Hate Me

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 9TH

Are you afraid?

2pm

After the dance competition is over, I grab a cab to the screen test.

Once inside, I quickly recognize Knox Daniel. Not because I know him, but because I loved the sweet roles he played in some of my favorite teen movies. I’ll even admit to having a teensy crush on him back then. From what I’ve seen in Annie’s tabloids, he’s recently single after a lengthy-for-him two-month relationship with a pop star.

He used to play the good guy. The pretty boy. Now, his hair is a little darker and it's way sexy on him.

The casting of him in this role is great. He’s the hot bad guy. The guy who you wouldn’t mind kidnapping you.

I close my eyes.

I can’t believe I just thought that.

I’ve been going back and forth about how this character should be. Based on the lines I memorized, I know they want her to be weak, crying, and wrecked about being kidnapped, but with a little bit of my-dad-will-make-you-pay spunkiness.

And if I’d tried out for the part when Tommy wanted me to last spring, I would have acted just that way.

But not any more.

Knox struts up to me and gives me a once-over. “Who are you?”

“I’m Keatyn. Nice to meet you,” I say with a big smile, wanting to make a good first impression.

He scowls at me. “Why did they make me come in for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought they were bringing in someone famous. You look sorta familiar, though. What have you been in?”

“This is actually my first screen test. First audition, really. I mean, unless you count my school play.”

“What the hell? Whose dick did you suck?”

I narrow my eyes at him, totally ready to blast this idiot when I hear a loud female voice.

“All right, let's get started.”

He turns to me. “Don't screw up—actually, do screw up so I can get the hell out of here.”

Other than the girl who brought me in here, no one’s really said anything to me.

And I’m disappointed that neither Tommy or Matt are here.

Oh well.

They can see it on tape later, I guess.

I walk out onto the well-lit set. There are people behind the cameras but the off-set area is dark, so I can’t make anyone out.

And if I look too hard at the lights I’ll end up seeing spots.

I get tied to a chair in what’s supposed to be the middle of an old warehouse. As Knox takes his position, a guy says, “Test one. We’re rolling.”

Knox struts toward me and allows me to drink from a glass of water he’s holding.

I drink it greedily, as if I haven’t gotten any in a while.

“What happened to your arm?” I ask him, leaning my cheek toward it, since my hands are tied.

Right now it’s a perfectly muscled arm, but it will have a large scar of some kind on it during the actual filming.

He leans down in front of me. “This is the reason why you’re here.”

“You kidnapped me because of a scar?”

“It’s more than just this. There are some on my chest too. I wouldn’t look like this if it weren’t for your dad.” At this point the viewers will be thinking, I don’t care at all about some little scar because Knox is smoking hot.

“What did my dad do?”

“I work for Reginald Ramsey,” he says proudly. “When your dad took out one of his factories, I happened to be in it. Barely escaped alive. So you should be nice to me because this isn’t just a job. It’s retribution.”

“Will you please untie me?”

Knox whispers to me, “Wrong line.”

“You should untie me,” I say, deviating from the script again. “Or are you afraid to?”

“I’m not afraid of some girl.”

“Then untie me. My wrists are sore.”

“Aren't you supposed to beg?” he says, referring to what my lines are supposed to be.

“I’d never beg for anything.”

He gets close to my face—either because he's mad at me or because he’s improvising.

“Just wait,” he says with a bad guy sneer. “As soon as I kill your father, you and I are gonna have some fun.” He runs his hand across my collarbone, suggesting exactly what kind of fun we’ll have.

“Did it hurt?”

He flinches, pulling away from me. “It did, yes.”

“Why were you working for a guy like Ramsey?”

“My younger brother, he got in with a bad group. Starting dealing and using,” he says sadly, staring into space.

It makes me want to hug him. He’s a good actor.

He continues. “I got involved so he could get out.”

“So this isn’t the kind of life you wanted?”

He shakes his head, and the bad boy is back. “It doesn’t matter. When this is over, I’ll be rich and powerful.”

I shake my head right back at him. “No, You're nothing more than a pawn. A babysitter.”

“Bullshit. When we take over the country, I get New York. When anarchy reigns, I will be a king.” He gets in my face. “Ramsey told me not to hurt you, but he didn't say I couldn't scuff you up a little. Maybe we’ll have some of that fun now.” He kisses my neck obscenely.

