Wake to Dream, page 19
“Oh!” Lips rounding on the word, she felt her cheeks heat up even more, her arm moving quickly to pick up the heavy utensil and reach over the island to place it in his palm.
Settling back down into her seat she realized there was something about this man that flustered her completely. How she’d be able to keep her senses around him, she wasn’t sure.
It was an entirely new situation for Alice, one where she wasn’t judged or criticized. But there were still things in her life he didn’t know or understand. Her stomach churned with anxiety because she had no choice anymore but to tell him.
Before she could conjure enough bravery to mention the subject, Max glanced at her from over his shoulder. "I hope you like your steak rare. Personally, I prefer when the meat is warm, but tender, easy to slice and chew, the blood running hot and thick against the tongue."
Her smile wavered, dark thoughts a shadow over the enjoyment she should have felt about the evening. “Rare is fine. Just as long as it’s warm and not mooing at me from the table.”
Winking his eye in response to her answer, he turned his back on her again to chop the slab of meat into individual steaks.
“Hey, Max?”
The motion of his hand didn’t stop when she spoke, the rhythmic chopping never paused or faltered when he answered, “Hey, Alice.”
Swallowing down her pride, she squeezed her hands into fists on her lap, her nails cutting ridges into the skin of her palm.
“I need to tell you something.”
The chopping stopped, his head spinning just enough where he could cast a cursory glance at her from over his shoulder. “Cold feet already?”
Soft laughter bubbled up from her lungs. “No, nothing like that. Although,” her voice lowered to a practical whisper, “You might have cold feet after what I have to say to you.”
The cleaver fell heavily on the counter to his side, his entire body turning now so he could give her his full attention.
“I doubt there is anything you can tell me that would cause that to happen. We all have secrets, Alice. Some of us far darker than others.”
Shifting restlessly in her seat, Alice failed to notice the shadows behind his eyes as she clenched and released her hands in her lap, pins and needles shooting along her arms with how hard she curled her fingers.
So focused on her own insecurities, she missed the dark secrets behind his words that should have been the first sign there was more to Max than she knew.
“I assume, and I may be wrong, but I assume you want me to sleep in your bed tonight.”
His eyes were wary, his full lips pulling into a thin line. She wasn’t sure what thoughts were running through his head, or if she’d just invited herself to a place where he hadn’t yet intended for her to go. However, it was a subject that needed attention, regardless. Max had every right to know.
Forcing herself to speak clearly, she finally blurted out, “I have certain issues that I’ve had since I was a young child. Issues that, for the most part, are the reason I don’t speak to my family much anymore.”
Stepping forward, he rested his forearms on the kitchen island, his eyes level with hers when he said, “You have my undivided attention.”
Her eyes closed and she breathed in a steadying breath to ready herself for a conversation that revealed something about herself that only her family, and a psychologist who treated her as a child, had known.
“I don’t sleep like normal people,” she admitted. “From what I know, it wasn’t always that way, but at some point when I was younger the problems started.”
Silence fell between them, her entire body trembling from the fear that he’d reject her as soon as he knew.
“And those issues are?”
His voice was so soft, so hesitant, that she wasn’t sure if he hadn’t already been chased away by her confession.
“I have sleep disorders. Strange ones, and they happen every night no matter what I do. It’s the reason I’ve never really dated, and the reason I’ve always lived alone.”
Max didn’t comment further, just sat patiently with rapt attention on her.
“Have you ever heard of parasomnias? There are multiple types and I, unfortunately, suffer from several of them.”
Beyond nodding his head, he didn’t move otherwise. “Like sleep walking? Stuff like that?”
She swallowed down the churning of her stomach, the acid that had forced its way up her throat. “That’s one of them, yes.”
Where she’d expected concern behind his ice blue eyes, there was interest instead.
“I’ve heard of conditions such as those, but never seen it myself. Why do you feel the need to tell me this?”
Her hands continued wringing nervously in her lap. “Because of the severity. It’s caused problems for me in the past and I wanted to warn you because I didn’t want it to be a surprise if you witness it. I don’t remember most of it because I’m asleep when it occurs, but from what I’ve been told, it can be somewhat bothersome…or scary.”
Pushing up from where he’d leaned over the island, he rounded the side to stand next to her. His hands grabbed the armrests of the chair and swiveled it so that her knees rested between his partially spread legs. They were as close to each other as they could comfortably get with her sitting and him standing.
“Tell me all of it. And don’t worry that I’ll judge you or hold it against you. It’s like I said,” his voice dropped to a darker tone, his eyes shadowing over to a point where the chill of ice blue churned with the dark gray of a thunderstorm. “We all have our secrets. We all have things that we hope those closest to us can accept and understand.”
Alice wondered for a brief moment what his secrets could be, but she lost that train of thought to the very real fear that he would reject her for her issues as violently as her father had rejected her.
Pushing that fear aside, she summoned the bravery to be honest. “I have night terrors, for one. Basically, that means I wake up screaming. Sometimes, I can’t remember why I was screaming, why my body was completely caught up in the fear I felt when it stopped and I was awake. And other times, I remember the nightmares. They’re awful and I don’t understand them, but they happen. Regularly.”
