Where Happiness Begins (Evermore #3)

21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

“ T his place is a pigsty.”

I look up from my book, with the smutty cover on full display—what use is there to hide them from him anymore? “I’m sorry?”

Carter’s sitting in the rocking chair Nana always monopolizes when she visits but that he’s adopted in the past weeks. Now he doesn’t only eat with me when I’m home, but he’ll also join me in the living room sometimes, either to watch whatever movie I’ve put on while working on edits or to read in his chair. Every time, I almost feel afraid to move or make a sound as if it’s a fluke and he’ll leave once he realizes I’m here. But somehow, he never does, even when I end up getting comfortable and start talking his ear off about which influencers are dating or fighting online or about how Twilight is a cult favorite for a reason.

“We need to clean around here,” he clarifies.

Six words I never thought I’d hear out of a man’s mouth.

I start to look around, and now that he’s said it…yeah, it’s pretty bad.

I’ve never been a neat freak, but when I lived alone, the house remained more or less clean, mostly because I couldn’t make much of a mess on my own. However, now, the place looks lived-in. There are blankets messily thrown onto the floor from two nights ago when Carter reluctantly joined me on the couch to watch the third Twilight movie (hence the discussion on its cultural significance) and we ended up going to bed at 3:00 a.m. after watching the next two movies, his arm draped on top of the couch, sometimes brushing my neck and making the blankets unnecessary. Music sheets are strewn across the dining room table from the time Carter decided to teach me the basics of reading music, and then from the time he showed me how to play my father’s old partitions on the guitar. An umbrella is leaning against the door, still dripping water onto the welcome mat from last night. I’d opened my car door after coming from a show, prepared to run across the driveway in the rain, only to find Carter there, umbrella above him and ready to shelter me from the summer storm. Dust covers the floor from when Carter patched some small holes in the walls over the last week.

I like the way the house looks now, as messy as it is.

“There must be at least twenty half-drunk glasses of water strewn across the house,” Carter says, bringing me back to earth.

I flip my gaze to him. “I like to stay hydrated.”

“I can see that.”

My eyes narrow. “Why don’t you mind your business and start cleaning, then.”

Humor colors his cheeks, and just as asked, he gets up and starts putting the place in order, which in turn makes me feel lazy, so I join him.

We spend the next two hours cleaning the entire living area from top to bottom, one person doing the dishes while the other dries, then one picking stuff up before the other vacuums and mops. I put a 2010s music playlist on the speakers and can’t help myself from dancing as I clean, and while Carter doesn’t participate, he hums to the beat a few times.

Thankfully, the house is small, and we’re able to do a lot in a short amount of time.

“Now on to the rooms,” Carter says, a rag on his shoulder and bright pink scrubbing gloves hanging out of the pockets of his sweatpants. He shouldn’t look this good while cleaning, and yet I have to stop myself from ogling him. This scene is so casual that for a moment, I lose myself to the fantasy. This is just another Sunday morning with my husband. We’ve done the laundry and the cleaning, and later tonight, we’ll spend an evening out and make love in the kitchen because we weren’t able to wait to get to our room. This is our life.

Except it’s not.

I clear my throat. “My room’s fine.”

“I’d bet everything I own that there’s another army of water glasses in there.”

My mouth curls up. How spot-on.

“Let’s go,” he says, heading toward the first closed door in the hallway.

“Not this one,” I interrupt before he can turn the doorknob. I’m not ready to go back into Dad’s room yet. I’m definitely not ready to clean it up either .

He pauses, hand a twist away from opening up to a scene of preserved grief, and the look he gives me says he knows exactly what I’m doing. Still, he doesn’t insist, slowly letting go of the door with a nod. I’m so relieved, I don’t even worry that he moves along right to my own room.

“Yep, even worse than I thought,” he says once he opens the door, bringing back some of the lightness that has seeped out for a short moment.

“It’s fine,” I say, automatically bending to pick up stray clothes from the floor. I don’t even have it in me to be embarrassed about the state of my room—the one place I do get pretty messy. Carter has witnessed too many mornings of me walking into the kitchen with my hair all over the place and drool probably stuck to my chin for that. It’s nice, really, not to have to pretend in front of him. No need to make an effort in a fake relationship.