This is where the scene is supposed to stop. To make the audience think that if Tommy doesn’t find me soon, I’ll get raped.

But fuck that. Tommy Stevens’ movie daughter wouldn't allow herself to be the victim.

“So, you really don't want to make the world a better place? Face it. All you are is Ramsey’s little bitch.”

He keeps going too, improvising his lines. “Bullshit.”

“Fight me then.”

“What?” he asks, his face screwed up.

“Untie me, and if you can pin me, then I’ll go for whatever kinda fun you want, willingly.”

He shrugs, unties me, then says, “Interesting. Let's see what you've got.”

I stand up and massage my wrists for a second, while he takes off his shirt.

I touch his muscular chest. “It’s really too bad you wanna play bad guy because of a few scars. I mean, they’re kinda sexy. Besides, if they really bother you, find a good plastic surgeon. Don’t destroy the world.”

“I thought you wanted to fight me?”

I take a step back then throw a jab to his face, careful not to connect.

This surprises him, so he takes a defensive stance. “Interesting,” he says again, studying me carefully. Then he goes all cocky. “So, you like what you see?” He points to his real chest and, somehow, even though he’s staying in character, I’m pretty sure he’s talking to me.

He throws a punch back at me, which I easily block with my forearm, returning a quick jab to the chest.

“You hit like a girl.”

“I am a girl,” I say, stripping off my own shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Just evening the playing field.”

“Sorry, I’m not twelve. You can’t distract me with a pair of boobs.”

I throw another punch at him, this one landing on his shoulder harder than I meant it to. “Last chance. Turn good guy and let me go.”

“No,” he says, throwing a kick at me, which I block with my forearm. Then I punch him in the stomach.

Which I’m pretty sure pisses him off a little. He flings himself at me, pulling me into a tight hold.

“It’s gonna suck when you die at the end,” I say, totally myself now.

“You’ll save me.”

“I’m going to change the end of the movie. Let you get shot in the knee. Then, when you’re writhing in pain, I’ll knock you off that cliff myself.”

“But I’ll grab you and both of us will roll down the hill. You’ll land conveniently on top of me. Then you’ll kiss me,” he says with a grin, moving his lips closer to my face.

“No. You’ll kiss me.”

“That’s what this is all about.” Knox is talking to the whole room. “She doesn’t even have the part and she’s already demanding a rewrite. You know, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask.”

“The last thing I’d want to do is kiss you.”

“Cut,” a voice says.

Knox says to the guy who seems to be in charge, “Where'd you find this girl?”

“We all know where he found you. Under a rock,” I quip.

“Everyone knows I was a model well before I started acting. And what’s your name? Besides one that no one knows?”

“It’s Keatyn.”

“Well, Keatyn, you need to learn a thing or two about this business. You don't stray from the script like that, especially at a screen test. You're lucky I'm such a professional and went with it.”

“The screen test was just to see if we have chemistry. Which, clearly, we don't. Which means they'll probably kill you off even earlier. Heck, maybe they'll let me kill you off.”

“You just wanted to kiss me.”

“If they make me kiss you in the movie, I'm requesting a stunt double.”

“You know I'm a movie star, right?”

“How could I forget? Your picture is splashed on every magazine. You with a different girl. Your mother must be so proud. You should take a tip from Tommy Stevens. You know what happened to him after he met Abby?” I make a rocket with my finger. “‘From the atmosphere to the stratosphere,’ he always says. And what’s with you playing the bad guy lately, anyway?”

“Just trying to break the mold.”

“You want the big romance action stuff, you need a leading lady.”

“Let me guess. You want to volunteer? No one knows you, sweetheart. You just want me to help you get famous.”

“I hope you got all that,” I hear a familiar voice say. I turn around, but can’t see him in the lights.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now,” Knox whispers to me. “That’s the director. Hope you enjoyed your two seconds of fame.”

“At least I’m not going to die in the movie,” I tell him. Then I turn around and scream, “Uncle Matty!”

I hear Knox say to the casting director, “Uncle Matty? Just who the fuck is she?”

“This, my boy,” Matt says, putting an arm around each of us, “Is the girl who not only just saved your character’s life, but is also going to make you a very rich man.”

