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He looks up at me, and his eyes are bright. “You knew.”

I pull my pants back up, and he tugs me toward the bed. We collapse onto it together, tangled in each other. The panic from earlier is gone, replaced by something warmer.

“I love you,” Cameron says against my neck, the words coming easily now, naturally. They’ve become part of our language.

“I love you too,” I whisper back, and it feels certain, something we say without hesitation.

We lie there in his bed that smells like us, and I think about the future. It’s uncertain and scary and full of unknowns. But I’m with Cameron.

And that’s everything.

CHRISTMAS

39

CAMERON

Lucien’s body is wrapped around mine, his chest pressed against my back, his arm heavy across my ribs. His breath is warm against my neck, slow and even. He’s still asleep.

I don’t want to disturb him. And I don’t want to leave the comfort of being enveloped by him like this. I fucking love him. I love him so much it terrifies me. I love him so much I’d do anything to keep him. And I’m going to fix this whole problem for him.

Last night, when I went downstairs, I told my mom everything—about Lucien’s parents, about the money, about how they’re cutting him off completely just because he chose me. Mom kept shaking her head, saying things like “that’s unconscionable” and “how could they do that to their own son?” She mentioned talking to Dad, said they’d figure something out together. My parents aren’t like his. They don’t use money to control people.

Lucien shifts behind me, his arm tightening around my waist. I feel his nose press into my hair, feel him breathe me in.

Then he pinches my side.

“I know you’re faking,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Too late.”

I roll over to face him, and God, he’s beautiful in the morning. His hair is a mess. His eyes are still heavy-lidded, that particular shade of blue-gray that makes me want to drown in them. He stretches, his whole body going taut, and suddenly, he looks too big for my bed, his long limbs and broad shoulders taking up every inch of space.

I want to climb on top of him. Grab the headboard and ride him until we’re both gasping, feel his hands on my hips, guiding me, holding me steady while I fall apart.

But it’s Christmas morning, and my parents are definitely awake by now, probably downstairs making breakfast and waiting for us.

“We should get up,” I say, even though I don’t want to move.

Lucien makes a noncommittal sound and pulls me closer. His hand slides down my back, settling at the base of my spine.

An idea hits me.

“Take a shower with me,” I say.

Lucien’s eyebrows lift. This is new territory for him. He didn’t do this with that person. This is ours. I grin and climb over him, straddling his hips for just a moment before sliding off the bed. “Come with me.”

He follows me into the bathroom, and I turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise. I strip off my sleep clothes and step under the spray, letting the hot water cascade over my shoulders. I turn back to look at Lucien, waiting.

He’s standing by the counter, with the cap of my shampoo bottle open, holding it up to his nose.

I give him a questioning look. “What are you doing?”

“This is how you smell. I love it.”

“Did you bring your own shampoo?”