Page 57 of Top Shelf

“Your lack of faith in your wife’s pillow wall is hurtful.”

He sets his phone on the nightstand. “Should I get you more pillows?”

My hands pause. He’s letting me decide again, like he did before the kiss, and I hate how much I notice it. And like it.

“No,” I say softly, fluffing a pillow. “These are fine.”

Once done, I tug the blankets up over myself and settle back to stare at the ceiling, feeling the mattress dip when Viktor shifts under the covers and goes back to his phone.

“Your box,” he says after a while. “You only brought one.”

“Yeah.” I glance sideways. “What about it?”

“That is not much stuff.”

“No.” I smooth my thumb over the edge of the sheet, following the seam. “My parents weren’t really keepsake people. They were interested in certificates and awards. School reports, if they were impressive enough. Stuff that proved I was successful, or that they could brag about to their friends.”

He keeps quiet, which is worse than a response because it gives me space to hear myself.

“I was a bit difficult,” I add. “Turns out there was a reason for some of it, but I didn’t get the ADHD memo ’til later, so for a long time I was just… difficult with potential.”

Viktor’s voice is low in the dim room. “You are not difficult, Heidi.”

I laugh through my nose. “You’ve known me as your wife for less than a day. Let’s not make reckless claims.”

“I knew you before today.”

The words settle into the dark between us, and I turn to him. He’s lying on his back, with an arm folded beneath his head again, the treeline on his chest rising and falling slowly. The Pink Lady throws tiny ridiculous flecks of light over the bed and the edge of his shoulder, and I glance back at it.

“She was actually the first thing I bought for myself after I moved out.”

His eyes travel toward it. “The lamp?”

“Yep. Saw her in a shop when I was furnishing my first place and bought her on impulse with money I probably should’ve spent on something sensible.” I smile at the little shards of light scattering everywhere. “My mother thought it was hideous.”

“She was wrong.”

I turn my head. “You stared at it with horror when I took it out of the box.”

“It is very pink. I did not say it was not hideous, though.”

A laugh slips out of me, and his gaze comes back to mine.

“And it still works and does its job, yes? Then it does not really matter.”

My laughter fades at his words. The lamp is pink and sparkly and a little ridiculous. It has followed me through every apartment I’ve lived in, through bad relationships and new jobs and years of qualifications. More than once, I’ve attempted to convince myself I should probably own more grown-up furniture by now. Something that fits more easily into the room. I never do, though. Because she still works.

She still lights the whole damn room.

I shift back onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I always thought if I got married eventually,” I murmur, “it’d probably be to a woman.”

In my periphery I see his head turn toward me, and I swallow.

“More calming, maybe. Or more understanding? I dunno. I didn’t picture… well, this.”

I meet Viktor’s gaze, and it stays on mine, not flickering with the usual predictable interest some men have when they remember my bisexuality.