Matt turns us back toward the lights, which have dimmed, and addresses his crew. “Meeting in ten minutes. And someone order in dinner. We’re going to be here all night doing re-writes.”

Then he leans toward me and says, “Go check on Tommy back there. He said he needed a minute.”

I walk in the direction Matt pointed, suddenly worried.

Did I embarrass Tommy by going off-script?

This is why I never wanted to audition before.

But Matt didn’t seem mad. He’s even changing the script.

Writing the daughter out of it and giving Knox a bigger role, most likely.

I walk off the set defeatedly and find Tommy sitting in a director’s chair with his head down.

“Tommy, I’m sorry I went off-script. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

His head pops up and his eyes are shiny. “Embarrass me?” He stands up and pulls me into a hug. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of you.”

I’m not ready for that.

5pm

“Hey.” I let myself into my loft and find Aiden in the kitchen putting away groceries. “I sort of lied to you,” I say abruptly, standing in front of him.

“About what?”

“Remember when I told you that I didn’t want to act?”

He squints, remembering, I think. “Uh huh.”

“Until I did the play, I was really afraid I wouldn’t be good enough. And that thing Annie told me about . . .”

“The nationwide search?”

“Yeah. It was for a lead role. I’m not ready for that.”

“Trying to be like Abby Johnston would be a lot of pressure for your first role.”

“Exactly. So, today, I didn’t really have a hair appointment. I had a screen test. It’s for a really small part.” I’m practically bursting with excitement. “I did good.”

“Of course you did.”

“Aiden, just because I did well in a little play, doesn't mean I have what it takes.”

He shrugs. “Whatever. I know what I saw.”

I smirk at him. “And the fact that you maybe had a little crush on me didn't affect your opinion?”

“You're wrong. It was a big crush.”

“Oh . . .” I say as his lips crash into mine, giving me such a hot kiss that it makes me want to tell him a secret every day.

Even after weeks of kissing him, I still feel that same crazy flutter in my stomach the second our lips meet. I still feel the god-like power of his lips. I still feel like I should be showered in glitter as a fairy godmother grants me my wish.

But this kiss could not go in a fairy tale. It’s way too deep.

Way too passionate.

Like, I’m pretty sure my thong just caught fire.

When his lips trail down my neck, I say, “I think I need to celebrate.”

He kisses just under my earlobe and whispers sexily, “I think what you need is a good screwing.”

Ohmigawd!

I do.

I so do.

And what a way to celebrate!

He takes my hand and places it on his zipper. “This is for you. What do you feel?”

“Hardness,” I practically whimper.

“Maybe you should unzip my pants. Get a better feel.”

Jeez, this is sudden. I mean, I want to do it, but my hair’s probably a mess from the wind and drizzle outside. And I'm not wearing the new bra and panties I’d hoped to seduce him in.

Stop scripting, Keatyn.

He wants to screw.

You want to screw.

Sorta.

Except, I don’t. I don’t want just that.

I want him to tell me he loves me.

But what the hell?

I give him a sexy grin, slide my hand down into his pants, and wrap my hand around . . . a box.

“What the heck is this?” I ask, pulling it out.

“Open it.”

I take the lid off and find a pair of earrings. Beautiful gold earrings, each with an amber stone. Hanging from each stone is a golden screw.

The construction kind.

“I did a little shopping today. Saw them. Couldn’t resist.”

“Very cute,” I say, removing my earrings and putting on the dangling screws. “Just for you, I'm going to wear them every day. So while we’re in class, you’re gonna see them and think of us hammering, nailing, and screwing.”

“I already think about that every day in class. And don’t forget drilling.”

“So, what do you imagine? Me, naked, right there on my desk?”

I notice that there is new hardness where the box used to be.

“Can you imagine it?” I whisper in his ear. “I’m lying naked across my desk, waiting for you to get done with your French test.” I slide my hands down the front of his shirt. “But you're having a hard time concentrating, because je suis tellement excitée que je me touchais.”

“Touching yourself?” he gulps.

“I said, I’m so horny, I’m touching myself.”

He lets out a big breath, and I can tell I’m not the only one feeling excitée.

“That’s really hot.”

I smile at him, deciding that I want to make him even hotter. I want to do something to him that I’ve yet to do. At least, not like this. I slowly sink to my knees, diving my hands into the sides of his unzipped pants and pushing them down along with his sliders, until I am face to face with the Titan.

