Page 73 of Marry Lies
I nod once. “Scoot over.”
She straightens up. “What?”
“Scoot over,” I tell her, removing my belt.
“Miles…”
She looks so unsure, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.
Broken.
My.
Wife.
“Estelle, scoot over or I’ll move you myself.”
She doesn’t respond as she moves to one side of the bed, her eyes not daring to leave mine. When she gets to the other side, she turns so that her back is to me.
I climb into her bed, noting the floral, jasmine scent permeating the soft sheets.God, I could sleep here every night.
Evenwiththe damned orange duvet cover.
I shuffle myself closer until I can wrap an arm around her, tugging her close to my chest. She stiffens at first, but as the seconds wear on, she slowly starts to relax. I suppose this is very different from our previous interactions. Her breathing is so steady, so constant, that I find my eyes drooping a few minutes later.
“Why?” she whispers, her voice far away.
“Because you’re my wife,” I tell her truthfully. “And that means for better or for worse.”
“It’s not real,” she answers, her voice so,sofaint.
“I think we both know that’s not true,” I murmur, feeling the lull of sleep pulling me under a few seconds later, curled around Estelle’s warm body.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
THE GLOOM
Stella
I wake up in a panic. That same, familiar darkness surrounds me. It’s suffocating, and yet, it’s as if I’m floating with nothing to anchor me.
It’s strange to feel like I’m being strangled by the air.
Like the room is pressing down on me.
Like my heart might shatter from the ache.
A masculine grunt from behind me startles me, and when I slowly turn around, I see Miles stirring next to me.
“You okay?” he asks, voice groggy.
It’s dark out now. The last thing I remember is him cuddling up behind me, and subsequently falling into one of the deepest sleeps I’ve ever experienced in a depressive state.
I’m used to the bone deep, exhausted ache that makes crawling out of bed physically painful. Normally, the cruel insomnia that doesn’t relent is just a bonus, but I slept well with him here.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“No idea,” he says gruffly.