Inclining his head once to indicate that he understood, he said, “Screaming doesn’t bother me, Alice.”
Her brows knit together at the odd statement, but she pushed forward without giving it much thought.
“I also sleep walk, which is self-explanatory, except most people don’t really understand what it is like. For me, I go to sleep in one place and wake up in another. Sometimes at a doorway, and other times inside something or underneath it.” She laughed, the sound not quite humor. “I’ve woken up several times in a chest that sat at the foot of my bed. It felt like a coffin when I first opened my eyes and I wondered briefly if my father hadn’t followed through on his threat to bury me alive.”
Rolling his shoulders back, Max released a soft gust of air from his lungs, his eyes closing and opening slowly before locking back to hers. “Your father threatened you?”
She nodded. “That’s an entirely different story.” Peeling her eyes away from the anger she could see clearly in his, she said, “For another time.”
A few tense seconds passed before he said, “Go on. What else happens when you sleep?”
“Well, you can’t wake me during the sleepwalking. I strike out, apparently, and I injured several of my family members before they learned to just guide me gently back to bed. Beyond that, there’s the REM behavior disorder – or whatever it is Dr. Chance called it.” Her eyes met his again. “Basically, I fight a lot. I’ve been known to throw things, break things, punch and kick. Nobody would share a bed with me because of it and the worst that’s happened is that I wake up with bruises sometimes from where I’ve struck a bedside table or the headboard. But, if we are to share a bed, I assume that will be something you’ll have to watch out for.”
His lips twitched on a grin. “If I have to bind you and hold you in place, I will.” Reaching out to brush his fingers along the line of her jaw, he added, “For my own protection, of course.”
“No,” she answered, her head shaking at the distant memories his words had brought about. “My father tried that and all that happened was that I injured myself even worse.”
Max stood deathly quiet above her, his body perfectly still, and she looked up to see a mask of anger where an understanding expression had once been.
“Your father tied you up?”
She nodded. “And locked me in a closet, and other things. He said it was for my own safety, and so that he could get some sleep. But it never fixed anything or made it better. I just screamed louder.”
His hands tightened over the arms of her chair, the wood creaking like it would break into splinters beneath his hold. With a controlled voice, he asked, “Anything else?”
“The sleep paralysis,” she admitted on a frustrated voice. It was difficult to talk about all of her issues and lay them out for another person to see. “I think that is possibly the worst of it. Not for any person witnessing it, in fact, they wouldn’t know it was happening. That’s my own personal problem to suffer in silence.”
Thoughtful silence hovered between them, then, “What is that like? The paralysis?”
A shiver ran across her bones. “It’s awful. I wake up – mentally, at least – but I can’t move. Can’t open my eyes. Can’t do anything but lie there. A loud ringing happens in my head and, sometimes, I can feel myself floating. Images flash through my mind. Awful things like demons or monsters. I used to be so scared, but I got used to it through the years. Those faces don’t scare me anymore. Not like they used to.” Glancing up at him, she explained, “It’s the feeling of being completely helpless. Completely immobile and afraid.”
Seeking out her hands with his own, he pulled her fingers apart from one another to stop the way she’d been wringing them in her lap. Smoothing her palms over with his own, he spoke gently when he said, “I don’t know what it feels like to be helpless, Alice. But I promise you that you’re not alone.”
The urge to ask him what he meant by those words was at the forefront of her thoughts, but a timer buzzed at the very moment the question was on the tip of her tongue.
“Dinner was delicious, Max.”
Dabbing at her lips with a napkin, Alice placed the white cloth on the table and looked around at the setting.
Her eyes brushed over the beautiful, ceramic plates that were far more expensive than Alice had ever seen. They were a simple pattern, light blue against pristine white. The delicate swirls of color around the perimeter reminded her of a set her grandmother owned; understated, yet elegant, they spoke to a generation of people that was long lost to time. Modern society had moved on from the beauty of the past, however everything about Max, his mannerisms, his clothes, his home and the dishes that sat on the table in front of Alice reminded her of a time long ago.
The sophistication hadn’t been lost on her. The fine food and wine, the delicate table cloth and napkins to match. The food had been delectable, and the atmosphere had helped her breathe easier despite the secrets she’d shared just an hour before.
“I should clean up,” Max said, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor as he stood to collect the soiled dishes.
“Let me help you,” Alice answered, standing up from her own chair to collect a few of the plates and carry them back to the kitchen. Nervousness still a shroud that covered her, she stumbled over her own feet, the dishes spilled from her hands before she could catch her balance.
The plates crashed against the ground, food and shards marring the floor at her feet. Lifting a hand to her mouth, she spun to look at Max where he stood frozen at the table.
