His breath stutters. I take his hand.
“Come on. Let’s eat those sandwiches you made me from scratch.”
CHAPTER 55 – CASPIAN
The presence of Antonio’s toothbrush in my bathroom makes my kneesweak. I’m so besotted I don’t even care about Noah delivering the ring-sized truth bomb. I’d marry Antonio without a second’s hesitation—now, tomorrow, in five years. I want to build him a house with a library and decorate it with maps.
He is my person.
It’s a simple truth, like the need for oxygen or the way the sun rises.
I don’t want to freak him out, though. I don’t want to put any pressure on him.
Am I his person too? Right now—yes. In five years? I have no way of knowing for sure. It’s terrifying.
I look at him. He’s testing pillows, determined to find the perfect density. He’s in his boxers, and his body—okay, brain. Not now.
“This one,” he says, looking very pleased with his efforts. I put the other pillows back in the closet.
We get into bed and, in perfect sync, he rests his head on my chest while I start slowly stroking his hair.
“I hated that article about your home.”
It takes me a moment to catch up. Last summer, my mother arranged a feature for the local paper. I inherited this house—and quite a lot of money—from my grandmother when I was in high school. At eighteen, as soon as I got all the documents sorted, I moved here.
“How come?”
He lifts his head, frowning.
“The reporter was obsessed with you! The feature should’ve been in a different magazine. Like, I don’t know—Stalker Standard.”
I snort. “He wrote a perfectly normal piece.”
“He did not. He behaved like he wanted to be this mattress. Just so he could sleep under you.”
“That is very far-fetched.”
“Is it, though? Anyway, I hated it.” He blushes, his gaze dropping. “Because of the poor penmanship,” he adds in a smaller voice.
“Really?” I tease, letting my fingers trail down his spine.
He huffs. “I wanted to light a match and burn your bed!”
“That’s a strong reaction to the quality of his writing,” I say, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Should I hide everything even remotely flammable?”
“I hated the idea of someone sharing this bed with you,” he mumbles.
My heart skips.
“That feature was a year ago,” I murmur . “Were you jealous of me then?”
“No,” he tries, but the lie crumbles instantly. He takes a deep breath. “I pitied whoever you lured here with your stupid hair and your stupidly impressive biceps.”
“Fair enough.”
Antonio looks at me expectantly.
I know the line he’s waiting for. I want him to ask for it.