I remember with Greg, I would wake up earlier than him, go put on some makeup to give my skin some color and make sure my lips weren’t too chapped when he woke up. Some days, I’d pretend I was going to run errands when I actually had medical appointments, and I’d lock myself in the bathroom to take my medications. I never wanted him to feel like I was too much to handle. It’s probably a good thing he dumped me for good before my father died because I don’t think I would’ve been able to keep up any pretense at that time.

“I don’t understand how much water such a small body can actually drink,” he says as he continues to add glasses to the already massive pile he’s holding .

“I spent years restricting my water intake because my kidneys couldn’t handle it. Now I drink it like it’s liquid gold.”

Carter pauses in his movement, assessing, as if he’s suddenly seen my body for the first time. When he spends a bit longer on my arms, I lean down to pick up some more clothes, all the while pulling my sleeves down to my wrists. I’ve never liked how thin I was, and while I’ve been able to gain some weight after my transplant from a diet that was much less restrictive, I still feel like I’m too bony every time I look at myself in the mirror.

When I straighten up, he takes a step forward. “You know what?” He hands me the glass that was the closest on my nightstand, the one I brought with me to bed last night. “Drink up.”

I grin, grabbing the glass and taking a large gulp that does still taste like heaven, even two years post-transplant.

Then we’re back to our cleaning routine, me shifting to the music, Carter mumbling under his breath every time he finds something that “doesn’t belong in a bedroom.” Every time, I pretend I don’t hear him and fight back laughter.

“Where do the pajamas go?” he asks as he picks up a large T-shirt I always use as a nightgown from the chair —the one no one has sat on in years because its sole purpose is now to hold my clothes.

“Bottom drawer,” I say over my shoulder, noticing the neat way he folds the washed-out shirt.

A drawer rolls open while I fill up the hamper with loose socks, and only when I notice the room has become eerily quiet do I turn around.

And die on the spot .

Carter is leaning over the bottom drawer of my nightstand— not my dresser—which I only use to store one thing.

My toys.

Carter seems transfixed, gaze lost in the pile of vibrators.

“Oh my God, not that drawer,” I say just as he leans forward to pick up…yep, he picked that one. The gigantic pink dildo Wren and Lexie gave me for my birthday last year as a joke. The two heathens had dared bring that thing to the restaurant, and I’d almost passed out from laughing so hard.

I cross the room in two steps, then grab it from his hands and clutch it to my chest.

However, he’s stronger than me, and when he says, “Oh, but I wasn’t done with it yet,” he easily steals it back.

“Give it,” I say.

His large hand dwarfs the toy as he inspects it, turning it at different angles. When he finally looks up from it, I’d swear there’s a sheen of something new in his eyes. Something that almost looks like lust. But just as rapidly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced by pure delight.

“Who knew cleaning could be so informative?”

“Carter, I swear to God.”

I try to sound intimidating, but clearly, it doesn’t work because he only returns to his study of the dildo.

“Realistic, isn’t it? All those veins…”

“Give it back.”

His smirk is devilish. “Or what? ”

I decide to skip the answering part and go straight to grabbing it from his hands. Sadly for me, he’s faster and taller than me, and he decides to go for a playground move: lifting it above his head where I can’t reach.

“You asshole,” I say before jumping on him.

He doesn’t expect it, wobbling as I climb his body like a tree, one arm clamped around his neck while the other is extended, trying to reach that fucking dildo. My face is burning, but I don’t know if it’s from exertion or embarrassment. Obviously, I was wrong to think I couldn’t dig myself deeper in front of Carter. And for some reason, I don’t really care.

I start laughing as I push my foot into his side, making him lose his balance, enough that he shouts an “Oh, fuck,” before falling backward, arms gripped around me. Thankfully, my bed is there to absorb our fall.

I’m now sprawled onto him, eyes level with his, and I’d swear I’ve never seen him so gleeful.

“Give it back, you brute.”

“Not sure.” His nose scrunches in the cutest way. “I kinda like it.”

I try to grab it from where he’s holding it behind my back, but again, he brings it above his head.

“I will literally kill you,” I say, unable to keep a straight face.

“A real fighter, aren’t you?”

