“I missed you, too,” I finally said against her mouth when I found the willpower to stop kissing her.
Her thumbs stroked over my cheeks. “You’re away next weekend, too?”
I nodded. “We can see if the hotel is dog-friendly, and you and Cerberus could come,” I offered. Being away from her was pure shit. I was always distracted, wondering what she was doing, if she was okay, or just plain missing her.
She smiled, then kissed me softly. “That sounds like a plan.” Cerberus whined, and we both looked down at him. “Jealous little thing.”
I set her down reluctantly and then got to the business that had become our ordinary life. She fed the puppy, and I started dinner for us while she got changed from work.
I’d just finished searing the steaks when she came back into the kitchen in a pair of tiny shorts and an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt. I loved her dresses, her suits, and her lingerie, but fuck, there was something about seeing her this casual—knowing I was the only one who did, that got me turned on faster than anything.
“What can I do to help?” she asked, just like she did every night.
“Want to set the table?” I suggested, just like I did every night.
Persephone might have been an amazing cookie-baker, but the woman was not a cook. Growing up with a team of chefs had left the woman clueless in most areas of the kitchen, but it didn’t bother me. I liked cooking for her. There was something primal about feeding my wife that gave me an irrational sense of satisfaction.
“You got it.” She smacked my ass as she walked by, and I grinned as I finished everything up.
After dinner, we tag-teamed the cleanup, which took a little longer with Cerberus underfoot. The guy always wanted to be in the middle of the action.
“You seem pretty relaxed,” I remarked as she put the leftover steak into the fridge.
“Compared to?” she asked.
“Compared to most brides eleven days before their wedding.” I leaned back against the counter. “Lillian was a fucking train-wreck at this point, yelling at vendors, sobbing when the bridesmaids’ dresses came in all wrong. You name it, she was stressed.”
Persephone shut the fridge and then came over to me. “Well, we have an excellent wedding planner who’s doing all the screaming for me. Besides, we’re already married, so I guess that takes a lot of the stress out, too.” She shrugged, then hopped up on the counter across from me. “Plus, if that marriage only lasted six months, then she married the wrong man. Maybe it’s supposed to feel like this when it’s right.”
I swallowed. More and more, she used words like right and love, like we weren’t some accident that had happened in Vegas. Like we were going to be something when our timeline ran out, and the only thing that held us together was a piece of paper.
Cerberus yapped, indignant that he wasn’t in Persephone’s lap.
“You really are a big baby,” she crooned at him.
I picked him up and held him in the crook of my arm. “Stop driving her crazy.” Then I gave him rubs until he settled against my chest, sticking his very wet nose in my neck.
“You still like him?” she asked.
“I love him. He is exactly what I’ve always wanted, even if he is pretty much like having a baby. Nathan and I were joking about that earlier.”
She grinned. “Scheduled, coddled, needy, yep. He’s a baby.”
“Do you want kids?” The question was out before I could examine why I’d even asked it. “Sorry if that’s too personal. I’ve never had a relationship or been married, so feel free not to answer it.”
Her smile faded slightly, but a hopeful light shined in those blue eyes. “Yeah, I want kids. A lot of kids. Growing up with Anne was a constant competition. Even if our parents didn’t make it that way, we did, because who better to compare yourself to than your sister who’s only eighteen months older than you are?” She shrugged. “I always thought that if I’d had another sibling, we wouldn’t have gone at each other like it was a race. What about you?”
“I guess I never really thought about it.” I shrugged. “Growing up was more about survival than succeeding, and Lillian and I did our best to get each other out alive. There’s not a lot of competition in that.”
“Right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make my childhood seem worse when I know—”
“Stop,” I interrupted her. “What we find miserable in our childhoods is all relative. I’m incredibly thankful that you didn’t go through what I did, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t have hard spots, too.”
She gave me a wry smile. “Maybe the competition thing was less of a two-kid issue, and more of a growing up with Andromeda issue.”