Last Summer(6)

“Yes,” he groaned into her ear. “We’re doing this. Right here, right now.” And then he moved, quick, short jerks of his hips.

Sex in someone else’s kitchen, with the Realtor just outside the door. A daring move. Their coupling was hot and hurried. Ella grasped his shoulders and held on.

“This is incredible. You’re incredible. Perfect,” he panted.

They were perfect together. They needed each other, always needed, especially in this way.

Damien bit her ear. “I love this about you, Ella Skye. You’ll let me fuck you anywhere.”

She grinned saucily. “No, you’ll let me fuck you anywhere.”

He laughed.

Afterward, spent and winded, he assisted her down and straightened her skirt. He kissed her, lingering and sweet, and brushed aside the hair that had fallen over her face. A tender gesture. “I want this place to be ours,” he whispered. “At the end of the day, at the end of a hellish workweek, after we’ve spent weeks apart traveling, and after we argue. Hell, after everything. I want us to always come back here and find each other.”

His words meant everything to her. They also meant more than he was letting on. She searched his face. He was hiding something from her or was afraid to tell her. Worried how she’d respond. She’d sensed this about him from the day they met. That was okay. She wouldn’t push him to talk. She trusted he would when he was ready.

They heard Kate rattle the doorknob, then slide the key into the bolt. They shared a secret smile. The scent of them was overpowering. Kate would know what they’d just done. But Ella didn’t blush, and she didn’t try to hide behind Damien. She wasn’t embarrassed. She was in love. And they were going to buy this condo anyway, so what would Kate care?

It had four bedrooms. One for them, one for her office, and maybe, hopefully, two for kids. A boy who looked like Damien and a girl they could name after Grace, a childhood friend she’d lost too early. She visualized their children running down the long hallway, giggling, Damien chasing after them with threats of tickles and raspberry kisses, a big goofy grin on his face. But the visual vanished in an instant. Damien had been clear. He doesn’t want kids.

If giving up the thought of having children meant she could be with Damien, she’d do it. She’d already lost so many loved ones. She didn’t want to lose one more. Damien was her life. And aside from Andrew, her only family.

The rattling of keys whisks Ella back to the present. Damien holds open the door and she hesitates.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I was remembering the first time we saw our house. It’s . . . weird. I can recall explicit details from that day—what we did, what I was feeling. What I was thinking—but I can’t remember what happened two days ago.”

“Dinner the night of the accident is the last thing you remember?” he asks suspiciously. “You swear you don’t remember anything else from that night?”

“I swear.”

He briefly closes his eyes and nods.

She touches his cheek. The scratch of stubble tickles her palm. His clothes are clean today, but he still hasn’t shaved. Her eyes seek his. They dodge hers.

“Damien,” she whispers, urging him to look at her. His gaze settles on her mouth. That’s as high as it’s gone since she woke late morning yesterday. He either looks at her mouth or someplace beyond her shoulders. Maybe he’s still in shock from her miscarriage. They must find their way back to each other. She won’t let this tragedy tear them apart.

“I want to remember,” she says in earnest, then unexpectedly yawns. “Excuse me. The painkillers are kicking in.”

“Let’s get you inside so you can rest,” Damien coaxes. He shuts and bolts the door and tosses his key ring. Various keys to their condo, their flat in London, and his offices; two thumb drives; and the fob to his BMW sedan clatter on the table.

Ella shivers. “Why’s it so cold in here?”

“I turned off the heat. I wasn’t home much.”

“You stayed at the hospital with me the whole time?” The thought of Damien sleeping in the vinyl chair in the corner of her hospital room brought tears to her eyes. No wonder his clothes looked slept in yesterday.

“For the most part. I was at the office last night.”

“All night?”

He nods. “I had to catch up on some work.”

Understandable. She reaches for his hand. “Thank you for staying with me. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy.”

He nods, then takes her overnight bag to their bedroom.

Ella adjusts the temperature on the thermostat to a tolerable seventy-two. The furnace rumbles and vents expand, pushing artificially warmed air through the condo.

Putting on the wrap sweater that was hanging on the coatrack, she hugs her chest and crosses the condo’s open expanse to the wall of windows overlooking the bay and city below. She draws open the curtains, exposing November’s leaden sky. Low clouds hang over the bay, its waters rough and white-capped. Rain streaks the windows, muddling her view. Looking through the glass is like looking into the mirror. The outside world reflects her current mood. Gloomy and disoriented.

Her incision itches and her hand involuntarily rests over the area. She still finds it hard to believe that she’d carried a baby for over five months. Lynn, her OB, referred to Ella’s loss as a miscarriage when she removed her staples before she was discharged. “Women miscarry for any number of reasons,” she had said. “They happen more often than you’d realize. Think of it as a minor setback in your plans to start a family.” There’d been no complications with the pregnancy. She’s confident Ella will carry to term next time.