Peanut Butter Fingerprints

Chapter Fifteen

Hello, my little lovelies. (:

Happy new chapter day!

Sorry for this chapter is coming to you late! My medicine is sucking at working right now, and I'm trying to juggle a bunch of projects, tests, and schoolwork. I'm absolutely positively pooped out. :P But my want and need to write is stronger than any natural human force. I have heard tales of this magical force called "sleep" but it's probably just a tired author's tale. I mean, an author getting sleep? How preposterous!

Also, I have been informed Wattpad is being tricky. The server just went back up for me after a half an hour of experiencing off and on being logged off, parts of the chapter I just wrote being deleted, and my chapter not saving. I have been informed that it's a widespread problem among all users so I'm sure Wattpad is working diligently to get this issue solved as soon as possible.

If you're ever experiencing any problems with my reading or commenting, or if maybe chapters aren't showing up for you, just let me know what problem you're having in the comments and what update you have. I've learned that sometimes people don't/can't get the new updates and this causes the chapters to not appear for them.

If the app is ever down, remember that you can reach me at wattpad.com by searching Peanut Butter Fingerprints and going from there.

As of now, I believe the issue has been resolved but you never know, glitches and things happen. I hope the issue is fixed for everyone though, because I feel as if though some of you are at the point of exploding right now. (Trust me, as am I.)

PS- I'm so thrilled about The Heir! You'll just have to wait and see if I'm going to follow her story-line or go down my own route. (:

And now, for part 3 of this Maxon POV extravaganza~

Enjoy, my patient little beasties. You deserve it.

~This chapter is dedicated to anyone fighting their own battles. I hope you find the healing and peace you deserve. You're beautiful and loved. Don't ever think differently.~

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AMERICA HAD A THOUSAND QUESTIONS for me when Georgia handed me back the mobile phone. Half of them involved my mental and physical health, and the other half about baby names. She'd just finished asking me if I was getting fed at all, which I'd trailed off into asking her how the food was back home so as to divert her from the truth. She mumbled something about the strawberry tarts not tasting the same, and then circled right back to asking me if I was getting fed. Damn, I couldn't get anything past her.

She promised that as soon as I walked through the doors of the palace, she'd be standing there with a plate of choclate chip cookies and a pair of warm pajamas. The thought made my mouth water. My sweet America holding a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a pair of toasty pajamas? I didn't think there was anything more enticing. But then I remembered that she wouldn't be the same beautiful girl in a white dress who whispered "I do" to me five years ago. She'd be ten times as glorious, as shining, as shimmering. Her eyes would be the most beautiful sapphires and her hair like melting amber. She wouldn't be a polished jewel; she'd be so much more than that.

As America rambled on about recent budget cuts, I tried to piece together a picture of what it'd be like when I arrived home. I imagined snuggling underneath a mess of warm covers with America nestled against my body-tiny giggles slipping through her lips as I left little kisses all over her bare shoulder. Our son or daughter bursting into our room on Christmas morning, a giddy smile on their faces as they leaped onto our bed and jumped on us until we finally gave in to get out of bed. Waking up to the smell of coffee and strawberry tarts in the morning. Her waking up to my kisses, me falling asleep to her sweet voice.