Love is freefalling into some else's keeping. A surrender of your heart, body and soul.
Trusting in Love is accepting that we can be loved despite our flaws and imperfections.
Strength isn't always the strongest in the room. It takes strength to s...
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** Six Months Later **
Rayne lay in bed. Nathan had insisted she practice one day a week, relaxing, allowing herself to lie in past six— it had been somewhat difficult in the beginning. But slowly with Nathans' encouragement and patience, Saturday was that day.
Twisting her head, she lifted slightly to see the box still sat where she had left it the night before. Reaching, she stroked the smooth wooden surface of the box up before picking it up and bringing it closer. Tilting it, fingers trembling, she opened it to reveal the three-carat solitaire ring.
Her pulse quickened as warmth spread throughout. She hadn't dreamt it. It was still there. Biting her lip, she touched it, almost expecting it to disappear. But it was real. It wasn't a dream. Someone loved her enough to want to marry her, spend the rest of their lives with her and not just someone—Nathan.
No one will ever want you, Rayne. I should have drowned you the day you were born. Get away from me you, bratty disgusting girl.
A shiver passed over her. No mother. You were wrong. I am lovable.
Nathan walked from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and another in his hand, roughly drying his hair. "You're awake." He walked towards the bed, stopping at the foot of the enormous bed. "You know you're supposed to wear it... not just look at it."
"It's so beautiful," she whispered.
Nathan threw his hand towel to the floor and ripped away the towel from his waist. Flinging it towards the other towel now resting in the middle of the room. The bed dipped under his weight. She shut the box lid. A pained look fell across her face. Her eyes darted to his dropped towels, crumpled, taunting her. Placing the box on the side, an increased awareness of her surroundings pounded her thoughts. Wet towels belonged in the laundry basket. Not on the floor! One... two... three... four... five... six.
He was well aware of her compulsions and proclivities and had agreed with the approval of her doctor and part of her therapy to push the boundaries of her comfort. Although accepting she led a regimented and precise existence. He often marvelled, likening it too observing a genius solve a complex algorithm. There was resolve and method behind every one of her compulsions, and never once had it caused him concern. In his eyes, her imperfections were the very reason she was perfect.
And now here they were, six months later, sharing his home in the Hamptons and her compulsions to make everything perfect had become the norm. He couldn't remember what life wasn't like before her. He most certainly didn't want to imagine his life without her.
Snapping back to the present, a distraction was warranted. The biting of her bottom lip told him she was about to bolt from the bed and pick up his dropped towels. But he knew what would divert his beautiful Rayne-drops attention. He lowered his head and bit her toes through the covers.
