“Impressive.” I giggle. “I didn’t know anyone’s signs except for ours and the girls.”
“I might have…had…a brief zodiac obsession,” he says quietly. “Very briefly though. Learned what a chart was—moon stuff.”
“Moon stuff?”
“Yeah, like retrograde and shit.” He chuckles. “Quite interesting.”
“You—” I laugh and gently place my palm on his cheek,feeling his smile against my hand. “You are quite the interesting man.”
“And ugly.” He chuckles, tracing my lips with his pointer finger.
“You’re a beautiful man, Rowan,” I say, my thumb brushing up and down his cheekbone. “Lately, I’ve been thinking about how the universe puts certain people in your life, and I love the people in my life. I love my friends—Lana, Isabelle, Grace, the boys—even Elena. The universe doesn’t do that for no reason. I was also thinking that, maybe, the universe picks someone to be your person.”
“I think it does,” he whispers.
“I think the universe picked you to be my person.”
“Natalia,” he rasps, fingertips grazing my cheek. “I’ve known you were my person for a long time.”
“Since when?”
“Since we were seventeen,” he confesses.
“Ten years ago?”
He nods. “It was when you were in the hospital. It sounds…morbid. But it was the first time I think you let me see the real you. And when I saw you, I knew you and I were the same. Your pain and my pain may be different, but pain understands pain, and for the first time, it felt like someone finally understood me.”
“I understand you,” I say, my voice small and hushed.
“More than you know, sweetheart,” he whispers and uses the moment to press his lips on mine, solidifying his words—signing them, copyrighting them. They’re real words because he loves me.Real.
“Can you stay?” I ask quietly.
“You want me to stay?”
“I wouldn’t ask if?—”
“Okay,” he breathes, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I really like your pillowcases, by the way.”
I giggle. “They’re satin—better for my hair.”
“And mine?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Should I buy some for myself then? Maybe you can use them too.” He arches a brow. “In my bed.”
“Smooth.” I laugh.
Rowan kisses my shoulder, his hand rough with callouses but gentle with reverence, slowly caressing my arm until my hand is wrapped in his. “Natalia,” he whispers and kisses the curve of my shoulder again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
There’s a long, silent pause that feels dooming—like a shadow looming over me, something lurking in the dark that will require the most answer there is. The question lingers around me, as does the comforting sound of his breathing.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“Do you want to die?”
