I huff out a quiet laugh. I wasn’t too sure about that particular serum, but I didn’t argue. And if I’m being honest, I don’t plan on ageing faster than necessary.
“Am I going to wake up ten years younger?” I ask.
She giggles, the sound curling straight into my chest. “I don’t think it’sthatpowerful. And you don’t need to look younger anyway. You’re gorgeous as you are.”
Her hand slides to my cheek, warm and gentle, and I grin despite myself.
“You don’t think I’m too old for you, huh?” I half-joke.
It’s not really a joke. She’s ten years younger, still in her twenties. I’m closing in on forty, carrying the weight of a life that’s taken more than it’s given. Her skin glows. Mine tells stories.
“No,” she says immediately. “I’ve never even thought about it. Thirty-eight isn’t old, Drago.”
I bite my lip, her certainty soothing another anxious corner of my mind. That quiet fear that maybe I don’t deserve her.
“They say you’re as old as you feel,” she murmurs, her brows knitting as she thinks.
Then she snorts. “So… I feel about seventy some days.”
I chuckle, tipping her chin up. “I know the feeling. But we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, baby.”
“But seriously, Drago. You’re only ten years older. I like it that way. You know what you want out of life.” She tells me.
I nod, biting back a grin. “You. That’s all I’ll ever need, baby. Just you.”
Her stomach rumbles loudly, cutting through the moment.
I arch an eyebrow. “Someone hungry, hmm?”
Her cheeks flush. “I may have… forgotten to eat for a few hours.”
I tut softly and tap her ass. “Out of bed. Now. I’m cooking you dinner.”
I roll out of bed and tug on a pair of grey sweatpants. When I turn back, she’s sitting upright, mouth slightly open, openly watching me.
“I’m no chef,” I tell her, amused, “but I can make a decent pasta. And then we’ll have ice cream after.”
Her stomach rumbles again, louder this time. I arch a brow, amused, and lean forward, holding out my hand. She slips hers into mine, and I pull her gently to her feet.
Her gaze drags over my body, and she bites her lip, her eyes widening, like something’s just clicked into place.
“Oh my god. Drago.” Her voice is bright, excited. Almost giddy.
“What?” I ask, instantly on edge. I scan her face, trying to work out what I’ve missed.
She doesn’t answer. She spins on her heel and rushes to her wardrobe, dropping to her knees and rummaging through the bottom before pulling out a black bag.
She’s back in front of me in seconds, practically vibrating as she shoves it into my hands.
“I totally forgot,” she blurts. “I had this made for you. And now I need to see you in it.”
My chest tightens. I don’t let it show, but something inside me fractures anyway. I’ve had bodies delivered to my door. But never a gift.
No one has ever given me something made out of love. I open the bag and pull out a black hoodie, holding it up between us.
“Turn it around,” she whispers.
Her eyes are already glistening.
