December (The Oliver Brothers Book 1) (28 page)

Across the globe every girl and woman (and some men) dream about their Prince Charming. Everyone has a Prince Charming. He’s the invincible, charismatic, handsome man coming to rescue you from life threatening danger or plain boredom. Prince Charming is a fantasy for most people; a nice daydream to take the stress away for a pleasant moment. Prince Charming is imaginary. Pure fiction.

But not for me.

My Prince Charming is real.

His name is Gray Oliver.

I’m lying naked in bed with him right now. How many people are this fortunate? Not very many. I look at him and see his kindness and concern for me. I look at him at see my happily-ever-after. I look at Gray as he sleeps contently next to me and see everything I have ever desired.

Love.

Gray is love. And love shouldn’t be that hard to obtain. It’s not like I’m dreaming unachievable things. I don’t want to become a millionaire, or rule the world. I want someone to love, and for them to love me. To love and be loved is all I ever wanted. It’s all I ever needed. I’m not seeking to change the world, but my God does it feel like it. 

Everyone always asks me why I constantly run from Gray. It’s not because of him. Let me make this clear. Gray is everything I’ve ever dreamed about. He’s sweet, generous, polite, and friendly. He’s the best I’ll ever have. Gray isn’t the problem.

It’s me.

I’m tarnished goods.

Luke always told me that there’s something inside of me that makes people want to hurt me.

Luke always told me that there are people that crack under pressure, then there are the ones that transform into diamonds.

Needless to say, I was Luke’s favorite diamond.

He infected me with an illness. 

It’s a sickness in me that blackens the beautiful vibrant color in my life.

I’m a diseased corpse, leeching sustenance from the veins of the only man I have loved.

Gray is an endless ocean of love. Gray and I often compare ourselves as oceans and seas. He tells me that loving me is like loving the ocean. Gray says it’s like admiring the orange-red and coral pink sunset cast vibrant colors on the gleaming water, but when he attempts to grasp the colorful ocean in his hands, it simply slips through his fingers, impossible to fully seize. I know that hurts Gray. He breathes to nourish me. But I can’t pass this sickness to him.

I wish I was normal.

I wish I wasn’t tarnished.

I wish I didn’t blacken the lively things around me.

Most of all, I wish Gray wasn’t so hell-bent on loving me.

It makes things so much worse.

Gray’s chiseled body is bathed in light from the moon. The pale beams filters through the white curtains, casting our skin in glittering silvery light. His brown skin looks delicious. It’s as if his flesh is covered in shimmering stardust, begging for a taste. My mouth waters.

I run my fingers through his messy hair and kiss his bicep. I love this man so much it hurts. Carefully lifting his big arms, I slip out his tight embrace. He likes to hold me while we sleep. My back is always pressed to his chest with his arms encircled securely around me. I asked him why he likes to embrace me while we sleep one time. He said so I couldn’t run from him while he slept.

I pick up my wrinkled yellow sundress from the floor and toss it over my head. It’s in the early hours of the morning and it’s still dark outside. I can’t find my shoes, so I step into Gray’s big boots and make my way to his kitchen.

Pulling ingredients from the cupboards and refrigerator, I begin to make a massive breakfast. I want Gray to have the works. He eats for a family of four. That means a lot of pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

Breathing in the fresh morning air, I can’t stop smiling as I walk about in his large boots. His boots are way too big for me, but they’re comfortable and roomy. My toes curl at the thought. I feel at home in them. This feels right.

Leaning my hip against the counter, I slap several strips of bacon on the heated pan. It sizzles instantly. The small kitchen is filled with the scent of bacon.

“Smells good,” Gray whispers in my ear, gripping my waist and pulling me into his warm broad chest. He kisses my hair and cheek, nuzzling the side of my neck and breathing me in. Gray is gentle. Always so gentle with me. He treats me like delicate lace, easy to thread and easy to split.

He is careful with me.  

“I’m making you breakfast.”

“I woke and you weren’t by my side. That isn’t right.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to leave yet. I only wanted to fix you breakfast. That’s all.” I flip the cooking bacon over with a wooden spatula, pretending not to be as weak as I am. God, I am weak. I need healing. I am a parched and withered rose in need of soaking in Gray’s endless sea of love.  