I take a moment to admire it.

And then to tease it a bit with my tongue, and then my mouth.

He seems fine with it at first, but then his hips start rolling toward me.

“You're teasing me,” he groans.

I want to make him feel as good as he always makes me feel.

Or better.

I want him to know how much I want him.

And adore him.

And, well, love him.

I pick up the pace and soon feel his weight shift.

He touches my head and says raggedly, “I’m about to . . .”

I nod and keep going, noting that it was really sweet of him to give me the option to pull away.

He shudders and groans, then stays perfectly still for a few seconds.

Then he grabs my hands to help me up and squeezes me to him tightly.

Putting his lips on my neck, he says, “Wow.”

“When you talk on my neck it makes me excitée.”

“Oh really?” he says, doing it again while he stifles a laugh.

“Did you like it?” I pray he did. I’m hoping he thought it was good. No, I’m hoping he thought it was so fucking good that he never wants another girl to touch it. Never wants to have another mouth within a 500-foot radius of it.

He says seriously, “Every kiss. Every touch. Every single thing we do feels a hundred times better than anything I've ever done before. Because it's with you.”

I practically want to cry. “But what do you like? Is there anything that really turns you on?”

“Yeah,” he says, kissing my nose. “You.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I’ve realized that even though it's hard to wait—pun intended,” he laughs. “It's causing us to focus on other ways to please each other. To explore each other's bodies. This weekend, I intend to do just that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, starting now.” He leans me up against the counter, then gets down on his knees and kisses my stomach. Tiny little kisses just under my bra line.

Then he stops at my side and goes back to where he started, following the same path a few inches lower, over and over until he's kissing across the top of my thong.

I will him to go down farther, my hips jutting toward him of their own accord.

He pulls my thong down, letting it drop around my boots, and continues his slow, methodical kissing.

I feel like I'm bursting at the seams. My body is begging for him.

When his kisses move lower, I start praying to the gods.

Who is the god of the underworld? Was it Hades?

Or is Hades the name of the underworld?

Although, as wet as I am now, I should probably be begging for Poseidon to give me his Triton.

Aiden's fingers find their way between my legs and feel what he’s doing to me. He smiles against my stomach, obviously taking pleasure in the knowledge that he turns me on.

Immensely.

His finger glides across the edges of my thong, and I’m about to start begging.

He stands up quickly and says, “Turn around” in the hottest voice ever. Then he roughly bends me over the counter.

He’s acting like a guy out of one of Mom’s romance novels. That hot, hard, burning Alpha male. All he needs is a black leather jacket and a motorcycle.

I have no idea what he's going to do next, but I love the way his now-naked chest is pressing hard against my back, holding me in place.

“Oh my god,” I breathe out, surprised as his finger dives into me.

I’m torn between silently whimpering and screaming out loud.

My breath is ragged and my heart is beating wildly as he continues the assault.

It feels so good, I want to cry.

I push back against him, willing his fingers to do it faster, harder, to never stop. My hips move in a rhythm completely controlled by him.

Until I moan out, “Oh,” and then my Ohs come faster as he pushes me to places I've never been before.

My body goes limp on the kitchen counter.

He kisses my shoulder sweetly. “We doing okay?”

“We’re doing fine. Just don’t ask me to stand up. I’ll just lean on the counter here for a bit.”

He gives my shoulder a little nip, laughs, then picks me up and carries me to bed, where he lies on his side next to me.

I throw myself against his hard body, my lips landing on his, kissing him, thanking him, and maybe even asking for more.

Aiden must know intuitively what I want—possibly that is another benefit of being with a god.

His hand finds its way between my legs again. “More?” he asks.

I don't reply.

I just kiss him and kiss him while he makes me feel amazing again.

And again.

Something up his sleeve.

9pm

I must've fallen asleep.

I’m blinking, trying to focus, when something catches my eye. It’s that damn glow-in-the-dark moon.

I want to be mad at the moon, rip it off my ceiling and throw it in the trash.

But I can’t.

It looks perfect where it is.

I look down at myself. I’m wearing nothing but a cashmere throw and my boots.

I’m wondering where Aiden is when my nose perks up at a wonderful aroma. I wrap the throw around me, wander out to the kitchen, and find him surrounded by a mess of pots and pans.

