Page 59 of The Games We Play (Balance of Power #3)

SEAMUS

I say goodbye to Mimi’s mother, then press the end call button, tossing my phone onto the counter where my brushes and palettes are.

I’ve just finished the painting I’ve been working on for months, the one I started the day after I moved next door to Mimi.

It was the first time I looked out the back window and saw her in barely there underwear. She moved fearlessly through each pose, and I watched the lines of her body twitch and stretch as she paused, holding each position with a grace only she has.

At the end of that session, she removed her bra and sat in what I now know to be lotus pose, an overly-pretzeled way to sit with your legs crisscrossed. She pressed her hands to the center of her chest, as if she were praying, with her eyes closed and her lips parting between breaths.

Her forearms pressed gently against her breasts, covering her nipples, but showing the roundness of her full breasts that peeks underneath.

The way her hair fell over her shoulders as she tipped her chin down, how her skin glowed against the sunlight that hit perfectly with the sunrise.

It was majestic, and I couldn’t stop my hands from moving over my canvas, attempting to capture every single detail possible. I stayed up all night finishing the base of the image, but have worked endless hours perfecting every detail. And now, I’m ready to share it with her.

In fact, I can’t wait, but she forces me to because she’s late to everything .

I only spoke to her mother on the phone for a few minutes, so I suppose she is still making her way over here. However, I’ve learned when she says, I’m on my way, I know I have about twenty minutes to burn.

So, my shock doesn’t hide itself when seconds later, she appears at the top of the stairs of my loft for the first time, her eyes wide with wonder.

She’s my inspiration. My muse. She’s been the driving factor since the moment I met her, even when we were apart she was there.

This room proves that.

Because now that she’s back in my life, I haven’t been able to stop painting.

Her eyes bounce between the portraits that surround the room and all of them are her, us, or a moment that we experienced together.

I watch her eyes as they explore the room, her lips parted in awe. Her feet gravitate toward one of the paintings on the opposite end of the room, the abstract image is of a man and a woman, us of course, kissing in the rain.

The canvas next to it is nothing but the night sky over a glistening lake, surrounded by trees with Orion shining brightly in the center. The two of us lay on a blanket near the shore of the lake, gazing into the stars.

“Seamus…” Her fingers are cupped softly over her mouth, he r words are barely a whisper.

“That one was the first canvas I ever painted,” I admit, a shy undertone even I don’t recognize.

I’ve never shown anyone my paintings, except Hudson and Dane the day they came over and gave me so much shit—I haven’t invited them over since.

Who I am kidding, I never invited them over in the first place. But Dane has literally no limits or boundaries, and there was no stopping either one of them once they started inspecting every single thing in my loft.

This uneasy feeling is foreign to me. I hate feeling so vulnerable, but with Mimi, it’s different.

I want to share everything with her. Give her everything.

Which is why the ring I bought a month ago feels like a fucking anvil in my pocket.

She steps to the side and I match her movement, stepping around the table that holds my latest painting. The one I need her to come see.

She moves around the room effortlessly as she observes all the images on the canvas.

It’s all the colors and different ways I see her.

“Seamus, these are beautiful.” She’s glancing around the room as she passes by me, completely absorbed before she turns, stops, and stares at the one sitting on the easel, still drying.

I should have waited, but I couldn’t.

Stepping behind her, I watch as she takes in the figures on the canvas.

A man, kneeling on one knee behind a woman, surrounded by paintings. And it’s exactly as I planned.

She gasps, realizing what it represents. She turns around, seeing me with one knee planted and my fingers wrapped around a little, black velvet box.

I swallow thickly, the foreign feeling of vulnerability races up my spine because I want nothing more than for her to be mine for the rest of my life. I bought the ring the first chance I got after coming back home from Texas, because the thought of losing her again is my biggest fear.

I know it’s only been a few months since the night at Afterburn, but it’s been over a decade that I’ve known she’s the one.

“There’s only one thing I’m scared of in this world.

It’s living a life without you in it. It’s the nightmare of the last ten years, knowing you were out there, but completely unattainable.

You give me so much purpose and meaning that I probably don’t deserve, but I’ll spend a lifetime proving it, because I’ll never stop loving you. ”

My throat bobs as I swallow down my nerves, opening the little black box. “Will you marry me?”

