thecamera pods camped out on their porch every morning was a grim reminder, Mabel being there too was like meeting the grim reaper. Everything about her—dull skin, chipped nails, bleary eyes—screamedexhaustedin ways that only eternal rest could fix.