He looks adorable.

All I want to do is curl up in this moment and never come out. It's moments like this one that give me the strength to keep doing what I'm doing.

I know that Vincent's going to find me eventually.

We can keep the initial filming under wraps, but once they start the big action scenes in March, I’ll be easy to find. And once I announce that I've taken over his company and scrapped the movie, he’ll hate me even more.

But not until I’ve taken away everything he loves—then and only then—will we be on a level playing field.

Me against him.

“Whatever you're doing out here smells amazing,” I say to Aiden.

“I thought I'd cook dinner, since you were conked out.”

“Sorry,” I say, even though I'm totally not.

He wipes his hands on a towel, pulls my cashmere throw open, and smiles. “Naked and wearing cowboy boots. That is straight out of my dreams.” He pulls me into a hot kiss that tastes of red sauce.

“What did you make?”

“Chicken Parmesan. Salad. Cheese bread. Want some wine?”

“I’d love some.” I love you, I want to say, but a softly playing song catches my attention and stirs up a childhood memory. “Hey, that song. Can you play it again?”

“Sure,” he says, hitting repeat on his phone.

I listen to the lyrics. A man is saying that he should have been a cowboy.

I can see it in my head.

Daddy and me in the barn at Grandpa’s ranch. We’re brushing his horse after a long ride when this song comes on the radio. Dad is singing it to me and Grandpa is laughing. Daddy picks me up and twirls me around, still singing.

“Earth to Keatyn,” Aiden says, startling me and making me realize he’s now standing directly in front of me.

“Oh, sorry. I was kind of stuck in a memory. My dad used to like that song,” I say, smiling as the singer continues to croon.

I close my eyes again and savor it.

Aiden pushes my chin up, so I open my eyes. “Tell me.”

“Every summer, I go to my grandparents’ ranch in Texas. When I was little, my dad went with me. This song, I remember him singing it in the barn. Us dancing. Him telling me he loved me and would miss me on his trip. It was . . . um . . .” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “It was the trip. The one where his plane went down . . .”

Aiden caresses my face. “What did your dad do?”

“He was a mod—,” I say without thinking. “A, um, moderator. He worked for my grandpa.”

“Oil and gas? Like your mom?”

Shit. I can’t remember what I told him my mom does. What if that’s not what I said? Shit. Shit. Shit.

But why would he say that unless it’s what I told him?

Then I remember telling him about possible oil in the Ukraine.

I take in a deep breath and change the subject. “Wow. That smell is killing me. Can we eat soon?”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay to just tell me.” He smiles sweetly and kisses me. “And, yes, we can eat now.”

During dinner, he toasts. “To your amazing day. Winning first place in your small group dance. A team third place. And your first successful screen test.”

“And to a fun weekend,” I add, winking.

“I’ll toast to that.” We clink glasses and sip our wine.

After a cozy dinner at my kitchen island, he says, “Let’s go upstairs. We can watch a movie or something.”

There’s a little smile playing on his lips and his eyes look sneaky. Kinda like they did the day of my speech when he gave me the glass clover for luck.

He holds my hand as we walk through the living room and then gestures for me to walk up the stairs first.

He’s totally got something up his sleeve.

But when I get to the top of the stairs, I can barely believe my eyes.

In the corner, all lit up, is a gorgeous Christmas tree strung with the prettiest pastel garland and topped with a silver star.

Tears immediately spring to my eyes as I stare at it. The Christmas decorations have been up in our dorm for a few weeks, and Katie and I strung some lights around our window, but it’s just not the same.

This makes my loft look and feel even more like home.

“It’s beautiful.” I turn around and throw myself into his arms.

He hugs me, kisses the top of my head, and says, “I thought we could decorate it together.”

“Did you get ornaments too?”

He untangles himself from my arms, goes behind the tree, and sets shopping bags down next to the coffee table. “You have to open each one. They all kind of have meaning.”

“Really? What kind of meaning?”

“You’ll see. Open them.”

I sit on the couch next to him and open the first box. It’s a beautiful, brightly-colored blown-glass fish. “It’s so pretty!”

“What do you think it means? For us?”

I think about it. “Um, we ate fish in St. Croix.”

“True. Think some more. When did we see pretty fish?”