Her breath hitches as the tear that was threatening to fall drops down her cheek, hiding behind her hands that now cover her mouth.

The pink diamond is bright, rare, and represents everything she is perfectly. The tip of the pear shaped diamond shines with the slight tremble of my fingers, and it feels like an hour has gone by without an answer.

“Yes.” A muffled squeal echoes behind her hands. Her head nods up and down and her eyes are beaming with happiness.

I stand, relieved, and so goddamn happy.

I pick her up and twirl her around with an unrelenting smile.

Her hands cup my face and she presses her lips to mine.

Fuck, she tastes like sugar and vanilla with the scent of lavender that whips around us as I place her down on the table covered with my paints, not giving a shit about the mess.

Her mouth drops open as she leans into one ass cheek, inspecting her jeans.

She reaches behind her, worry laces her expression and she pats her back pockets and sighs in relief.

“What is it?” I ask, as I roam my hands behind her, running my hand over the spots where I know she’s ticklish .

“Don’t!” She giggles, attempting to pull my hands away, and I realize she is actually hiding something.

“Wait…you are hiding something.” My face squints with concern, as I try to look around the back of her.

“Don’t.” She jumps off the table and shimmies around me, not turning back to me.

“Roshambo for it?” I hold my hand out in my palm. A close lipped smile dresses my face because I know she can’t turn this down.

She turns on her heel, her head held high, palm in hand.

“But, I always choose paper,” she says, her snarky tone on full blast.

“You won’t this time,” I reply, still smiling.

But, she will.

One. Two. Three, beating our fists into our palms.

Annnnnnnd, my scissors cut her paper.

She drops her hands in annoyed defeat as I reach around, dipping my hand into her pocket, expecting to grab out a piece of paper or something small. But it’s a hard, plastic stick of some sort.

My eyes bore into hers and there’s nothing but silence crackling in the air between us.

Pinching my eyebrows together, as her chest rises and falls slowly, as if she’s trying to control her breath, and she looks worried.

A look I haven’t seen from her since we came home from Texas.

Uncertainty, concern, panic.

I wrap my hands around the small plastic tube. It weighs nothing, but the tension of the unknown is heavy.

Keeping my eyes on hers, I move my hand around her body and hold it between us.

Her heart beats rapidly behind her pulse point, raising mine.

Without moving my neck, my eyes dip down and roam over the pregnancy test, displaying two distinct, blaring pink lines. A relieved huff expels from my lungs and another fucking smile I can’t hide beams over my face.

“You’re pregnant?” I ask. She rakes her two front teeth over her bottom lip and nods.

I grip the pregnancy test like I need to superglue it to my hand. Cupping my hands around her face, I pull her into me, kissing her lips, jaw, nose, and forehead before wrapping my arms around her and picking her up again.

Her legs wrap around me and I walk downstairs with her, still kissing her anywhere I can.

“Where are we going?” she giggles.

“To our bed, where you’ll be on bed rest until you give birth. The only time you’ll leave is when we go get married, which will be tomorrow after I make a few phone calls.”

“Seamus!” she belts out, hitting my shoulder, like that’s actually going to do anything.

“I don’t need bed rest and we can’t get married tomorrow.”

The hell we can’t.

Turning the corner into the room, I place her down on the bed.

Her gorgeous body sprawls out over the top of the covers.

Paint streaks the fabric, as she presses into her hands and feet pushing herself toward the headboard.

The stained covers bunch, and it’s the first time that I don’t care that we’re making a mess of it.

In fact, I don’t care if this entire house is drenched with Barbie dolls and Legos, I just want her and however many children she wants to have.

“How long have you known?” I ask, tapping the pregnancy test in the air.

There’s a look of defiance in her hooded eyes. “Not long.”

“How long?” I ask, more demanding this time. She knows I hate being left in the dark. She should have told me the moment she had to take a test .

She rolls her eyes. “Three days.”

My eyebrows breach my forehead. “Three days? You’ve been holding this back for three days?”

I walk around the bed. Her eyes follow my movement as I place the positive test on the nightstand next to the bed, and open up the drawer.

“That’s an orgasm for every day, sunshine.” I pull out one of her vibrators.

“How did those get in here?” she asks, knowing all her toys are in her nightstand at her house.