“Go get ready,” he says. “We’re on a schedule.”
“A schedule?” I repeat, sitting up now, my hair falling around my face. “For a walk?”
“Forherwalk,” he corrects, like that makes all the difference in the world because she is a very busy dog, and we can’t take up too much of her precious time.
I shake my head, smiling to myself as I slip out of bed and head toward the bathroom.
By the time I step back out into our bedroom fully dressed, hair and makeup on, Sebastian is sitting on the edge of the bed, and I notice right away that he’s dressed in slacks and a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
I notice the hyacinths next, a huge bouquet of them that I know he must have hassled the local florist to make sure they’re perfect. The soft purple petals, delicate and pretty and so…intentional that my chest tightens a little.
Also next to him is a worn box, the edges softened with time. It looks like it’s been opened and closed more times than I could count.
I move toward him slowly. “What’s this?” I ask softly. It’s not my birthday or our anniversary.
His eyes lift to mine, “Come here,” he murmurs.
I don’t hesitate for ever a second. I climb onto his lap because, for me, that’s the most natural thing in the world now. He hands me the flowers first, watching me closely as I take them.
They smell so good.
“Hyacinths?” I whisper, bringing them closer, letting the scent fill my lungs. We both know why he chose these in particular.
His hand comes up, brushing lightly over my thigh. “Replacing a bad memory with a good one.”
My throat tightens because I know exactly what he means.
I swallow past the emotion welling in the back of my throat, blinking quickly before I look back at him, and then my eyes drop to his forearm.
The bandage is still there covering the tattoo, he’s been hiding from me for several days.
I point to it immediately, narrowing my eyes just a little. “Are you ever going to let me see that thing?”
He went with Jeremy to get it done. Came back all quiet about it too, which isnotlike him. And every time I asked, he’d just kiss me and change the subject.
Which is rude, honestly.
I expect him to deflect again, but instead he just looks at me and reaches down to start peeling it back.
My breath catches.
“Sebastian—”
But he doesn’t stop. The bandage comes away and I’m shocked.
“Oh my God…”
My voice barely comes out.
It’s—
It’sme.
My eyes.
Tattooed along the inside of his forearm, every little detail is captured so perfectly.
They look exactly like mine.
