I spend the next several minutes in my office, trying to quiet the voices in my head. But I keep going back to the day of the meeting when Marina stormed in with a point to prove.
She couldn’t sit quietly. She couldn’t be the obedient wife. She couldn’t be the rock I needed to climb higher in the world.
It was why I knew I needed to end it.
Except I didn’t realize at the time that ending it and ending her were synonymous. I won’t make that mistake again.
Without a plan, I stand up and make my way upstairs.
Jessa is not on the bed like I expect. She’s curled up on the sofa, her head pillowed on her arms. She has a book lying beside her, one of her hands closed in the pages.
I check the cover. It’s a cookbook from my shelves, but I’ve never read it.
Her eyelashes flicker slightly. I can see her eyeballs moving fast beneath her closed lids. A sure sign that she’s dreaming. I wonder if it’s of me.
I bend down and pick her up. Her weight settles comfortably in my arms. She doesn’t stir as I carry her to the bed. As soon as I lay her down, she rolls to her side, assuming the same position she was in on the couch.
Watching Jessa sleep seems to have become my new favorite pastime. If someone had told me a few years ago that I would be happy to sit next to a woman’s bed and watch her dream, I would have cut their fucking tongue out for insulting me.
But now, I sit at the edge of her bed, marveling at all the little things I admire about her delicate features. Her long lashes. The gentle curve of her nose. The way her plump lips fall open as she breathes. The little scar on the top of her forehead.
Leaning in slightly, I trace my fingers over the scar tissue. When that doesn’t satisfy me, I bend down and kiss it. She shifts slightly, but doesn’t wake up.
I pull back, get myself a drink from the mini-fridge, and sit down on the sofa.
I should be thinking about Marina. About tomorrow’s meeting with Yaromir. About a hundred other little things that I’ve put to the side because of all the drama surrounding Jessa and our unborn child.
But instead, I find myself contemplating the question Lev asked right before I came up here.
Marriage.
For the longest time, I’ve dismissed it out of hand. Now, I’m thinking that maybe second chances are legitimate.
And maybe, just maybe, I could benefit from one.
So long as it’s with her, I’m willing.