Page 11 of Light

It’s going to be all right.

The expression isn’t just a hokey line from a Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani duet. It’s the vow of my heart and the core of my being—because it’s never been my deeper truth. And as I turn around, a move that unseats his body from mine, it’s nevertheless what keeps him close as his gaze stays locked to mine…

Betraying that he’s come to the same conviction.

It’s going to be all right.

We’re going to be all right.

I lift a hand, pressing my palm to his cheek, unable to stop my cheesy sigh when he covers my fingers with the determined spread of his own. We continue gazing at each other, lingering through our last few moments of total honesty and completion with each other. All right, we know the inner connection isn’t going anywhere—it hasn’t even during the times when we’ve been halfway around the world from each other—but for the rest of tonight, our outward truth has to be our version of a New Year’s Eve performance. “Steve” and “Sophie” are on center stage tonight, in all their nerd-tastic glory.

Ready and waiting is the beaded half jacket made to accompany “Sophie’s” sequined tent dress, and hanging from the valet stand across the room are “Steve’s” checked wool trousers, sports coat, sweater vest, and button-down scholar’s shirt. Nearby are his polished loafers—or are those the “sensible” tan things that Reece ordered me to wear in place of the shiny kitten heels I’d already picked out for the ensemble? Doesn’t really matter. My cover identity could be a nun named Gertrude, and I’d still refuse to leave the house in the clodhoppers.

Though at the moment, as my man buttons up his shirt, I get the impression he’d love nothing more than accepting my refusal to leave the house all night. When he maintains the not-so-subtle brood as he strides to the bathroom for his toiletry regime, I follow and stab right into his personal space by hiking one hip to the bathroom counter. I don’t bother using the mirror to look at him, instead using my new vantage point to spear him directly with my challenging glower. “All right, mister. I thought we just went through this.”

He abandons the contact lens prep to swing a puzzled gaze in return. “Through what?”

“Reclassifying this relationship as a no-sulk zone.” I cross my arms with deliberation. “With keeping secrets subject to additional fines. Stiff ones.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to kiss and punch myself for them. On one hand, they encourage the man to straighten and face me, his trademark smirk forming across his lips. On the other hand, that damn smirk.

Ohhhh, I’m in trouble.

“Well, I’m just fine with stiff penalties if you are, little bunny.”

Yep. Trouble.

No, no, no, no.

“An option I’d be thrilled to take you up on, mister”—my breath clutches as he swoops over, hitching me up to the bathroom counter as if Bean and I weigh only five pounds instead of thirty times that much—“just as soon as we get home from the Makras’.”

He slouches his shoulders and twists his lips though doesn’t shift from his looming position over me. With his forehead dropped to mine, he grumbles, “You’re determined to do this thing, aren’t you?”

I fire back an equally determined scowl. “And why are you so determined not to?”

Like this whole situation, the question is fair and unfair at the same time. I know it, and so does he. The conflict storms through his gaze, in which I can see reflections of the same strife across my face. We’re in hiding to escape the cage of Faline’s evil again, but the shelter itself has become a prison. And right now, I need just a little peek outside. An assurance that my life is still actually here and waiting for me to return to it.

I need just a tiny taste of hope.

“I’m sorry, Velvet.” Reece’s grate betrays how he’s already plucked that thought out of my head. “I know that living this way isn’t really living. And I also know that you didn’t sign up for any of this—”

“The hell I didn’t.” I make a V out of one hand and clamp his chin in the resulting vise. “Look at me,” I order. “I signed up for loving you, Mr. Richards. Those weren’t just corny, canned words that I randomly spoke at that altar to you. ‘For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.’” I cock my head and narrow my gaze. “Funny how there’s no mention of an ‘only in cases when I call you Reece instead of Steven’ clause.”

He answers my half grin with another glare, though this time there’s a teasing glint to it. “I love you so much.” He punctuates the murmur with a succinct but tender kiss.

“I know you do.” It’s easy to readjust my hand, tracing up the line of his jaw until my fingertips are burrowed into the dark waves along his nape. “Which is why you already know how truly important this thing is for me. To see that despite everything, up to and including the insanity of the Bolt and Flare traveling adventure show, we’ve managed to keep doing at least one cool thing for the world. This not-so-little thing called Richards Reaches Out.”

Not-so-little. It’s damn near an understatement, and I don’t disguise my elation about that, either. A year and a half ago, we were helping Calvin Neves repair his house, get back into college, and support his little sisters, Tosca and Jina. Now, with international reach and offices in five cities across the globe, we’re helping close to twenty new candidates each month: people like Cal, from all different backgrounds and circumstances, to receive the extra leg up they need to climb the ladders of their dreams. When counting my blessings about becoming Flare—despite the harrowing way she was outed to the world—one of the largest is that she’ll help bring new awareness to the vital work that RRO is accomplishing.

“Yeah.” There’s awe in Reece’s interjection, but there’s also the verbal version of a mega perma-pen, soaking the air with his thick conviction. “But it’s just the start, baby.” He emulates my grip, sifting his hands back into my hair. “You do believe that, right? You know that once we deal with Faline for good—”

“If we deal with her.”

“When we deal with her.” His torso muscles stiffen, and his fingers tighten against my scalp. “We’re going to change the whole world, my love.” He dips his head until he can press a fervent kiss on the top curve of my stomach. “And this superstar is going to help us. Every damn step of the way.”

His declaration does more than warm the plane of my belly. The man, truly my Zeus come to life, fills my soul like a thousand lightning bolts striking at once.

Or like destiny confirming how right she’s really been all along.