“I am going to make them wish they were dead, Bella. I’m going to do it for you.”

“Mickey, don’t let them get to you,” I attempt to soothe. “They’re just stupid kids who probably have a really messed-up home life and don’t know how to act properly. They need someone to talk to, not to get beaten up.”

They need a therapist, which won’t happen for anyone who goes to our school unless you’re in the system and you’re as problematic as Mickey. And by that time, it’s usually too late for a therapist to do anything.

If I’m being honest with myself, I couldn’t care less if the twins were scared of the sun. So, I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to defend them.

Maybe I don’t want them to take more of my joy, or maybe I’m only trying to prevent myself from having a guilty conscience.

Maybe it’s because this is what Cassie would do. Someone less defective would beg him for hours not to hurt them. Maybe I’m still talking because that’s what I should be doing.

Slowly, to leave no doubt in my mind, Mickey says, “I’m not asking for your permission, and I am not going to ask for your forgiveness after.”

I sigh, defeated. “Just… Not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” he agrees.

“It’s just you and me tonight, right?” I ask. “No Mikhail, no Maxim.” No talks about my health. “Just you and me and any food you brought, because I’m starving.”

He watches me carefully for a moment before chuckling humorlessly. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Great.” I put on my most cheerful smile and ignore my aching lungs.

Fake it until you make it, right?

Or at least lie to yourself until you start believing your own delusions to the point that they sabotage your life.

He doesn’t let on if he isn’t falling for my act, rummaging through the bag he brought with him and the box a couple of feet away from us. I still can’t believe everything he’s done for my birthday. Is this what he’s been doing at night? A daunting realization hits and settles low in my gut.

There’s so much about Roman that I don’t know.

He couldn’t have found this place by himself, and he’s never talked about anyone else other than to complain about people at work. How much of himself is he hiding from me? Have I spent all these years thinking there isn’t a side of him that I don’t know, but I’ve been fooling myself the whole time?

I don’t take my eyes off him as he lays out all the food: buns, roasted chicken, salad, chips, and fruit. It’s the biggest juxtaposition; he’s organized the cutest picnic in the creepiest shed and somehow made it romantic.

Once all the food is out on the blanket, he pulls out a little black box that he places right in front of me.

“What is it?” I ask hesitantly, picking up the velvet jewelry case.

“Open it.”

I give him one last look before flicking the lid open. I’m frozen in my spot as I stare at it. For the third time today, tears run down my cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much.

But this time is different.

This time, the tears don’t sting when they fall.

This time, when I cry, there’s a smile stretched across my lips.

“Mickey,” is all I can say.

He deserves the whole world, and I wish I could give it to him.

They’re an exact match to the pair of earrings that Mamá gave me on my fifth birthday that I lost when I was eight. Small, silver Mickey Mouse studs. I cried for weeks when I lost them. I had only two things left from Mamá: the earrings and the Mickey Mouse doll.

He looks back at me with an expression I can’t quite name. “How?” I breathe.

“I got them made.”

There’s no emotion in his voice, but I can see in his eyes that he’s battling some demons as he taps away on his leg. I want to know what he’s thinking. He usually looks pleased with himself or even excited whenever he gives me a birthday gift. He’s never so reserved.

I finally register what he said. “How—You remember what they looked like?”

He nods once. “I’ll never forget.”

We stare at each other for a long moment before I decide to break the silence. “Thank you, Roman. I love them. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

I replace the earrings I’m wearing with the new pair. The silver is heavier than the ones I was originally wearing. I can’t imagine how much it would have cost him to get them made.

“Movie or music?” He doesn’t look at me when he asks, focused on piling vegetables and chicken into a bun.

There’s something about the way he says it that makes my stomach dip uneasily. I swallow and tuck the box away into my pocket. Have I done another thing wrong? Said the wrong words or acted the wrong way?

“A true-crime podcast,” I joke, attempting to make him feel even an ounce of my elation.

It’s a terrible joke, because neither of us is that into them, but the trick works because his lips tilt up at the corner. “Are you sure you want to give me ideas after discussing the twins?”

“You’re right. Movie.” I force myself to grin, even though there’s still a sour taste in the air.

“As my lady wishes.”

I roll my eyes, and he winks.

Enough crap has gone on today, and if one more bad thing happens, I’m calling it quits.

We both get busy with our tasks, him setting up the projector, and me taking over with making the sandwiches—I make them better than he does. Roast chicken, coleslaw, bread buns, and potato chips. If there’s one thing we both learned at school, it’s that nothing beats a chip sandwich, as the Kiwi kid in my class called it.

We eat in silence as the movie starts to play, and like a typical guy, he inhales his food and manages to eat two in the time it’s taken me to eat half. He artfully organizes the pillows and blankets and drags me by the waist and into his arms the second I finish eating.

I try to focus on the movie, but I can only focus on Mickey: The way his body is perfectly molded to mine, the kisses he plants on the top of my head every so often, and how he doesn’t stop touching me. He’s constantly moving, rubbing circles with his palms and writing love letters with his fingers along my back.

He laughs at the movie on cue and blurts out whatever random thing he thinks of as he watches. With the countless layers of blankets hiding our intertwined bodies and nothing but the fairy lights and the projector to light our surroundings, I’ve never felt so content.

We’ve both lost our jackets, leaving us in our shirts and pants. He keeps running his hand up and down my arm like he can’t get enough of the feel of me. With each touch, the crappiness of everything that happened today floats away.

The credits roll, and I stretch my neck up to find he’s already looking at me. I shiver when his hand follows the curve of my waist, leaving a path of fire up along my collarbones to trace every contour of my face.

Warmth unfurls in my chest as the butterflies that have been quiet all night explode in a flurry of short breaths and fluttering lashes. Those gunmetal eyes of his pierce mine, and I can’t look away, lost in his scent and the way the shadows enhance his cheekbones and run along his nose. I could live in this moment forever and die happy, never seeing the sun again.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Bella.”

His gaze drops to my lips, where his fingers brush them over and over. His eyelids grow heavier with each move, hiding his darkening stare. Inch by inch, his other hand crawls up the back of my thigh, slowing over the arch of my back, eliciting a deep desire in me unlike anything I’ve ever known. My core tightens as an ache forms between my legs, but I’m too scared to shift my hips in case the movement causes Roman to snap out of his trance.

My pigtails loosen as his fingers move into my hair, threading through the strands as if he owns them. He doesn’t need to ask; he can take anything he wants from me. I’m his. It’s the only thing I’m certain about in this life.