“I take care of you while you’re here, January.”

I swallow past the thick lump in my throat, my heart hammering in my chest. “It’ll only be a second.”

Please, don’t look too close.

He removes his arms from around me, then places his hands on my hips to turn my entire body to face him. Gray and his golden eyes stare down into mine. I look at them in awe. His eyes are purely gold. Radiant and striking and unsettlingly intuitive. They’re a strange kind of beautiful that never fails to leave me breathless and puzzled. I allow myself the simple pleasure of watching those irises work, then I lower my gaze.

He watches me closely. Too closely. Gray subtly draws out my deepest fears from the crevices of my mind. Gray is an intelligent man. He will catch on soon. He will learn how incredibly broken I am inside. I will lose him forever when that happens. He is my sun. I’m soaking up as much nourishment as I can as I rotate around him. 

Once a mirror shatters, it’ll never look whole again, even if you put all the pieces back together in all the right places.

I am a broken mirror.

I am a dead planet.

His thick brows draw together as he watches me. I curse myself inwardly. I should have taken a shower and put on makeup. Gray likes the lipstick I’m never seen without. He loves that my lips taste like strawberries from it. I should have worn the velvet sugar perfume he loves. Gray goes wild when he presses his nose to a random spot on my body and inhales deeply. He says I smell like frosted cupcakes. Maybe I should have put on a fresh dress and combed the knots out of my hair. Gray loves my hair, and it’s in a sloppy bun right now.

I need Gray distracted.

If he’s distracted, then he won’t be able to see how utterly broken I am.

Gray knows Luke left a scar on me.

He just doesn’t know the extent of the damage.

Luke didn't beat me physically. Physical abuse isn't his repertoire. No. Luke loved to leave deeper scars. You could conceal a bruise, and make it as if the nasty blemish disappeared altogether. But you can't hide from the mental wounds. Mental wounds are nasty. They tend to pop up when you least expect it.

Mental scars are the worse.

It's a constant assault in a battle that seems endless. Luke loves to leave the kind of sores that fester and become infected, the kind of scars that will never heal. The abuse he left me with marked me for life. The damage he did to me is permanent as the fully formed bones in my body.

I can’t be with Gray because he doesn’t understand the kind of hurting woman I am today. I am injured. I am used up. I am nothing but a shell of the woman I was.  

He holds my chin up with his thumb and forefinger. Gray lifts my face. I have no choice but to meet those bewildering eyes. He always held the power to penetrate through my many facades.

I want to turn away.

I want to hide. 

But I can’t.

He stares at me, taking his time to roam over my face and regard my panicked expression.

“Why do you hide from me?”

His fingers tighten on my chin when I attempt to turn away. “The bacon will burn.”

Gray holds my gaze when he removes the sizzling pan from the burner and sets it on the countertop. He turns the stove off and looks at me expectedly.

Holding my breath, I gaze into his honey-colored eyes and try to forge my expression into a smiling one, a believable one.

His brows knit together. “You’re smiling.” He releases my chin and taps his fingers against my lips. “But I don’t buy it.”

“I’m okay.”

“No, beautiful sad girl, you’re not okay.” He suddenly lifts me off the ground and presses me close to his side. He’s carrying me.

“Where are we going?” I giggle as he brings me down the hall.

“I’m taking you back to bed,” he says sinisterly low. “I’m going to get some answers out of you, even if I have to make you delirious with many, many orgasms.”

“Gray.” I pout playfully. I’m loving every second of this. “I was cooking you breakfast.”

“Oh, I will feast.”

My toes curl again in his boots.

January (The Oliver Brothers #2)

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I’m an independent author with an eclectic taste in all things, especially writing. I was born and raised in North Carolina. I’ve been writing for four years now, and I’ve been self-published since 2013. Writing fills me with joy and wonder. I’m extremely passionate about my craft. I’m achieving to be better as I continue to work. As a writer, I promise to give you the best of what I do. My job is to entertain you, and I take my job seriously. I invite you to share my journey with me.

Other Books by Q.M. Watson:

January (The Oliver Brother #2)