Chapter 90: Whispered insecurities
I awoke at early dawn when the room was still shrouded in silver twilight to listen for the rasp of Caspian's breathing, to the rising and falling of his chest with the beat of his heart as he slept. His sleep tended to be as flat as his regulation awake, but something was wrong tonight. I lay there motionless and quiet, observing the rise and fall of his chest in the dark, until at last I slipped back out of bed and barefooted across the marble floor to the window.
Outside, the streetlights had melted into ribbons of amber and gold. A crescent moon silver bow glowed in the heavens. There, in that quietness I could have almost believed we had left all our troubles far behind, but Caspian's tossing shadows told a different story.
I crept back to bed and settled next to him. His eyes sprang open as soon as my hand wrapped around his arm. "Lily?" He voice filled with concern.
I smiled reassuringly, although I was not even remotely at ease. "I couldn't sleep." I shoved the lock of hair behind my ear. "You okay?"
He swallowed, rubbing his jaw through the whiskers. "Just… thinking." His dark eyes swept over mine, intense and unfocused.
I nodded into the cold blankets. "Me too."
He rolled over on top of me, holding me with him but rigid with tension, the way he looked at the ceiling as if waiting for some kind of reply from it. I drifted back to sleep to the sound of his restless sighs.
Early morning sunlight in the kitchen caught me stirring coffee with care. Caspian materialized a second later, his usual crisp suit replaced by a fitted shirt and pants, just clean but less shiny. He set his cup beside mine but didn't drink.
I looked up, catching his gaze across the island. "You're quiet today," I whispered, my voice low.
He gulped, eyes averted. "Couldn't sleep."
"Me neither." I flashed him a wry smile and pushed the mug across to him. "Want to talk about it?" I whispered.
He wrapped both hands around the mug like it would support him. "It's… nothing I can’t handle."
I took a breath, then stepped forward. "It's early. Let's steal a minute before the day begins." I took him to the small breakfast room, where sunlight streamed in, warming the marble table. "Tell me what's on your mind."
Caspian stared into his coffee, rim of cup repeating the lines of his weary eyes. Finally, he spoke, words tumbling out low and gruff. "Nathaniel said he'd die first than lose you." He raised his head, agony etched in every crease on his face. "I keep hearing it. I keep seeing it in my head—even though I know it was nothing."
I reached out, placing my hand around his. His was chilled, and I tightened my grip. "Those were his words, Cass. He's desperate." I drew nearer, my eyes locking with his. "He's not you."
His unyielding, naked eyes cut into mine. "I know that," he whispered. "But it planted something. What if I'm not enough? What if love—my love—can't make you happy?
My chest constricted at hearing the fear in his voice. "Caspian," I said to him, my voice calm. I moved to him, my hand lifting his face. "You've never made me doubt." My thumb followed the line of his cheek. "You are with me every day. That’s enough for me."
His eyes wandered to my lips and then back to my face. I could see war being fought in him between insecurity and loyalty—loyalty against insecurity. I leaned forward and kissed him gently on the forehead. "I love you. Not because you're perfect, but because you're you."
He shut his eyes to the stinging warmth of tears. His voice was firmer when he spoke again. "Sorry I didn't believe that."
I kissed him—slowly, cautiously, every slide of my lips a promise. His arms around me held hard until the pounding of his heart was that same beat as mine in a crazy thrashing that drove the rest of my own fear away.
He placed my coffee on the side table and leaned in, elbows on knees. His cold eyes clashed with mine as if all the things unsaid suspended in his eyes.
"I just. don't want to feel like I can lose you," he admitted, his voice harsh.
My chest ached. "You won't lose me, Caspian," I told him. "Not to fears, not to our past insecurities."
He closed his eyes, slowly exhaling and opening them again. "I want you to remind me of that when I can't."
I did, brushing a strand of his hair back from his ear. "I will," I said to him, even voice. "And you'll remind me too, when I do, that I'm special." And he smiled then, one little little bend of the lips that my heart took several wondering thuds in its chest. I stood up, holding him, folding my arms around his neck. He wrapped me, forehead to forehead, breath mingling.
"Insecurities are human," I said, whispered. "We'll ride it out together."
His hand closed around my waist, holding me fast. "Together," he repeated.
By the middle of the afternoon we'd carried it out onto the terrace, where lemon trees and jasmine vines were weighed down with scent. We sat side by side, toes hanging over the balustrade, and looked out over the city stretching before us.
We discussed the new gallery exhibition, the recipe book of dishes that I had been wanting to taste, Sunday walks. Even during pleasure, I caught a glimpse of how Caspian gazed at me, yearning.
When the moment felt appropriate, I rested against his shoulder, my palm along the edge of his jaw. "Thank you for being open," I breathed. "We become stronger.".
He turned to me, his chained black eyes. "I don't want your secrets," he said. "Not yours, not mine."
I kissed him softly and he kissed me back—slowly, respectfully, as if slicing my lips into memory. When he pulled away, his eyes stayed on mine long enough for me to sense it in my bones.
The evening meal was simple: vegetables roasted, the fish grilled, the salad tossed with the herbs in our garden. Music swirled in the background—a classical quartet capering around the fire.
Caspian and I sat across from each other, plates nearly full, talking about the day. Hands would graze across the table to one another, a shiver down my spine. Each glance was charged, tense, a warning of proximity.
He stood up to get up after dinner and went to stand next to me. "Dance with me?" he invited, a playful grin in his voice.
I laughed. "Only if you promise not to doubt us tonight."
He smiled, hugging me firmly into his body as we swayed to the music. We moved as one—mine embraced by the heat of his chest, his face along mine. I looked up at him, our dark eyes locking in the dance of the candle flame.
Later that night, we sat on the balcony, the night wind being gentle and cold. There were stars in the sky. We embraced each other, gazing out towards the rooftops.
Caspian's fingers wandered lazy patterns over my back. "Thank you," he panted, his voice thick with emotion. "For not leaving me even when I fail."
I raised my head to gaze into his eyes. "I'm here," I whispered. "I love you—even when it's hard."
He kissed me then—slow and respectful—before he leaned back to rest his forehead on mine. "Mine to lose," he whispered.
I smiled, all of it in my heart. "Yours to keep," I told him.