Authors: Delia Foster
Beyond Bliss (34 page)
Okay, never mind the splotchy ink. I’m getting weaker, and I’m too fucking lazy to take the time to re-write this for the fourth time.
That should give you an idea of how many splotches have ruined this letter.
I so wish I could stay with her. I wish I could stay with you.
But I can’t, and because I adore her with every cell of my being, I’m letting her go.
So be happy for her, Sophie.
I know you, and I know you love as intensely as I do, and as much as the thought pains you, you would want the man in your life to be happy once more.
I know he is worthy of you because I know when you really, truly fall—like me, you will fall forever.
Baby girl, I’m getting tired, and I should stop. I still have so much more to tell you…
Don’t be too hard on your new step-dad.
And tell your man, whoever he is, that he’s a lucky fucking bastard to get my girl.
Always yours, forever and for eternity,
Dad
Tears, both happy and sad seeped out of her eyes as she walked her mother down the aisle.
Lucas had found her that morning, clutching a cup of coffee while tears dripped into it.
He’d picked her up, cradled her in his arms, and brought her back to their bed. He’d held her while she cried, whispering words of comfort.
He’d held tissues to her nose and forced her to blow repeatedly. When her shuddering sobs had subsided into hiccups and her tears had dried, he’d traced the drying streaks on her face.
“I know how he felt. If I had to leave you, for whatever reason, I love you so much, I’d want for you to be happy. And if that was with someone else other than me, I’d still look down on you and smile. That’s just how much I love you, Sophie Harlow.”
And his words had started another round of sobs, but it had ended with them both naked, panting, and in each other’s arms as he kissed her tears away and made love to her all the while whispering words of worship.
Afterwards, he’d reached over and turned on the iPhone radio dock.
Early nineties adult contemporary streamed out of the speakers. Michael Bolton?
She gave him a confused look, but inwardly thrilled because she loved this song.
I said I loved You…But I Lied.
When she’d been younger, her dad played it for her mom, and the words never made sense to her. The song sounded and felt romantic, but he lied about loving her and he was wrong about it?
And then one day, after her dad died, she found herself listening and really paying attention to the lyrics.
Out of my dreams, and into my life…
You are the one…you are the one…
I said I loved you…but I lied….
Because this is more than love I feel inside
I said I loved you, but I was wrong
Because love could never ever feel this strong
The lyrics washed over her, and she was distracted by words and memories, not to mention how much she adored the man beside her, she almost didn’t notice when he left their bed.
He returned and reached over, placing his fingers on the volume button. She was about to protest, but he only pushed it down a few levels, so the song still hummed in the background. He kept his arm on his side of the bed, and used it to pull her closer to him.
“So how does it work with your mom marrying my chauffeur?”
She giggled, her heart finally lifting into light. “I don’t know. Harry still calls me Miss Harlow, no matter how many times Mom and I have told him to call me Sophie.”
“How do you feel about your name?” he asked casually.
“Huh?” Maybe it was the hangover from her crying jag or maybe she was just drunk off pheromones and sex, but she didn’t understand his question.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re fucking adorable when you scrunch your face up like that, you know.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, before he handed her an envelope.
“Huh?” she repeated dumbly, barely paying attention to the letter in her hands. She knew she didn’t have all of them. Carter had surprised her with a few additional ones that were saved for special occasions, similar to the one she shared with Lucas in their brownstone. “I already got a letter, Lucas, I swear I can’t handle another letter.”
“I’m pretty sure this one is a happy one,” he said confidently, but his eyes belied a sense of anxiety. “Just open it.”
She gave him a look, but pulled the flap open, muttering under her breath when the envelope glue proved difficult.
Something fell out onto the sheet that covered her, and she picked it up.
A business card?
She looked at the card, and slowly turned to face Lucas.
“Why am I holding the card for a city clerk?”
“Keep going. Look at the rest,” he instructed, his normally deep voice pitching high at the end.
She pulled out papers that looked like they were printed from the internet, but they were folded in thirds, so she had to unfold and then focus on the words on the page before reacting.
“Lucas,” she whispered. “Why am I holding instructions on how to apply for a marriage license?”
“Because you walked out of my dreams and into my life,” he said, face straight, quoting the song that played quietly in the background. “Because what I feel for you is more than love…how do you feel about being Sophie Sinclair instead of Sophie Harlow?” He moved out of the bed, moved around the end until he was at her side.
Then, he knelt before pulling something out of the nightstand drawer.
“Sophie Harlow, hopefully –soon-to-be-Sinclair, you make me so fucking happy. You make me want to be a better person, a better man. You make me need to be worthy of you. I feel corny as shit quoting Michael-fucking-Bolton, but you literally stepped out of my dreams and into my life. Sophie, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it for the rest of my life. You are my everything.”
A sound escaped her throat as she looked at his earnest expression. She didn’t even pay attention to the crazy diamond he held in one hand.
“I want to see your body change and know that it’s because we created someone who will be a part of both of us. I want to wake up with you every single morning and close my eyes next to you when I fall asleep. I don’t care if it’s me pushing your wheelchair or you pushing mine—I want that with you.”
She was crying again, on another crying jag, but it was different this time.
“So what do you say? I think Sophie Sinclair sounds pretty fucking hot, if you ask me,” he said jokingly, even though she could see the hint of uncertainty in his eyes.
She looked into his eyes, eyes that she loved. Eyes that told her everything she needed to know each morning she woke up. Eyes of the man who she loved more than love could describe.
And even then it would be a lie.
Because this was something more.
So then she took the ring out of his finger, pretending to examine it critically before her eyes danced back to his.
Then, and only then, did she speak.
“I think Sophie Sinclair sounds pretty fucking blissful, if you ask me.”
And to my endlessly amazing, wonderful Beta/Editor – Cathy – you are the BESTEST-ESTEST-
EVER
.
About the Author
Delia Foster is a pen name for a hopeless romantic who fell in love with love after discovering her mother's old Harlequin novels in the garage--at the tender age of twelve. A Texas transplant, she now works and lives in the Big Apple with her BFF and a seriously cute Morkie. Her hobbies include writing, reading, copious amounts of wine, imagining she is Henry Cavill’s wife (or plaything, she’s not picky about status) and a serious addiction to handbags (it's bad). She still loves love even though she is single and seems to have encountered every dating disaster there is to be had.
She's saving those stories for her next venture into the horror genre.
PS. Delia would really like to hear your feedback – you can reach her in any of the following ways:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/delia.foster.739
Gmail: [email protected]