“When we went snorkeling!”

“And what happened when we went snorkeling?”

“Your back got sunburned?”

“And how did you try to help me with that?”

I laugh and grin. “So, you’re telling me that this fish reminds you of the shower?”

“Yep,” he says with a naughty little smirk. “That was fun.”

“I’m still kicking myself for giving you that washcloth to cover up with.” I lean over and give him a kiss. “I think you should put this one on the tree.”

I open another box and find a glass Ferris wheel. “Aiden, are all of these going to make me cry?”

He puts his ornament on the tree, then kisses me. “They’re supposed to make you happy.”

“I’m crying because I am happy. And because, seriously, this might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He gives me another kiss. Like our first kiss on the Ferris wheel. Perfectly amazing.

I walk over and put the Ferris wheel high up on the tree, just like we were when he kissed me at the top of it. Then I excitedly open another one. This one is an adorable piece of chocolate cake. “The peace offering?”

He nods.

“That cake was really good. And I like peace with you better than fighting.”

He gives me a steamier kiss this time, but I push him away after a few minutes. “I have a lot more ornaments to see! You need to stop kissing me.”

Of course, what does he do?

Gives me about ten more kisses.

I open a Santa, a nutcracker, and a nativity scene, which he tells me are just because it’s Christmas and every tree needs them. Then I open a Santa taking a bubble bath, the bubbles a pearly pink glass.

“Hmm. Let me guess. Our bubble bath. The one where you wore your swimsuit?”

He laughs. “Maybe after this, we’ll take a bubble bath without swimsuits.”

“I’m done opening ornaments for tonight,” I tease, putting this one on the tree.

“You’re bad,” he says, swatting me on the butt.

Which was probably the wrong thing for him to do, because it inspires me to jump on him, knocking him flat on the couch, and attack his face with sloppy kisses.

“Oh, ick,” he laughs. “This is going to take all night at the rate you’re going. No bubbles until the tree is decorated.”

“Fine,” I pout.

“How does that song go? You better not cry, better not pout?”

“Speaking of that, we need Christmas music playing.”

He takes a sip of his wine and then says, “You’re right. And we should turn on the fireplace.”

I jump up and down a little. “Yes. You do the fire. I’ll turn on the music.”

“Much better,” he says, pulling me onto his lap when we’ve both made it a little more Christmas-y in here. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“You,” I reply.

He gets a little twinkle in his eye. “Are you offering sex to Santa?”

“I have been kinda naughty.”

“Well, maybe if you’re a good little girl, you’ll get what you want.”

“I lied. I’m always good.”

He shakes his head at me. “Santa doesn’t like it when people lie.”

“Oh,” I say, thinking about the boatload of lies I’ve told this year.

He hands me another box. “Open some more, then we’ll put them on the tree. Otherwise we’ll never get to that bath.”

I stay on his lap and open a Santa in a sleigh, a Santa in New York City—since that’s where we are now—and a Santa that’s surfing—since I taught Aiden how. The next one is Santa driving an ice-cream truck with a big cone on top of it. “When we went for ice-cream? I’m surprised that’s something you want to remember, seeing as you got all pissed off at me.”

“All I remember is the sexy way you were licking the cone. Got me all hot.”

Then I open one of an adorable pink purse with little peace signs and hearts on it.

“I fucking love you. That’s what you told me when I gave you the purple purse,” he says.

“I was excited.”

“I know you love me.”

“I know you love me.”

“Still not ready to confess your love?” he teases.

“Apparently, neither are you.”

Next, I open a trio of colorful cowboy boots.

“Those might be my favorite, Boots.”

“I love them. Although when you gave me that nickname, I thought it was kinda dumb.”

“Dumb? I’m shocked. It was very original.”

“It’s still the name of the monkey on Dora the Explorer. I didn’t want to be a monkey. But now I like it. I like that it has meaning to both of us.”

He grins and hands me another box.

I look at the name of it. “The Sugar Shack?”

“Just open it.”

In the box is an adorable little gingerbread house covered with candy. “Hansel and Gretel got eaten there.”

“That’s supposed to be our mansion of love. Don’t make fun of it,” he says seriously.

“Oh. Well, then it’s adorable.”

The next one is The Three Little Pigs. “You’re on a roll. First Hansel and Gretel and now pork for dinner.”

