Page 67 of Restoration

But those two things don’t equal love.

He only fell into a sexual relationship with me because there was no one else around. He didn’t want me that way before we got shipwrecked, and he isn’t going to want me that way now that we’re home.

It’s fine. Of course it’s fine. It’s what I’ve always predicted would happen. I might love him and want to build a life with him here the way we did back on the island, but that’s not the way life is drifting.

That’s not the way life happens.

Edmund still has a soft heart and probably doesn’t want to crush me by telling me the truth.

I’ve always been the one to make things happen, so I should take the initiative to have the impending conversation. But the problem is I don’t want to. I don’t want to hear the final answer and have it break my heart.

So I don’t say anything, and neither does Edmund as we grab a quick bite to eat in the kitchen with Alicia and Greg, and then I say I’m going to turn in early.

It’s only eight thirty when I head back to my room.

Tomorrow I’ll have to do it. I’ll have to tell Edmund it’s time for me to go home since I don’t work for him anymore. I can stay with my parents until I figure out what I’m doing, and then I can start up my life again.

But I can’t do it right now. Not tonight. It feels like I’m falling apart.

It can wait until tomorrow.

I take a long, hot shower, washing and conditioning my hair and then shaving for the first time in two months. When I get out, I take the time to blow-dry my hair so it won’t get too frizzy or kinky.

I brush my teeth and moisturize my skin and put on a pink nightgown and don’t bother with panties. I’ve been sleeping without them for weeks now.

Then there’s nothing else to do, so I get into bed.

I’ve been lying there, trying to still my restless mind for about twenty minutes, when there’s a knock on the door. Startled, I sit up and say, “Come in.”

The door opens, letting light in from the hall. Edmund’s body is silhouetted in the doorway for a moment.

“Can I come in?” he asks softly.

“Of course.” My heart has started to race.

He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. Then he strides toward the bed and climbs under the covers beside me.

He smells like soap and toothpaste and clean laundry. He’s big and warm and firm as he rolls over on top of me the way he so often used to. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I try to add something else—anything else—but words are stopped in my throat.

“Is it all right I’m here?”

“Yes. It is.”

“It feels like things are all confused. Like I don’t know what end is up anymore.”

I reach up to comb my fingers through his soft, wavy hair. It’s still too long. “I feel the same way.” When my hand moves to his face, I gasp. “You shaved!”

“Yeah. I was tired of looking like Bigfoot.”

“You didn’t look like Bigfoot. I liked your messy beard.”

He chuckles. “Did you?”

“Yes. I got used to it.”

“Yeah.” His tone changes until it’s almost resigned. “I guess we both got used to things. And now everything is different.”