Sarah

I turn over in my semi-sleep and reach for Jonas’ warm body in the hotel bed. But he’s not there. My eyes shoot open. It’s not unusual for Jonas to have insomnia and to get up in the middle of the night. But my radar tells me something is wrong. When we went to sleep earlier tonight, Jonas wasn’t right—I could feel it. Of course, I asked him if he was okay, and he said he was perfectly fine, but I knew my sweet Jonas was working through something. 

I glance at the clock. It’s just past three a.m., local time, here in Athens. We’re here with our three children on the first stop of our trip—a trip we’ve made to celebrate our ten year anniversary. After a couple days in Athens, we’ll head to Mykonos for a week of relaxation. But first, Jonas wanted to show the children some of the ancient ruins and tell them his favorite stories from Greek mythology.

I get up and peek into the bedroom next to ours to find our three children fast asleep. The twins—Sunny and Luna, both age seven—are asleep together in a bed, their foreheads pressed together, their dark hair overlapping and intertwined on the pillows, their arms wrapped around each other. It’s the exact same way they sleep at home. Two hearts beating as one.

I glance at our five-year-old son, Jeremiah, fast asleep on a bed on the other side of the room. His little chest is rising and fall rhythmically. His rosebud mouth is still and slack. Yes, my babies are all safe and blissful, exactly as they should be. But what about my darling husband? Something tells me I won’t find my husband in quite the same blissful state.

I pad out of the kids’ room, past the closed door of our nanny, Rosario, and make my way through our large rented villa to the terrace overlooking the Acropolis. Surely, if Jonas has insomnia, as I suspect he does, then that’s where he went—to the terrace to stare into the night and try to work through whatever’s bothering him.

When I reach the terrace and peek outside, I see the back my husband’s beautiful head. He’s sitting in a chair shirtless. Silently staring out at the ancient city below.

“Hey,” I say softly when I reach him. I place my palms on his bare shoulders. “Insomnia again?”

Jonas turns to look at me. His eyes are pained. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t. What’s bothering you, my love?” I ask gently. 

I pull a chair close to his and sit, my knees against his, my eyes riveted to his gorgeous face. I grab for his hand, and realize he’s clutching something inside a tight fist. He shoves whatever it is into the pocket of his pajama bottoms and takes my hand. Of course, I could ask him what it was. But I know he’ll tell me when the time is right. Because he always does.

He looks out at the view for a long beat. And then at me. “I’m struggling, baby,” he says simply.

During our ten years of marriage, I’ve trained Jonas to say these simple words when more precise ones elude him. When he doesn’t know the why or what of it, just that it is.

“That’s okay,” I say, squeezing his hand. “We’ll work through it.” I stroke his hair and he leans into my touch. “Try,” I coo. It’s my way of telling Jonas to try to articulate his feelings as best he can, even if doing so feels uncomfortable or unnatural to him. 

Jonas bites his lip—his beautiful, perfect lip. “Today’s a really tough day for me.” He takes a deep, pained breath. “Today, the twins are exactly seven years, four months, and two days old. The exact age Josh and I were when . . . she was taken away from us.”

I clutch my chest. Of course, my husband doesn’t need to tell me the “she” he’s referring to is his mother. “Oh, Jonas.” 

“Josh and I woke up on this very day in our own lives, as happy and blissful and carefree as our own twins will wake up later this morning. And yet, it turned out to be the last day we’d see her alive.”

My heart is clanging fiercely. “Oh, Jonas,” I whisper.

He squeezes my hand and drops his head, clearly stuffing down emotion. “I’m tortured, Sarah. Plagued by fears of something happening to you. Wrecked by thoughts of our kids waking up happy one morning and then finding out they’re going to be living the rest of their lives without you. I’m scared of losing you for myself. I’m just . . . today is a huge day for me. And I’m just . . . struggling.”

I rise off my chair and straddle my husband’s lap. I take his face in my hands and kiss him. I don’t bother speaking. Because there aren’t any words of reassurance I can give him. In ten years of marriage to Jonas Faraday, if I’ve learned anything, it’s never, ever to lie to him, even if my lie is meant to be kind. Obviously, I can’t tell him, “Don’t worry, love, I’m not going anywhere,” for instance. Or, “I promise nothing bad will happen to me.” I’ve learned the hard way uttering platitudes like those—words that imply control in an uncontrollable situation—only serve to infuriate or trigger him. All I can do—the only thing I ever do—is love him and touch him and kiss him and hug him and remind him I’m here now. That worrying about what might happen is a waste of the gift of today. That’s all I can do. 

From my perch on his lap, I kiss Jonas passionately and he clutches me fiercely. 

“I love you, Jonas Faraday,” I whisper into his lips. But that’s all I’ve got. And it simply has to be enough.

Jonas pulls away from me and puts his forehead against mine. “I got you something when you were bathing the kids,” he says. “I went out to La Plaka for a bit. I was going to give it to you tomorrow for our actual anniversary, but I need to give it to you right now. I need you to be wearing it when the kids wake up.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out—the thing he was holding in his palm earlier—and holds it out to me.

I peer into his palm to find a gold necklace with a large pendent of a gold and silver coin attached to it.

