Page 76 of Serenity
“I love you.”
Dyspneic gasps of air sprang from my lips. Left and right, I glanced around, seeking the source of endearment.
“I’m talking to you, Serenity Grace Miller.”
The austere countenance coloring Duke’s handsome face left no room for uncertainty, and neither did he. A man of confidence. It leaked from his tone, his demeanor, and his actions. He was poetic. We were poetic. Our bonding was poetic at that moment.
“You love me?” I asked, palming my chest and widening my eyes.
“Hell yeah, I love you, baby. It’s the reason why I’m having difficulty with you keeping us a secret.”
“I love you, too, Duke. It’s the reason why I want to be careful when sharing that intel with the world. Remember that flight in Ghana? People can be fucking cruel. Even if unintentional. I don’t want the opinions of others to rip us apart.”
We floated above Göreme, and my truth floated between us.
“What’s authentic can’t be destroyed, Bee. I’ll follow your lead on this one, but don’t take too long getting us there.”
To the point of distraction, he eyed me, nearly melting me into a puddle as he spoke. He didn’t ask for much. He never asked for anything, in fact. At the very least, I could grant him the one request.
“Come ‘ere, Bee.”
Without hesitation, our distance was annihilated. Cloaked in his arms, the world felt minute, paling in comparison to how unstoppable he made me feel. I was invincible. He was invincible. We were invincible. Floating among Cappadocian clouds.
Menemen, a combination of scrambled eggs, tomatoes, and onions, was a flavorful party in my mouth. Turkish food was superb and heartily seasoned. Enjoying said breakfast on the rooftop terrace of our hotel overlooking caves, caverns, and the valley of Göreme was phenomenal.
Removing the cap from his cigar, Duke fired it up and took a puff. The creamy, sweet aroma wafted through the air and away from us as he freed it from his lungs. The Keith and James fedora he wore gave maturity and wealth. The syrupy warmth of his eyes glowing in the sun was its own wonder of the world. Those full pink lips were a chef’s kiss. I was fucking obsessed.
“You look like you’re ready to get into some fucking trouble,” he grinned when he’d caught me hawking.
“Maybe I do.” Under a sultry gaze, my lashes swayed.
“Come ‘ere.”
In an instant, I was beside him, cuddled in his lap and endeavoring to climb inside his skin.
“You love me.” Like a baby, I whined, still shocked he’d shared those sacred words earlier.
“Mmh hmm,” he laughed, suffocating under my breasts.
“I love you back.”
“No, you don’t,” he fussed, fighting to regain his breath. “Baby,” he tapped my forearm repeatedly.
“Hmm?”
“I can’t breathe.”
On day two of our adventure, we explored the village of Göreme. A hike around the desert led us to the famed rock formations endearingly called fairy chimneys.
While they looked man-made, the fairy chimneys were a result of volcanic eruptions. Ash littered the landscape, condensing into a porous, soft, and malleable rock. I didn’t give a damn about the back story. They looked like giant penises.
Our survey of the city led us to a pottery-throwing class for the afternoon. The feel of clay and water between my fingers left me with an overwhelming sensation of power. Forming something from nothing. Adding to that was the overwhelming sense of relaxation from its coolness. From the constant turning of the wheel as the clay spun in my hands.
How had we gotten here?
From that peculiar night at Genevieve to this present moment with a man I undeniably cared for. Absent restraints or conditions, I loved this man. And while it frightened me, I didn’t have the will to run from it. The luxury of utter contentment and safety had lulled me from fear.
My gaze fell on him, making a mess of his clay. The wonky mug he created was precious nonetheless.