Beautiful Things Never Last (35 page)

             
“Don’t,”
he
say
s
, pulling them away from
my
chest. “You’re
so
beautiful.”

             
His lips are on my throat, and his hands slip under the black lace of my bra, cupping my breasts, tugging on my nipples. I can’t kiss him hard enough.

             
Ben
pulls back for a second so that I can help him tug his shirt off over his head
so that we
both are
skin on skin,
and then his mouth is on me again. He pushes the scrap of lace
of my
panties out of the way and lets his fingers slide inside me.

             
“Ben,” I gasp.
I’ve missed his touch more than I thought.
I fist my hands in his hair and tug on it. His capable hands get to work until the room is spinning and I can’t string a coherent thought together.

             
“
I need you,
”
I say. The three words come out like a beg.

             
He pulls away long enough to grab a condom and
my breath is rushing out so fast and uneven, it’s hard to know if I’m exploding into a million pieces because I’m crashing towards terror or bliss.

             
I lay back onto the sofa as Ben steadies himself above me, not letting any of his weight push onto me. But I want him to. I pull him down toward me and he locks eyes with me
again.

             
“I love you, baby,” he says. And then
he’s inside of me,
and we are
in that perfect rhythm that ours.
But it’s not close enough this time. I wrap my legs around his waist. I pull him in closer. I rise up to meet him.
It’s scratching and tugging and kissing until I taste tin.
It’s a desperate a
ttempt to make up for lost time and
to show each other how much
we’ve
been miss
ing each other
. 
             

             
“You feel so damn amazing,” Ben says. He
pulls me onto his lap again and takes one of my nipples in his mouth, sending me over the edge.

             
I try to match his breathing to steady my own as he slides in and out of me. And it’s the perfect antidote because we’re in this together. Everything. Together.

             
“I missed, you
,” I say, falling limp against his chest. Relaxed. Loved. Home.

             
And later, falling asleep on Ben,
with his hands tangled in my hair—in our bed—
in this home that we’ve made together, I know that this reunion was more than worth the wait.

EPILOUGE

“Is this one of those typical female, ‘I don’t know what to wear to the party
’
things?” Ben says, surveying the pile of dresses I’ve laid out across our bed.

             
“No, it’s an ‘
I don’t know what to wear to watch my br
other get engaged kind of thing
,
’
” I say. “I mean, who knows what he’s got planned, right? He could have given us more of a heads up. Details, Carter, details are helpful
,
” I mumble.

             
“Easy there, tiger, it’s not a big deal. I’m sure it’s going to be low-key.”

             
“
I just can’t believe it’s happening so fast, I mean, I thought Syd would be the first person I knew to run off and get married.”

             
“Well, they aren’t technically married yet. She may not even say yes,” Ben jokes.

             
“Oh, she’ll definitely say yes.” I kick off the black heels I’d been wearing around the room while I try on dresses. “Holy shit, how did it not dawn on me before that Shayna is going to be my
sister
.” I say the last word like it’s a dirty word.

             
“She’s not half-bad, admit it.”

             
“Never.” I joke. “
It’s at the Four Seasons, for Christ’s sake. Who is
Carter
trying to impress?”

             
“Shayna’s family,” Ben chuckles.

             
“True. “ I agree. I toss aside the red dress that is definitely out of the running. “I just can’t decide.”

             
“Anything you wear will be fine.”
             
I hold up the
navy dress
that I bought in Italy and stare in the mirror, as Ben walks up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in the crook of my neck.

             
“You smell good,” I tell him.

             
He takes the dress from my hands and tosses it back onto the bed.

             
“Tell you what,” he says, rubbing his calloused hand across my chest, “You try them on, and I’ll take the ones I don’t like off of you.”

             
I turn to face him and he pushes my robe off of my shoulders. “You know what else is typical of
pa
rties? Being fashionably late,” B
en growls,
pulling me onto the bed with him.

             
“Wait, wait, wait!” I squirm away from him. “We can’t do this right now. We cannot be late to this party.”

             
“Yes we can,” he says.

             
“No! My parents are going to be there, too, and I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of showing up late and looking like the asshole of the family.”
             
“
Quinn, who cares what they think
?
”

             
I consider this for a minute, while I nip at his ear and neck. I’m not even remotely helping the situation, I know.

             
“Okay, okay,” Ben shrugs me off. “Could we be late for this?”

             
He reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a box.

             
A box that looks like it contains jewelry.

             
A
jewelry
box that looks like it contains a
ring
.

             
“Ben, we can’t do this. Not today. This is my brother’s day and…” I love
Ben
. I do. I love him with every single cell inside my body. I want him forever. But we aren’t nearly ready for this.

             
“Shhh…” he says. He covers my lips with his index finger. “It’s okay. It’s not what you think.”

             
“Huh?” I ask. I didn’t want it to be, but the fact that I
assumed
that
it
was an engagement ring leaves me a little embarrassed and flustered. I start picking at the polish on my right hand, but Ben takes my hand to stop me.

             
“You just painted them, Quinn. Why are you nervous? It’s just me.”

             
He hands me the box and I rub my hand across the smooth, velvet exterior.  Ben’s right, I shouldn’t have been picking at my nails. The silver polish I’d just applied an hour ago is now missing from my middle finger. I trace the gold band around the middle where the box will croak open, but I’m too nervous to do it.

             
“I just, I don’t want to screw anything up. I want to say the right thing and…”

             
“Just open it.”

             
I take a deep breath and pry the tiny box open.

             
Inside, as Ben promised, is not a ring.

             
It’s a scrap of
  white
paper,
tucked in the crease of the box
where a ring would normally go.  Ben’s slanty chicken scratch is
pressed deep into the paper because he always presse
s
too hard when he’s concentrating.

             
I promise
.

             
“What’s this?” Iask.

             
Ben smiles and pushes the hair back out of my face.

             
“I can’t promise that I’ll ever be able to give you
the big house, or the best Damascus knives or that I’ll ever be able to tell the difference between a
Coeur à la Crème m
old and a soufflé dish.  I can’t promise that I’ll never piss you off, or that I’ll never let you down again. I can’t promise to always say the right things, or even to pretend that you always say the right things. But I can promise, and I
do
promise, that I’ll wake up every single day and try like hell. I promise you that I’ll give you everything in me.”

             
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck perk up in the best way, like when a cool breeze catches you on a miserably hot Southern day, and I know, holding that box with Ben’s promise that it was all worth it. All of  it. Every miss-step, every person who tried to threaten the love that we have, every harsh word and round of makeup sex. Every single touch in the middle of the night, every single thing that went wrong or right brought us to this exact place.

             
To this lesson.

             
I finally understand that life isn’t about holding all of the pieces neatly together. Life is about picking up the pieces. And
love is about finding a way to make those pieces fit together, even if they’re all jaggedy and mismatched. And that’s what brought Ben and I to this moment— to
this mad, crazy love.