He chuckles. “Trust me, you’re always beautiful.”
Malcolm takes my hand and leads me out the red doorway and onto the roof of the building, I’m shocked that we remain dry as the silver sheets of rain glitter like liquid diamonds against the dark sky. I look up to see why and spot a clear dome glimmering above us, shielding us from the weather.
“Come on,” he says, pulling me forward. His hazel eyes sparkle with mischief as a smile slides across his lips. He reaches for my palm, his touch sending a thrill through me. Clutching the flowers in my other hand, I remember his fingertips all over me and smile back. Malcolm leads me farther onto the rooftop.
The year 2104 has a stunning landscape of neon lights and towering skyscrapers that look so much better from here. The skyline is ever-changing, with floating gardens, bioluminescent parks, and intricate aerial transportation systems. Even with scattered clouds, it’s breathtaking.
I look down and see that the sparkling veil of silver rain is still falling on the people below. It cleans the city streets. Umbrellas bloom and twirl in the hands of pedestrians like a ballet of ebony flowers in the diamond rain. Drops paint the world below us, making the pavement shimmer like it’s brushed with stardust. Puddles splash under a child’s red boots.
Malcolm and I stand above it all.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“Life happens.” I breathe out softly.
He gives me a serious look. “Yeah, but I should have talked about how I was feeling instead of going silent on you.”
“You had a lot on your mind.” I squeeze his hand and add, “This isn’t easy for either of us. We just have to trust.”
I feel so close to the gray clouds, but I’m dry and untouched. Tiny prisms of glinting rain fall and splash down on our invisible shield, streaming, splattering, and blanketing it with a glistening sheen. Drops roll down the arc above without leaving wetness on our brown skin.
“Cool, huh?” Malcolm says. He grins at the bubble of love he’s conjured. “Too bad spells from the magic books here don’t last too long.” After a pause, he adds, “But I thought this morning was so bad that we needed a little joy tonight.”
My breath catches in my throat as I finally look away from the city below and take in the rooftop getaway that Malcolm has planned for us. A bottle of soda chills in an ice bucket next to a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries on a nearby table.
Malcolm moves toward it, his tall frame silhouetted against the futuristic city full of metallic and glass skyscrapers and neon red and purple light. Eyes beaming, he sweeps his arm grandly, gesturing toward a romantic dinner. Rose petals sprinkle across the mauve cloth. The table is set beautifully with shiny silverware and elegant silver plates, and candles flicker with silver flames that glow over decadent slices of pecan pie and red velvet cupcakes with glistening sugar sprinkles on top. My mouth waters as I gaze at potatoes like fluffy clouds with tan streams of gravy drizzled on top, brown-sugar ham, vibrant green beans, and other yummy delights. My stomach growls. I look for Imani, assuming she must have cooked. But when I don’t see her, it dawns on me—Malcolm ordered room service, sparing no expense to impress me.
It works. I love his thoughtfulness and attention to detail and the selfless way he planned a surprise for me, even when he’s been depressed all day.
Malcolm leads me to the table and pulls out a chair for me. I put the flowers on the table, and we sit down to eat. His hazel eyes sparkle, reflecting the candlelight. His hand brushes against mine, and my body glitters. I wish we could stay in our magical bubble forever.
We savor each bite of our delicious meal, with the gentle tap of raindrops providing soothing music. When we finish, Malcolm stands up and extends his palm to me. “Can I have this dance?”
My heart thumps against his as we sway together. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. Candles twinkle like the stars above. My storm cloud dress sways around my legs, mimicking the rain falling on the city below. Malcolm’s fingers trace down my spine. I pull him closer to me. He presses his lips to my forehead and wraps his arms around my waist. In a whisper, he sings, “You are so beautiful.” His pitch is perfect, his voice like honey pouring slowly over my body, making it come alive with sweet desire. I love the dance. The angles of our bodies, his strong chin, the hardness of his muscles pressing against me. All of it.
“Thank you again,” I whisper, pressing my lips against his neck, feeling the shiver that races through him from our touch. I lay my head on his chest, listening to his heart pulsing in rhythm with the glowing trim of his lapels as we sway. When I look up, the raindrops on the dome are blurring a full moon.
Malcolm’s fingers trace patterns on my waist, leaving a trail of fire. And when he pulls me close and kisses me, my blood turns to lava. Flames of want climb every inch of my body. Our tongues slide against each other, our hearts thumping the same loving rhythm. I push against him, feeling his ripped abs press against his suit as he breathes into me. We break apart, and he smiles, joyful for the first time since his fight with Jayla. Our dance continues, bodies colliding, teasing, and moving to the song he sings in my ear. As we dance, I slide my hand under the back of his suit, feeling the warmth of his toned muscles against my fingertips. His breath tickles my neck, followed by the press of his lips. Our bodies move in perfect synchronization, teasing and tempting each other with every step until his song ends.
I tell myself that the stupid predictions are all wrong. That the love Malcolm and I have is real and special. A love meant to weather any storm.He walks me to the table and reaches underneath, pulling out two glowing, jewel-toned balloons.
“Emma,” Malcolm says softly, “if it’s cool with you, I want to honor those we’ve lost tonight. And let go of regrets.”
The pain and guilt from losing Grace is raw and deep. She deserves honor. And I could use closure. The time feels right.
“Okay,” I whisper, reaching for the gleaming turquoise balloon he offers. This balloon seems fitting because Grace loved looking at tropical waters. I run my fingers over the matching ribbon attached to the balloon. I imagine Grace standing beside me, smiling, telling me things will be okay.
Malcolm holds an amethyst balloon, his expression dark with grief. “This is for Alex. For Dad. For all the moments I didn’t appreciate when they were alive and the things I regret not saying.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I reply. “You were a kid.”
“It wasn’t yours either, Emma,” Malcolm murmurs. “Luckily, those we lost are still with us. In our hearts and our memories.” He glances up. “Their spirits are free in the afterlife, looking down on us.”
I smile at the moon again.
