“I love you.”
I stare at him in mute shock. I sort of gasp lightly.
He holds up a finger, to remind me of my oath. “I know what you’re thinking. That I’m insane. I think I’m insane so I can only imagine how it sounds to you. But I do. I love you. I know I love you because I feel like I’ve been hit by a fucking lightning bolt right in the middle of my heart. In fact I had a dream that you were holding my heart, all bloody, in your hands, and you wanted to give it back to me but I wouldn’t take it. You’re still holding it, that’s how it feels. I know how fucked up that sounds but it’s true. I’ve never had anything like this happen to me before—not even fucking close. And I know what you’re going to say, that I don’t know you well enough to love you. But I don’t think it works that way all the time. I think you can know. I know that I know. And I want you to let me show you. I want to spend time with you. All my time. I want to give you things and make you happy, starting now. I don’t want to wait and fuck around and pretend that I’m not going mad with lust and with love. What I realize is that I’ve been waiting a long time already and I’m tired of waiting, like I’ve been searching but never, ever finding. Until you. That’s how it feels. Like I finally fucking found you. So I’m going to do everything I can to wow you and win you and get you to fall in love with me. And I know what you think of me, but you’re wrong. I can’t change who I’ve been or what I’ve done in the past, but that’s what it is: the past. A different life. A life that made me angry and sort of feral because the whole time I was pissed off that I wasn’t worthy of the real thing. The thing everyone aspires to and most of all me—even though I never admitted it to myself. And I don’t expect you to love me back right away. I know it’ll take time. But I also know I can convince you. And I’m grateful to you, honey, for being honest with me the other night, even though I know that was hard for you to do. But I’m glad you told me, so I can understand what hurts you. So I can make sure you don’t feel scared anymore. Because that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to treat you like the beautiful goddess you are. I’ll be careful with you. I’ll take care of you. Starting right now. I waited two whole infinite thousand-hour days to see you again and I couldn’t wait another minute.”
My heart’s beating, not fast, but heavily, thumping with … I don’t know. That hope I couldn’t find before, maybe. Is this real? I can’t quite absorb the enormity of what he’s confessing to me.
Before I can respond or even react, my phone starts playing a song. It’s the one I use for an alarm, a slow, soulful song about seizing the day by the Tucker Brothers Band. I pick up my phone and touch the screen, which stops the music, but it pings again with an alert. Uber. 7:30 a.m.
“Uber?” Gage asks.
“Yeah.”
“Where are you going?”
“I … booked a bus ticket.”
“To where?”
“New Orleans.”
“Today?”
I watch his face for a few seconds. He’s staring at me sternly. I nod, just barely, and bite my lip.
He watches me do this. “If I didn’t know better I might think you were running away from me.”
I don’t bother denying that that’s exactly what I was about to do.
Gage takes my hand, which is resting on the covers next to me. “I’m not him, honey. You need to know that.”
Just two days ago, the mention of him would have rocked me to my core. Now, already, it has become a part of our lexicon, something Gage knows about and something we talk about. It’s jarring but also … therapeutic, weirdly. Having it out there, in the air, instead of all cooped up, makes the memory feel much less heavy. “I know. You’re you.” I almost don’t say it but I think about all the things he just confessed, and being honest with him is … the only way I can be. So I say it quietly. “The most eligible bachelor in Chicago’s glitterati dating scene.” But don’t expect him to stick around until morning, ladies. I don’t bother saying that last part out loud, but he already knows.
His eyes narrow. “You googled me.”
“And you googled me.” I grew up in a house where my mother cried all the time and my father barely ever came home. He broke her heart, not just once but all the time. They all did. All her husbands, or at least most of them. “Have you ever been faithful, Gage?”
“I’ve never tried to be faithful. I never had anyone to be faithful to.”
“What if you can’t do it?”
He moves closer, climbing over me, crouching above me like a big cat, holding his weight so he’s pinning me in place but not crushing me. Entirely. The power in the hard planes of his body is dizzying.
“What if you can’t do it?” he asks. “What if we never try and never know? The thing is, Luna, I’ve never promised anything to anyone. Ever. So I’ve never had a promise to break. Until now. And I’m promising you this, sweet girl: I won’t hurt you. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you to walk into it and slay me with one glance. I was too cynical to believe you ever would, for a long time. But now that you have I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, sweetheart. Go ahead and try to run from me. I’ll chase after you. I’m going to have to prove myself to you, I know that. And I will. I’ll convince you, baby, kiss by kiss. Where should I start, I wonder.” Roguishly. A detail of him that’s never far from the surface. His eyes are startlingly bright. His hair is wild, his sumptuous mouth beyond tempting.
He leans closer. But I remember, again. The bet.
I place my hand on his chest to stop him. “I’m not kissing you, Gage. I can’t.” Because if I do, I’ll never be able to stop.
He spears me with a look. Then it dawns on him. “Did you open the envelope I sent you?”
“No. Josie opened hers but I—”
He climbs off me with the ease of an athlete and lifts me into his arms like I weigh no more than a child. He carries me into the living room.
“Gage—”
“I’ll take you to New Orleans this weekend. I own a hotel in the French Quarter.”
“You do?”
“Yes. We’ll take my jet. I’ll book us dinner on a Mississippi riverboat and we’ll catch some live music. My favorite jazz club is open all night. But first, you need to open these presents.”
He places me on the couch, still wrapped in my comforter. The entire apartment is infused with the heady perfume of the topiary-sized bouquets of roses. Their blooms are the largest I’ve ever seen. Gage gathers the wrapped packages and the large envelope and puts them on the coffee table. Then he sits next to me, with his arms folded across his brawny chest and a pissed-off scowl on his face. “Start with that one. And no arguing. These are things we’ll need for the renovations. I need you as involved as possible. The right equipment is crucial.”
“Yes, boss.”