“It’s beautiful.”

“That’s Soteria on the coin,” he says. “The Greek goddess of protection. Specifically, safety, salvation, and preservation from harm. Wear it for me. For the kids. I know it’s superstition. But it’ll make me feel better.” His blue eyes darken. “Sarah, I can’t stand the thought—”

“Jonas.” I put my finger on his lips. “I love it. I’ll wear it. Put it on me now.” My eyes trained on his, I peel off my tank top in the warm night air, exposing my bare breasts to him, their nipples peaked, and I’m instantly rewarded with the sensation of my husband’s erection jutting beneath me. Wordlessly, our eyes locked and our chests heaving with sudden arousal, I move my hair to the side, hand him the necklace, and smile. 

He slides the necklace around my neck and clasps it. And when the necklace is firmly clasped around my neck, he bends down and takes one of my hard nipples into his mouth. I run my fingers through his hair as he sucks on me, cooing to him that I love him. That I’ll always love him. That I’ll love him forever, beyond this earthly life. That today is all we’ve got, because that’s the way God has designed it for us. When Jonas’ lips leave my breast and find my mouth, his kiss is passionate. Clearly, he’s holding onto me for dear life. Kissing me like it’s the last time. But he’s here with me now, not drifting in the ethers of the past. And that’s definitely progress.

I clutch him and return his kiss with everything that I am and he devours me in me return. I grind my crotch into his massive erection beneath me and he strokes my bare back and collar bone. Soon, I’m gasping for air, gripping his hair as I kiss him, grinding my soft breasts into his bare, hard chest. And on the verge of climax.

“Sarah,” Jonas whispers into my lips. But he’s not merely saying my name. He’s saying a sacred prayer. 

Panting, I get off my husband and we both quickly remove our pajama bottoms. I lock the sliding door to the terrace, pull down a shade, and return to Jonas. He’s in the chair again, naked, his erection straining and his eyes burning. I straddle him and sink down onto his cock, taking him inside me all the freaking way . . . and we both sigh and moan at the delicious sensation as I begin to ride him.

As our pleasure escalates, I slide my arms around Jonas’ neck and press my forehead against his. He places one hand on my breast and the other against my back, guiding my movement, and, soon, we’re lost in each other. In the deliciousness of our bodies fusing the way only ours ever could. He kisses me. Devours me. And I moan into his mouth. And then his hand on my breast trails down between my legs and his fingers find my clit and I’m gone. Absolutely enslaved by the pleasure he’s giving me.

“You’re my everything,” he grits out.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” I whisper back. “And I’ll never leave you, Jonas. I’ll always be here for you. I’ll never leave, no matter what. No matter what.”

I could never say these words if he weren’t inside me. But when Jonas and I are making love, I can say things to him he won’t otherwise tolerate. t’s our unspoken rule, I suppose. In the heat of passion, I’m allowed to promise things I can’t truly promise. Indeed, when Jonas is inside me and my body is milking his, I’m allowed to promise him my own immortality. 

Jonas makes a sound of complete surrender underneath me—a sound of such angst, my heart rips open as my body explodes into an orgasm.

“I love you,” Jonas chokes out as he comes inside me.

I grip his hair as I come down from my climax. “I love you so much,” I whisper back. 

When our bodies are quiet, he touches the ancient coin around my neck and sighs. But he doesn’t speak.

“I’m here now, my love,” I remind him. “Love me now and as long as I’m here and I’ll do the same. And that’s all we can do.”

He opens his mouth and closes it. And then he nods.

I kiss him gently. “Thank you for the anniversary gift.”

He nods again. “Thank you for the anniversary gift.” He pinches my ass and chuckles.

“My ass isn’t your anniversary gift. That’s your everyday gift. I have an actual anniversary gift for you. You’re not the only one who sneaked out and went shopping.”

His eyebrows ride up.

“I was going to give it to you tomorrow,” I say, sliding off him. “Hang on.” I throw on my pajamas and creep back into the villa. In our room, I rummage around in a duffel bag, grab Jonas’ anniversary present, peek at the kids again—they’re fast asleep—and then tiptoe back out to the terrace with the present behind my back. Finally, I stand before my husband, my hand behind my back. “Happy ten-year anniversary, hunky monkey husband,” I whisper. And then I pull the present out from behind my back and hold it in front of him. 

Jonas’ jaw drops. 

He looks up at me, as if to say, “Are you serious?”

I nod. Tears well in my eyes. Jeremiah was our miracle baby. I wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant again after the twins. And, now, it’s happened again.

Jonas takes the positive pregnancy test from me. His eyes are glistening. “I . . . Oh my God, Sarah. Are you sure?”

I nod as tears roll down my cheeks. “I’m probably ten weeks,” I whisper. I wipe my cheeks. “You can look at this as one more person for you to worry about. Or one more person to love.”

“They’re one and the same thing,” he says. He pulls me to him, lifts my tank, and kisses my belly. “Welcome to the family, baby Faraday.” He looks up at me, a huge, beaming smile on his face. “Thank you.”

I laugh. “Well, we kinda made it together.”

“No, Sarah,” he swallows hard. “I mean thank you for giving me this life. Our life. The life of my dreams.”