Once we're back in the living room, with the TV screen muted in front of us and the darkness of the night growing thicker beyond the windows, I take a deep breath.40Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa2HdziYoyk
"This is what we are going to do," I begin, settling down on the sofa. "I'll send uncle Jack a message first thing tomorrow morning. And we'll leave for London on the first available flight, okay?"
Avery's hands take mine, as she sits down next to me. "Are you sure?"
"Never been more sure. We miss them, right? Well, that's a perfect chance to be together after such a long time. And once we are in the UK, we'll figure things out from there."
"Okay…"
"Okay?"
"Yeah. It's fine."
"So, what's up?" I push, because it's obvious something is worrying her.
"Have you ever wondered… if pushing them into each other was the right thing to do?"
"Eleanor and Righley?"
Avery nods. "What if they're not fine, together, and for some reason they don't want to tell us? What if they are no longer in love and hate us for having played with their lives?"
"Oh God! Babe, you can't really think that. We have seen them together. They are in love. Okay, maybe we were a little too blatant in our attempt to create the perfect conditions for them to meet," I add after a second. "But we never forced them together. Besides, is there really anyone in this world who can force Righley Morgan to do something she doesn't want to do?"
Avery raises a single eyebrow and I follow the flow. "Do we need to talk about Eleanor? And all those awful, impossible dates she used to have before Righley."
"God, no, please!" She finally gives in, rolling her eyes. "I don't want to go down that road."
"She truly seemed doomed to date boring people though. Until..."
"Until we introduced Righley to her..."
"Exactly," I agree, the memory of their meeting still fresh in my mind. The way they clicked, the chemistry between them so strong and powerful that there was no doubt they would fall in love sooner than later.
"So stop it, okay? They are fine. And yes, maybe Righley is mad at us. Or rather, she's mad at me," I correct myself, because in the end, although she was Avery's protégé during their years at Harvard, she quickly became my best friend and I fear I've let her down spectacularly over the past few years.
"But if that's not the case, Occam's razor tells us that the simplest, most logical explanation is usually the right one: they've probably had the worst month possible, and Eleanor sounded exhausted because she's been working like crazy since her father died. And she probably hasn't been able to talk to anyone about it, except Righley."
Avery doesn't look convinced, so I tilt my head one last time and softly add: "And they care about you, they love you. You'll find out when we're back together. Things will click right back into place in no time."
Avery's gaze softens and soon her fingers leave mine and her hands move up to cup my cheeks. I close my eyes at the contact, a rush of warmth running through my veins.
Okay, maybe my words are slightly too convenient, or just another attempt to ease her worries. But it still is a good point, and I can read it in the way her lips curve into a small, tired smile.
We've been through so much in the last few years. A lot has happened in our lives, both good and bad, and that doesn't apply only to us. Since COVID hit in 2020, everything went to hell before it slowly started to get back on its track.
Deep down in my heart I know that no award will ever fill the hole in Avery's heart. No amount of money or success can bring her mother back. Or make her father a decent human being.
And for a moment, I can't help but envy Eleanor's fate, for - however sad it may sound - she had a brother who loved her with all his heart, and a father who cared about her just as much. Even though he was, well, the old bear that Lord William Cavendish always used to be.
"Tyler?"
I blink back to reality. "Sorry, I just spaced out."
"What's going on behind those beautiful black eyes of yours?"
I hesitate for a second, before mustering a smile. "You know what? Maybe this is just Lord Cavendish's ghost taking revenge for our absence at his funeral. I'm telling you, this is him tormenting us even in death!"
"Or maybe a miracle happened and the grumpy Lord Cavendish ascended to heaven and left us a fortune," she contradicts me, just for the sake of it.
"Don't be silly. Lord Cavendish couldn't possibly be in Heaven. He wouldn't fit in: the angels would be too afraid. That is beyond doubt," I stand my ground. "And when his ghost starts haunting you around the estate, tugging at your petticoat and howling for vengeance, don't say I didn't warn you," I say, and she finally laughs.
"Oh my God! First, I don't wear petticoats," she wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Second, considering the man he was, maybe you're right about the heaven thing, but are we really talking about ghosts? And third, and most important, since when have I married such a queer drama queen?"
"Since the very beginning, I swear. Now, given you drank my tea, your cake is officially burnt, and there's absolutely nothing decent on TV, would you be so kind as to kiss me before the phone rings again?"
Avery doesn't hesitate. She reaches for the collar of my shirt, and pulls me in for a kiss that tastes like chocolate, coconut, and something I can only describe as home.
Slowly at first, her mouth so soft and deliberate against mine that I start to melt under her touch. Matching her rhythm, I sink into her warmth, into the way our bodies fit like a habit we've perfected over years.
And then, just as we pause for air, she whispers right against my lips. "Tyler Aldridge," she murmurs, "how do you always know what to say, to make everything right, every damn time?"
I hum, leaning closer until our foreheads touch again. "It's a gift," I play along, breathing in her scent. "Those angels we were talking about gave it to me when they assigned you to my life. They said, 'And with that, Tyler Aldridge, we gift thee the power of utter ridiculousness to make the woman you love forever happy,'" I joke, mimicking the tone of some old-fashioned fairy tale book, but Avery doesn't laugh.
Instead, her eyes soften. "I love you. You know that, yes, you gorgeous, charming weirdo?" She whispers and I swallow hard under the sudden intensity that makes me feel so exposed. And seen. And loved.
But I want to linger here, on the edge of this feeling too big to be contained. And too precious to let it go. I want to be seen by her, to be loved and wanted and desired in that unique, irreplaceable way that belongs only to the two of us.
And yet I fear that if we stay like this any longer, she will read in my eyes how worried I am for her. How scared that she might get trapped again in her own mind, deep down in that dark hole that she so often needs to be the genius she has always been.
And that it could swallow her alive, a bit at a time.
So I take a breath and say the only words I can find to ease the moment. "Of course I know! You love me so much that it drives you crazy and you can't stop kissing me," I play the smart-ass. "But, I mean, who could blame you? With my kind heart and undeniable beauty, not to mention my perfect complexion and, God, these arms? Robbed from basketball courts just to hug you? Oh my..." I don't even finish the sentence because Avery grabs the nearest pillow and throws it in my face.
When I open my eyes again, I'm greeted by the sound of her laughter.
"You're such a dork. Come here," she pulls me closer, and this time we let our kisses deepen, giving ourselves permission to get lost in them: slow, lingering and desperate all at once. My heart stutters at her closeness, and I find myself arching as her hands move down my shirt, resuming whatever we started earlier.
And as I let her do whatever she likes, I can't stop my brain from thinking three different things.
The first realization is that I can't even imagine my life without Avery Beckett by my side. She's not just my wife, she's my best friend, my soulmate, a part of me I'd die without.
The second is that I could be completely wrong about Righley and Eleanor. Almost three and a half years is an eternity. When I think of the few times we've been able to get together after the wedding, I can barely count them on one hand. And even though our bond has always been strong, these two wonderful women - who stood by us as our maids of honor - could have changed in ways I can't even begin to imagine.
And the last, terrible one is that the hole in Avery's heart has never been so deep, so dark, so frighteningly bottomless, as I glimpsed it for a few seconds tonight, when Eleanor fell silent and horror filled my wife's eyes.
And for some reason, all of them send shivers down my spine. For they speak of a destiny I am terrified of: losing Avery in some irredeemable, unfathomable way. Whether to her past, her genius, or something worse.
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and then Add to home screen.