This is the first time I didn't wake in his arms.

We didn't make love as the sun came up.

He didn't tell me I'm his forever, and I didn't tell him he's mine.

And I fucking hate it.

Threading my fingers through his salt and pepper hair, I remember when he told me he wanted to let it grow out a little. Now it's slightly longer than most men's, but not long enough for a man bun. I draw the line at sharing hair ties.

"When did I come inside?" I ask, my voice still full of sleep. I want to get up to get a drink of water, but I can barely bring myself to move. I'm too tired and I think I'm a little depressed from last night.

"You didn't. I carried you in," James says. "You fell asleep out there."

"Oh." I frown.

James wraps an arm around my waist and hugs me the same way he does pillows. He turns his head to look at me and lays it back on my stomach. My body tenses, unsure what I'm going to see.

Our eyes meet, and regret and sadness spills from both of us.

"My mind is a little hazy. I don't remember being carried in."

"How's your head? Do you have a hangover?"

I think about it for a second.

Bringing my hand to his jaw, I run the back of my knuckles down his beard and then over the golden curve of his shoulder until my nails are gently scratching his back.

"My head is fine," I say. "The benefit of good alcohol—no hangover."

He doesn't smile. Instead, he laces his fingers with mine and scoots our joined hands to my side. There's a quiet reserve floating around him this morning. I know James well enough to know how he feels, and right now he feels alone and like he's settling again. I know this because I'm just like him. We bleed the same emotions, the same feelings, the same humor, the same sexual desires. We're each other's other half. What one feels, the other does too. And what he’s feeling fucking kills me.

He's waiting. Being patient. Watching me. The morning sunrise casts a gorgeous radiance across his eyes creating the palest blue. They flicker with clarity. With the hope I had a change of heart.

But he knows I didn't. He's too perceptive for that.

"What's the reason, Aubrey?"

I swallow thickly from the sound of pure dejection in James's voice. He sounds like he didn't sleep.

"I already told you."

He levels an unfiltered stare at me. James is not going to stop until he gets the answer I'm keeping from him.

"The real reason, sweetheart. And not the bullshit excuse that you think a fucking piece of paper is going to ruin what we have. I deserve better than that."

The rawness in his words cut deep, but it's warranted. Our connection runs deeper to fathom than coming up with something so frivolous. A reason like mine is a joke to him, and probably to most as well. It would've been a joke to me too, but who knew this is what love would feel like? Once this imaginary love line is crossed, there's no turning back. The further you get, the deeper you're pulled in. We flew past that by our second date as James and Valentina. Even when we weren't together, there was no denying the force being pushed at in our hearts.