“You’re silly. You know what it means.”

I get serious again. “It’s for a strong foundation.”

“Very good.”

I grab another box and find a sand castle—my castle on the beach—a Little Mermaid, and a Frog Prince.

“Oh, the Frog Prince is so cute.”

“I remember Damian said you used to make him be a frog.”

I hug him. Again.

Next, I open a Nutcracker prince.

“That was always my sister’s favorite ballet. I thought maybe since you dance, you’d like it too.”

“I love it. This will be the first Christmas that I won’t get to see it.”

He gives me his nearly-blinding happy smile.

“What?”

He tilts his head in the most adorable, aw-shucks way and pulls two tickets out of his wallet. “I got us tickets for Sunday afternoon.”

Which makes me start crying.

He wraps his arms around me. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“I haven’t bought any presents.”

“But we’re shopping tomorrow, all day.”

“I just feel bad that I haven’t gotten you anything yet. And you did all this. All the thought you put into it.”

“Boots, my mom and I went shopping when you weren’t dancing. I got a bunch of clothes for my birthday and when we were walking out, I saw the huge holiday section and decided to buy you some ornaments. Then my mom asked if you had a tree. So I bought one of the fake ones. It came with the lights on it. All I had to do was put three pieces together, plug it in, and put on the garland.”

“But these ornaments. They all have meaning.”

“They had a large selection. Seriously, I was like I want this one, and this one, and this one. Twenty minutes, tops.”

“It’s still amazing, Aiden.”

He kisses me then murmurs, “I’m glad you like it. That’s all I want. To make you happy. Come on, open the rest. And don’t feel guilty. This is our tree. The story of us. And I have an ulterior motive. I want to be so far in your life that, come August, you’ll never consider anyone but me.”

It’s much safer to open another ornament than to discuss that, mostly because I don’t even know if I’ll still be alive in August.

“Awwww! Look at this snowman! His little stick arms are full of shopping bags! That’s adorable!”

“I like shopping with you. So, are you going to wear the gorgeous dress I found last time we went shopping to Winter Formal?”

“Yeah, I am. And I found the perfect shoes to go with it.”

“I can’t wait to see you in it.”

I can’t wait for you to get me out of it, I think.

The next boxes I open are a cupcake with a clover on top, a mermaid Santa, and a seashell. “So the cupcake is just for the clover?”

“Uh huh.”

“And the mermaid—well, I guess technically he’s a merman—and seashells. Do those have to do with our wishes?” I touch the shell bracelet still tightly fastened to his wrist. “Are you ever going to tell me what you wished for?”

“Not until it comes true.”

“Hmm. Okay. What’s next?”

He hands me another box, this one containing a cotton candy machine. “Is this for the same reason as the Ferris wheel? Except we didn’t eat cotton candy together.”

“No, I dragged you away from Riley when he was licking cotton candy off your hand. So, no. It’s because your hair always smells like cotton candy.” He leans in and kisses my temple. “You always smell good enough to eat.”

I close my eyes tightly, willing away the heat I can instantly feel rising between my legs. I purse my lips and smile at him.

“You have a dirty mind. I like it,” he whispers in my ear in the low, husky voice that makes me melt.

“Well, maybe, a little.”

I open another ornament, this one a chapel. I think about how I spilled my guts to him. How he stopped during the game and asked me if I was okay. How sad it was when I planned on leaving him. I feel choked up again.

He says, “It reminds me of the chapel at school. Of our spot. Where I promised not to pretend punch your head.”

“It reminds me of how nice you could be even when I hated you.”

“You never hated me.”

“No, but I thought you hated me, so I told myself I hated you.”

“We had a rocky start, huh?”

“Yeah, we did. Damn Logan.”

“Would it have changed things?”

“Yeah, we’d probably have dated and then broken up by now. So everything was probably for the best.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I’ve changed a lot since we first met.”

“You’re stronger.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, you’ve been through a lot. Coming to Eastbrooke at the last minute. The stuff that went on with your friend. Your boyfriend leaving you for a year. All the stuff with Dawson. With Whitney. With Chelsea. With me. You’re good at hiding it, though. I think Riley and I are the only ones you let in. Besides Damian.”

“Yeah. So, next bag. This is the last one.”

“And these are some of my favorites.”

