Eloise
We hold each other in the grayness of the living room. Outside the thunderstorm has picked up and I shift to get more comfortable. The earth shakes at least twice a minute, lightning flashes across the room in such quick succession it is like a disco ball is spinning on the ceiling, and the rain pelts the roof with the ferocity of a military shelling. My arms are crossed on Dominic's thigh, my head laid atop, his fingers trailing through my hair. It surprises me how natural it feels to be like this—to act like this. To act like we really are husband and wife.
"I feel like I can trust you," Dominic says suddenly, quietly. "I trust you enough that I don't regret admitting it to you out loud. At least, I don't feel like I should."
"You can trust me," I say honestly, turning to loo
