Even Camarino has tears spilling down his cheeks.
Then to Sophie, who rises stoically from the chair, eyes dry as the desert as she makes her way off the witness stand.
I want to give her an ovation, because she surpassed her own expectations for what she’d be able to do here today.
I meet her at the swinging gate, hold my hand out to her, and we leave the courtroom. Camarino will be allowed to call character witnesses, and then both the attorneys will have a chance to argue suggested sentencing.
We’d previously decided we didn’t want to stick around for that, and Ms. DuBose agreed to call us with the news. We’re confident he’ll get what he deserves.
Just as we got what we deserved today… a chance to confront one of the men who caused us so much pain.
It feels freeing, and judging by the lightness in Sophie’s step and the smile on her face, it’s equally so to her.
CHAPTER 24
Sophie
Flipping through the cupboards, I make a mental note of what I have, then move to the fridge. Bending over, I pull open the bottom freezer.
“Nice,” Baden says from behind me as he sits at the kitchen table finishing his breakfast.
I look over my shoulder and see he’s studying my ass.
“Pervert,” I reply affectionately before giving my attention back to the freezer. There’s a smile on my face that’s pretty much been permanent since we returned from Phoenix and settled into our new roles of “something much more than friendship.”
I pull out a pack of ground beef. “I’ll make lasagna for dinner. I have all the ingredients.”
It’s a great meal for a cozy, intimate meal on a cold night. I have a good bottle of red wine, and we can sit by the fire after to talk. While it might sound corny and cliché, Baden and I actually like to just sit and talk. I mean… we both love this newfound sexual relationship, but we’re so into each other that sometimes we just can’t stop talking.
As I turn to Baden, something flashes on his face before he smiles at me. “Sounds yummy.”
It was a grimace. I’m sure that’s what it was.
“You don’t like lasagna?”
“It’s fine.” He waves his hand like it’s no big deal, but I can tell by the tone of his voice it’s not fine at all.
Setting the frozen hamburger on the counter, I move around the island to stand before him. “If you don’t like lasagna, Baden, I can easily make something else.”
He rises and pulls me into his arms—something I’m still trying to get used to but know in my heart that with a man like this, it will feel new and fresh and exhilarating every time—and he kisses my forehead. “I can totally do lasagna.”
And there it is again… that little something in his voice that tells me he would suffer through a dish he doesn’t like because he assumes I really want it. He’s sacrificing for me.
And while it’s an incredibly sweet gesture, I don’t want him catering to me like that. I want us to be partners.
Tipping my head back, I ask, “You saved me from certain harm, maybe death, didn’t you?”
Baden frowns. “Yeah, but—”
“And you and I are now sexually intimate, implying a much deeper bond than what we shared from our common experience last summer?”
The corner of Baden’s mouth tips in amusement. “Last time I was inside you, that seemed to be the case.”
That was just this morning, as a matter of fact, when he woke me up with his hand between my legs, which led to much nicer things.
Of note, Baden has obviously been sharing my bed since we returned from Phoenix. I flew home alone, emboldened by the relief I felt after the victim impact statement and knowing my dad would pick me up right at the airport doors. But still, I’m so glad I did it, and it went a long way to helping seal the last open wounds.
I continue with my point. “And that means you and I are close. Which also means if you don’t like lasagna, you should be able to tell me you don’t like lasagna, and I will make something different.”
Baden studies me thoughtfully. “So,” he drawls in a lazy, husky voice, “if you don’t like giving me blow jobs, you would feel completely comfortable telling me that?”
Hands to his chest, I push back and chastise, “You know damn well I like giving you blow jobs. That’s a stupid analogy.”
Baden shrugs, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Just wanted to make sure. I mean, if you want to prove it—”
“Oh, I’ll damn well prove it,” I exclaim, reaching for the waistband of his track pants. Fortuitous that he dresses in his workout clothes since he often hits the gym first thing.
Of course, I have nothing to prove. Since Baden came home from the Houston trip the day after I arrived from Phoenix, we’ve spent quite a bit of time in bed, and let’s just say we both enjoy oral very much.