The first one I open is a red bag with two baguettes sticking out of the top. “What’s this one for?”

“French class. Tutoring with food. Our tutoring field trip. The dances in my room when we should have been studying. French body parts.”

“I love it.” I open the next one. A Santa dressed in pink with the cancer symbol. “For your mom?”

“Yeah. It made her really happy when I won Mr. Eastbrooke. And that’s all because of you. I’ve grown this year too. At least, that’s what my mom tells me.”

“Well, we know you’ve gotten taller. That’s why you had to shop.”

“I don’t mean that kind of growth. I mean not sleeping around. Waiting for the right girl. Knowing you’re worth every ounce of frustration. Knowing that—well, open another one.”

“Um, okay.” This one is a street sign that says Sunset Blvd. “Dual meaning? Our sunsets and the fact that California is where we’re both from?”

“That you watch sunsets with me. That I even had the guts to tell you why they were special. I’ve never shared those parts of me with anyone. No one at school even knows my mom had cancer.”

“I’m glad you shared those things with me. And we saw the green flash together.”

“Close your eyes,” he says. “I want you to see these together.” I close my eyes and listen to him unwrap ornaments. “Okay, open.”

Lying on the table in front of me is a soccer ball, a four-leaf clover, an Eiffel Tower, and two dolphins jumping out of the water. I don’t want to be a big baby and start crying again, so I joke, “Hmm. I’m not sure what any of those mean.”

He kisses me deeply then says, “Fine. I’ll tell you. These are all about luck and fate. It was fate you kicked the soccer ball at my head and made me instantly fall for you. It’s fate that I’ll ask you to marry me someday. But it was luck that I found a four-leaf clover to give you, and every time we’ve given each other a clover, it’s helped us both be lucky. And it was luck that we got to see the dolphins. You’ve made me lucky.”

“You helped me make dance team. Gave me the glass clover before my speech. And drew one on my leg for the play. You’ve been sharing the luck.”

“So which one are we? Luck or fate?”

“I guess only time will tell, huh?”

He nods. “Yeah, it will. So, only a few more. This one is about me.”

He pulls a Santa out of its box. This Santa isn’t holding a bag of presents, he’s holding a glass of wine and standing behind of a wine barrel with grapes on it.

“Your dream of owning a vineyard. That one I know.”

“How about this one?” he says, taking another ornament out. This one is an adorable yellow Labrador retriever puppy.

“You want this kind of dog someday?”

“Yep. You cool with that?”

“Yeah, I love dogs.”

“Perfect. Last one. Hold out your hands.”

I do what he asks and close my eyes. I’m sure he saved the best for last. He puts it gently in my cradled palms.

I open my eyes and see a flat scene of a sandy beach, a palm tree, the ocean, and the bright sun. “St. Croix?”

“Damian asked our family to celebrate Christmas with his family there. I wasn’t sure what your plans are, but I’d like to spend the holiday with you.”

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I need to talk to my mom about it.”

“I know. I just thought . . . I know they’ve been there before. Maybe your family could go too? I’d love to meet them.”

“I’d love for you to meet them, too. Aiden, I . . .”

I almost say it. Almost blurt out the truth. I want to tell him what happened. What’s going to happen. But I don’t. I don’t want to ruin this perfect day. I don’t want him to walk out on me.

It’s so selfish, I know. But there’s another big reason I can’t tell him.

He’d want to help, and I couldn’t take another photo of someone I love with the back of their head blown off.

“ . . . I, um, thank you for the tree. You have no idea how much this all means to me.”

“I’m glad. Let’s finish decorating.”

After we’ve decorated, we turn off all the lights except for the ones illuminating the tree and snuggle on the couch, staring at its beauty.

“Time for our bubble bath,” Aiden says about a half hour later.

I run the water, loading it up with bubbles, while Aiden goes to refill our wine glasses. He comes back in with a silver ice bucket and champagne instead.

I squint my eyes at him questioningly.

“Gotta have bubbly for the bubbles, right? I just corked the rest of the wine. We’ll have it tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, but if we’re gonna have champagne . . .”

“Wait, don’t finish that sentence.” He runs out of the bathroom and comes back with a little plate of chocolate truffles.

“It’s official. I do fucking love you,” I say.

“I fucking love you too. Now, let’s get naked.”