Now And Forever By Susane Colasanti Novels & Stories

Chapter 56: Dinner Trap “Pass the pizza, Cassandra?” Brady asked, his bright blue eyes locked on me as he leaned in close at the tiny table. His arm brushed mine again, all casual and friendly, but I felt Alexander’s foot slide higher under my skirt, toes pressing right against my soaked panties.

“I just want you to know that I’ve let you fully in. I’m sorry it’s taken this long. I promise that I’ll work on communicating better and being patient. But I need you to promise to never put someone else above me again.” “Paige Bradshaw, I promise you will always come first. You didn’t even have to ask. I’ll never let someone come in between us again.” I smile. “So, you want to know what I’m thinking?” “Always.” “I’m thinking I love you.” Colin props up on his elbow, his eyes shining like he just won the lottery. “I love you too. I’ve loved you for so long.” He cups my face and plants the seal of forever on my lips. My stomach growls, interrupting our moment. My cheeks flame red as Colin la

"That's probably the saddest part. I wasn't even heartbroken today. I was just humiliated." Daniel said nothing, but he was listening. I could feel it. "I want to feel something real tonight," I said. "Something that's actually mine. Not safe, not responsible, not planned." I looked up at him. "Want to do something crazy?" He turned to face me fully for the first time. "Define crazy." My eyes drifted to the window. Across the street, half-hidden between a cocktail bar and a souvenir shop, a neon sign flickered in pink and gold. Chapel of Love. Open 24 Hours. Weddings While You Wait.

It felt just like five years ago, when Penelope and I had just gotten together and gone on a trip to Redstone Flats. We got lost out there and walked for a full day and night. It was completely silent, not a sound anywhere. Back then, I held Penelope's hand, and she signed that if we died together, it wouldn't be a bad ending for our love. She always told me love should last until death. But now, our love was already dead, and we had finally reached the end. - After I got home, my whole body went limp, and I collapsed onto the bed.

Even though he knew she was not a virgin anymore, he also knew because he made love to her six months ago and because she only had sex that once he knew she will experience it as her first time and that she might feel pain. “I want to be with you forever,” Ann moaned. “Forever,” Paris said as he made love to her, wondering just how long their forever will be, feeling the universe has been against him finding love all his life. After making love, they got dressed and walked on the beach. “We should get back,” Paris said, calculating that if they don’t head back now, he will run out of darkness. “Do we have to? Can’t we watch the sunrise first?” Ann pleaded.

Life. Veronica leaned her head on Ethan’s shoulder. He kissed her temple. “Forever?” “Sworn on every sunrise.” The fog cleared completely. Light poured in. Bright. Unforgiving. Beautiful. They met it together. Hand in hand. The house held them. Full. Warm. Enduring. The tide rolled in below. Went out. Rolled in again. Always. And they burned still. Brighter. Hotter. Forever.

Until dawn crept through the curtains. Until the package arrived. Until tomorrow became today. And the fantasy The forbidden, addictive, all-consuming fantasy Became forever. Fade out on the snow. On two new passports lying open on the dresser. On two gold bands glinting in the wea k morning light. On her moan soft, satisfied as he whispered against her skin: “The fantasy never has to end.”

When we pull apart, she’s smiling through tears. “Again?” she whispers. “Again,” I say. We kiss once more, soft this time. Sweet. Then I kiss Sandra’s tiny head. “Again,” I whisper to her too. The sun finally disappears. The sky turns deep indigo. Stars begin to prick through. We stand there. Arms around each other. Sandra asleep between us. The wind keeps blowing. The waves keep crashing. And for the first time in my life, forever doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like home.

I doubt death changed his methods much. I read it a fourth time anyway, at my desk, with the city going dark orange outside my window and my father's old shipping charts still bolted to the wall behind me because I've never gotten around to taking them down. Thirty days. One marriage. One year, uninterrupted, or the whole empire slides sideways into the cousin's lap. It's the kind of clause a sentimental old man writes when he's dying and wants a story out of his granddaughter's life instead of a balance sheet. It's also, if I'm being honest with myself, the kind of gift I have not been handed in a very long time.

The tiny, folded slip of paper , Ethan Grant’s phone number , had become my personal religion. For fourteen agonizing days, it had lived tucked deep inside the stitching of my uniform apron, a burning coal against my skin. Two weeks. I had survived two weeks of perfect silence, two weeks of scrubbing floors and polishing secrets, pretending the warm pressure of his lips on my cheek had been nothing but a fever dream.