“Love.” He flicked my ear with his tongue.

“You,” he finished, closing his mouth over mine in a passionate kiss that made my eyes roll in their sockets and took my breath away.

He moved on top of me, thrusting his groin into mine, pinning me down, and just like the sculpture, we became one again. He kicked his jeans off, I hoisted my dress, and a few minutes later, he was inside me, and we were perfectly tangled. He drove into me deeply, again and again and again, until I was delirious with pleasure and my heart soared and bloomed. I could feel my love-cells multiplying inside my chest. More. More. More.

This. This was what I wanted and needed. Vaughn Spencer, of all people. In my bed. Protecting me from my favorite monster.

Himself.

Two years later

It is the scent of cotton and lavender that gives her away.

I catch the faint waft of the feminine shampoo I’m so addicted to that I pathetically pack it with me in mini bottles whenever I have to leave her to travel for work. Which, granted, isn’t often. Either we join each other while traveling or we don’t travel at all. It’s still fucked up to think we spent years away from each other while we were young.

I look up from the desk in the studio I share with Len, in the shed of our garden, and stare at the door. Nothing.

You can’t fool me, Good Girl. You never could.

I put down the blue diamond I have in my hand and stand to walk outside. The air is humid and hot around me, even though the sun set hours ago. I check the time on my phone. One in the morning. Fuck. That’s why she checked on me.

Has she seen what I was doing?

Of course she has, jackass. That’s why she tried to slip away unnoticed—not to ruin your surprise.

I walk past our small garden and open the back door to our house. We live in a small villa in Corsica, France. We love that it’s on an island, that it’s within proximity to everything and everywhere we need to visit in Europe, and that our friends can visit us any time, because who the fuck doesn’t want to vacation in the South of France?

Padding barefoot down our dark hallway, I reach our bedroom door and pause. Our bedroom is the most glorious place in the house. Maybe the universe. It overlooks the Mediterranean Sea. Whoever designed this house was smart enough to put in floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the wonder that is sunset in Corsica. I push the door open and walk over to our bed. Len is lying there, curled into herself like a shrimp, pretending to sleep, her eyelids fluttering.

I brush my thumb against her cheek, watching as goosebumps rise on her skin. This is how it all started, I think. A balled-up girl in the dark, begging not to be noticed.

No can do, sweetheart.

I tried so hard to ignore her existence when I saw her again after I gave her that chocolate, because I knew how fucked I’d be if I let her in.

And she burst in anyway, tearing down my walls. I lower myself to her ear and breathe the words tauntingly:

“I know you’re not asleep. Your eyelids are moving.”

Her eyes pop open, and she rolls from her side to her back, staring at me defiantly.

“What if I am?” she whispers, challenging me. “What would you do?”

“That depends.” I sit on the edge of the bed, removing a lock of hair from her face. “How much did you see back there?”

“Enough to expect either a ring or a swift, yet very painful breakup, if you give that piece of jewelry to someone else.”

A simple nothing would have been sufficient. But of course, nothing is simple where my girlfriend is concerned. We’ve spent the last two years setting up a home in Corsica and traveling all around the world, following our inspiration. We spend six months at home, working and selling our art, and six months chasing memories and dreams and views most people only get to see in cheap, pastel paintings at their doctor’s office.

I said I wouldn’t go back to Todos Santos, and I’ve kept my word. We do travel there during the holidays, though. Sometimes Poppy and Edgar tag along. They’re a part of my family now. You know shit’s getting serious when you put up with a girl like Poppy Astalis. It practically feels like Len and I are married, but that’s not enough for me. Every single time I see some random motherfucker checking her out at the airport, in a pub or a club, or even the goddamn fucking supermarket, I get an unexplainable urge to bash his head against the floor until both crack.

Considering this fact, it would be best if I put both the world’s male population and myself out of misery by putting a ring on it, pissing on my territory, and making sure everyone knows Lenora Astalis is off limits.

Because that’s the essence of what I’ve been trying to do for years anyway, isn’t it? Put my mark on her. Make sure people know she is mine.

“A quick and painful breakup is not in your future,” I deadpan, expressionless.

She scoots up, leaning against the headboard and folding her arms. She is smiling now, that smile that disarms me of every negative feeling I have.

“What is it, then?” She raises an eyebrow.

“That depends on your answer,” I shoot back.

“That depends on your effort,” she retorts. “And right now you are cocking it up royally. Why don’t you try when the ring is finished and find out?”

Not a no, then. Plus, she is playing right into my hands, thinking I’m some kind of rookie.

“Wait until the ring is ready?” I repeat.

She nods slowly, watching me. All she saw was the diamond.

“Fine.” I go down on one knee in front of the bed, plucking the little box out of my back pocket.

Len perks up, cupping her mouth. “But I just saw you… I…” She blinks rapidly, but stops saying whatever it is she is saying, because now she’s the one fucking it up.

I put a hand on her knee, using my other hand to open the box. It was a bitch to make this ring. First of all, because I had to chase Edgar’s ass to open up his safe in Switzerland and give me her mother’s original engagement ring. Second, because I added to that ring every single rare diamond I could get my hands on, other than the blue one she just saw. No. That one is going to end up in a necklace the entire family is making for her. An engagement gift.

Things are going to get real awkward real fast if she says no.

“You saw what I wanted you to see. I think I always had this idea that you should be my savior, but naturally, the stubborn ass that I am, I didn’t understand it. Now I do. I want you to save me today, and tomorrow, and in a month, and in a year, and in a decade. Save me. Give me your best and your worst and everything in between. I’ve always watched my dad loving my mom and thought he was stuck in a state of insanity. But he wasn’t. Turns out, love really can be that fucking intense.”

She has tears in her eyes. Happy ones, I hope. Although, there’s really no knowing in my case. I know a lot of people who’d be brought to sad tears at the prospect of spending the rest of their lives with me. Arabella, for instance. Last I heard, she was in rehab, seeking treatment for a mental breakdown.

“Save me,” I whisper, taking Lenora’s hand and waiting for her to give me the okay to slip the ring onto her finger.

“How did you know?” she rasps. “That I’d come out there now. It’s the middle of the night.”