When I narrow my eyes, it makes him laugh, his lips splitting into the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on him, teeth glinting in the afternoon light. One of his canines is a little bit crooked, I notice for the first time, and it only makes his smile even more endearing.

Whoosh.

I can’t not return the smile. Happiness looks so freaking good on him.

“You know I will get this toy even if it kills me, don’t you?”

His shirt rides up as he brings the dildo higher above his head, exposing some of the dark hair creating a happy trail at the bottom of his abdomen. My breath stutters, and I force my gaze away. I need to think of a strategy.

He expects me to reach for it again. Which is precisely why I don’t, instead digging my fingers into his sides. Just like I expected, his muscles contract as he starts cry-laughing.

Knew it. He’s ticklish.

“Oh my God, stop,” he wheezes out.

“Give it.” I giggle.

He resists another second before dropping the dildo to the floor. “White flag.”

I keep on going, just a little more.

His body shakes under me, and I only stop when his hands grab my wrists and hold them next to his head. “You little devil.”

“You deserved it.”

He breathes fast under me, hair ruffled, looking more alive than ever before. His dark hazels stay on me, moving from my gaze to my nose and finally landing on my lips .

Only then do I realize just how entangled we got. My hair is hanging in ribbons around his neck, arms bracketing his head, and my ass is right on his groin.

I swallow. He’s hard under me, and just like last time, I can’t help but move over him, just a little. His breath hitches.

I should get up. He should push me off.

But the way he stares at my lips makes my own gaze drop to his, parted, and when his tongue darts out to wet them, I know I’ve lost the battle.

I can’t help myself from crushing my lips to his.

Immediately, his hands let go of my wrist and climb to my head, where he cradles me and tilts me at an angle so his tongue can meet mine, forcing a moan out of my mouth.

He’s both taking his time and giving me his all, deep, languid kisses that make my toes curl coming again and again. He kisses like he wants to devour me whole, like I’m the only thing he could ever want for.

And I give it back, shot for shot.

My nipples harden against his chest, and since I’m not wearing a bra under my loose sweatshirt, I know he feels it too. He groans softly, tightening his fingers in my hair, pulling just enough that the sensations become almost overwhelming. He knows what he’s doing, rocking under me, tracing lines with his pinky under my jaw, all the while getting me drunk on the taste of mint on his tongue.

And then his hands are moving down my back while his open lips brush my chin, my neck, my throat. When his fingertips lie against the small of my back, I arch even more against him, and he climbs back to kiss me once more. His large hands splay across my back, palms grazing the sides of my breasts, leaving me panting.

I’ve never been this riled up by a kiss, this electrified. I thought I’d been kissed properly before, but I was very, very wrong. I had to be because those guys never came close to making me feel like how I do when Carter drags his teeth against my bottom lip, passionate, applied.

Those guys were little bar shows, but he’s the goddamn stadium tour.

Our breaths come in fast as I stroke his tongue with mine, but it’s not enough. A switch has been turned on in my body, and I need more. I shift to the side so his hand can cover my breast. Just as his fingers reach my nipple, a hissing sound comes out of his mouth, and then his hand pulls back. He’s completely let go of me, his kissing paused.

And suddenly, I realize what we just did. What I have just done.

This is a fake marriage. We can’t be kissing. We can’t be doing anything more than kissing. I know myself. I develop feelings easily, and our relationship is tangled enough as it is. If we continue, I know I’ll fall, and that’ll only get my heart broken.

Plus, he clearly thinks this was a mistake too. It’s written all over his face.

In one quick move, I’m off him, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I’m so sorry.”

He sits up, trying to subtly adjust himself in his sweatpants. Then he drags a hand through his hair. “No, it’s fine, I—”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I interrupt. “I got caught up. It really doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Lilianne…”

“No, I’m serious.” I force a smile on. “A stupid slip of the mind. Let’s just forget it.”

He blinks. “Right.”

“Great,” I say, sounding maybe too cheerful, but that’s better than letting my face show all it is I’m actually thinking. “I think we did enough cleaning for the day. I’ll go start on dinner.”

I give him another smile, and before he can answer, I leave, pretending with all I have that I’m simply walking away and not escaping him.