“I’m so sorry. I hope – “ Her mind raced with the amount of money the plates must have cost. Even worse than that, she wondered if they weren’t also a set passed down within the family that she’d now turned to useless and broken pieces. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
A gust of breath blew across Max’ lips, his eyes flicking between Alice and the plates that now lay useless and broken. “Luckily, I didn’t use the expensive China tonight. I felt bad about serving you on something that wasn’t the best I had, but now I’m not as regretful about it as I had been.”
“Max, please, I’m sorry. Let me –“ Her words spun off her tongue so fast, she had difficulty getting one thought out before another flooded up her throat.
His steps were heavy across the floor as he approached her, one hand balancing several dishes while his other landed on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Alice. They meant very little to me.” He chuckled and planted a light kiss on her cheek. “There's a dustpan and broom in the pantry closet.” Soft laughter still shaking his shoulders, he said, "Come with me, Alice. We need to clean up the mess you've made."
Following him to the closet and back to the dining room where she’d made the mess, she took the broom and dustpan from his hands and bent over to clean the food and shards from the floor.
His voice tender with affection, Max said, “While you manage that, I'll clear what's left of the table. When you're finished, I'll be in the kitchen washing dishes. You should meet me there so you can help."
She nodded her head, unable to speak around the lump of guilt that festered at the base of her throat.
Finishing up, she walked into the kitchen and dumped the mess into the garbage can lined with a white, plastic bag.
Max stood facing the sink, his shoulders moving beneath the black fabric of his shirt, his shoulder length hair a tangled mess where it hung in wild waves. Alice stood and stared at him for several minutes wondering if he knew she loitered behind him watching the way his arms worked back and forth polishing away the remnants of the dinner he’d cooked for their first night together.
Her eyes traced the lines of his shoulders and back, the muscles that lay corded and partially hidden beneath the folds of his shirt. The dark fabric was stretched taut over his shoulder blades before falling to a point where it followed the tight dip towards his hips. Alice found herself intensely attracted to the man that silently washed dishes, and was impressed with the physique that spoke to everything masculine and strong about him.
A kitchen island stood between them with white cabinets and black granite counters. It was a touch of modern against the vintage features of the Queen Anne style house. She wondered when he’d remodeled the place, but knew from the stainless steel appliances that it couldn’t have been that long since he had the expensive appliances installed. Her eyes looked at the litany of gadgets that littered the front of the large refrigerator and wondered why any person would need a coffee maker in the freezer door.
“Are you going to stand there all night? Or were you planning on helping me?”
He turned to wink at her, a grin tilting the corner of his lips.
His chin nodded in the direction of the cleaver that he’d left on the kitchen island while preparing the meal. “Pick that up, would you? It needs to be washed as well.”
When he glanced at her again, a smirk pulling at the corner of his sculpted lips, she reached over to retrieve the cleaver and walked it around the island to stand next to him at the sink. He plucked the heavy utensil from her fingers and sunk it down into the soapy water before handing her a dishtowel to dry the plate he handed her next.
When they’d settled into a routine of washing, rinsing and drying the dishes and cookware, Alice thought she would laugh at the oddity this change in her life represented. From what moment to the next, she’d been living life alone to find herself standing next to a man who would be her husband, doing something as typical and mundane as washing dishes.
“You know, they have these handy machines now called dishwashers that would make this task a lot easier.”
Max glanced at her before pulling another soiled dish from the soapy water. “I prefer to wash them by hand. Dishwashers never get them quite clean enough for my preference.”
He didn’t bother looking at her, his gaze held steady on the task at hand, the dishes that needed to be cleaned and polished to a shine so that they appeased his need for a clean and tidy house. Glancing at the plate in her hand, Alice admired the reflection that stared back at her, the dead eyes of a woman now brought to life by a man who’d swept in to save her from herself.
He turned to her at that moment, his body dangerously close to hers, his hair brushing over his shoulder as he angled his head in question while watching her with lazy and admiring eyes. Scanning her body, his liquid gaze started at her hips, settling on her breasts as they worked their way up until coming to lock with the nervous anticipation behind her eyes. “Thank you for agreeing to live with me, Alice. Thank you for agreeing to be my wife. You have no idea how much all of this means to me.”
He pulled the cleaver from the soapy water, washed it slowly until all traces of the meat he’d used it to cut were absent from the blade and handed it to her to rinse and dry to a perfect polish. The blade was heavy in her hand as she worked the towel over the surface, happiness reflected back at her behind the darker blue color of her gaze.
After finishing the last dish, he watched her as she polished off the beads of hot water and placed it in a rack.
“We’ve both had a busy day. I think it’s time for us to see if we can get some sleep.”
A few seconds before and she would have sworn her nerves couldn’t get worse, but he’d proven her wrong with two sentences.
Her legs became jelly beneath her, sticky sweat reaching out to grasp onto the fabric of her dress and hug it tightly against her skin. “Bed? Am I…are we…”
He studied her with amusement, the height he had over her making her feel like a small child. With a calculated gaze that was as mysterious and beautiful as an iceberg turned so that its belly breached the surface, his eyes were as alive and dangerous as the ocean that harbored those deadly islands of ice that had sunk so many ships.
