Текст книги "Skin of a sinner"

Автор книги: Avina St. Graves

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“You’re being a very naughty girl, Bella.”

The ominous tone of his voice sends a shudder down my spine as he drags me back inside with nothing but the flickering streetlight to guide the way. As soon as the front door shuts, he’s caging me against the wood with his body, pinning my arms above my head with a single hand.

“It’s like you’re begging to be punished.” The sentence is laced with hope that I’ll fight him again, letting me know how serious he is by pushing his bulge against my stomach.

“What—" My eyes widen when his free hand joins his other, and something soft wraps around my wrists. The door groans as I shift to glance at the black rope Roman is binding my wrists with.

Mouth hanging open, I notice he's not using just any rope. It's not the kind found in a department store, and it's certainly nothing like the abrasive hemp rope he used on Marcus. The realization that he's using silk rope kicks me in the gut.

Roman knew I would fight him, knew I would try to run. He planned it all. The mask, the method of torture and death, the different ropes, the message he left when I arrived home yesterday.

I don’t know who this man is. Roman never planned ahead when spilling blood was involved. He was impulsive—acting first, avoiding consequences later. Which begs the question, what else does he have planned?

“Don’t do this,” I beg.

I can see the concentration in his pinched brows as he works to tie my wrists firmly, but not to the point of pain, as I thrash.

“I don’t want to do this, Bella. Do you think I want to hurt you?” he asks through gritted teeth.

“Yes.”

The muscle in his cheek pulses as he pauses and looks down at me. “Never.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

He tenses, and something flashes in his eyes too quickly for me to figure out what it is.

I look behind him toward the kitchen, where two dead bodies remain. “You shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur.

He tilts his head, raking his gaze over my face as the corner of his lips curves upward. “You could have stopped me.”

“How?”

His eyes soften, and I see the man I used to know for the first time tonight. The one who reserved all his genuine smiles for me and would only truly laugh if it was just the two of us alone.

Roman’s voice is dangerously low. “I would do anything you tell me to.”

I swallow and hold his stare, hoping he will see whatever I’m feeling so I don’t need to admit it to myself. “Let me go.”

“Anything but that.”

“Roman,” I plead.

Any evidence of the man I knew slips away with a flash of hurt, quickly replaced by his menacing grin. “Come on. It’s just you and me from now on.”

He throws me over his shoulder, knocking the wind from me before I can say anything else.

“Put me down,” I hiss, hitting his toned back with my bound wrists.

He chuckles, and I yelp when he slaps my ass. “Fuck, I missed you.”

My legs flop against his chest, and my dark hair sways with his movements. What’s worse is that I miss him too. I miss his voice, the nicknames, the constant entertainment, and the way he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He grabs a duffle bag off the floor, opens the door, clicks the internal lock, then shuts it behind him. I squirm against his shoulder, still beating his back and kicking his front, growling obscenities under my breath.

But if I’m completely honest with myself, it’s all for peace of mind that I tried—that I wasn’t an entirely willing victim. We both know the truth. It’s right there in front of us and undeniable under the cloudy night sky: If I truly wanted to be free of him, I would be.

I could scream, and everyone around would hear. Other than us and the insects of the night, there isn’t a sound to be heard in the less-than-safe neighborhood. But still, I stay silent as he carries me through the empty street.

Roman’s steps are so leisurely and confident that even the best detective could be convinced he isn’t abducting someone. I manage to prop myself up on his shoulders to watch the place I lived for the past four years shrink in the distance until it’s hidden behind trees. It’s hard to believe everyone is fast asleep in their beds, unaware of the carnage in house number thirty-four.

Roman drops me to my feet beside an unassuming pickup truck, clamps his hand on my arm, and tsks. “Don’t even think about it.”

I frown at him. I wasn’t even thinking about running; I was just waiting for him to unlock the truck so I could step inside. What is wrong with me?

The second he opens the car door, I rip myself from his grip and slip inside. The more he touches me, the more my anger toward him wanes, and I deserve to be angry for everything that’s happened.

He’s breaking my resolve too quickly.

When the door shuts, I’m left alone in the quiet darkness of the car. Suddenly, everything comes crashing down—the adrenaline, the nerves, the ache between my legs, and the tender skin beneath the ropes. A single tear trails down my cheek, and I wipe it away before he can see.

This is really happening.

Roman used to be terrible at chess and sub-par at mind games. He’d prefer inflicting the type of pain that comes from his hand and a well-chosen weapon. But that’s part of the problem; he used to be that way. The person who smiled at me when I first came down the stairs earlier tonight is all man. He’s physically changed in ways I can’t even begin to describe, with broader shoulders and a sharper jaw. What about on the inside?

Has this man mastered owning the board and come to play with a different type of toy? Something else he can use and discard once he’s bored.

The air electrifies when he drops himself into his seat with the same grace as a lion, humming an unknown tune as the car comes to life. Roman drives us away from the neighborhood and onto one of the back streets, tapping the wheel and filling the silence with his sounds.

He’s relaxed and at ease.

He’s fucking crazy.

If it weren’t for the evidence of his brutality splattered on his face, I wouldn’t believe him if he told me about what he just did.

There wasn’t a single secret between us for almost twelve years, and now I don’t even know how to speak to him and break the silence. The dynamic between us has shifted. It’s no longer the princess and her knight. It’s something far simpler: the prisoner and her captor.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask when I can’t stand listening to any more of his goddamn humming and tapping.

“Home.” He doesn’t hesitate with his answer, and his tone has an almost patronizing edge, like his response was a given.

“You just took me from it.”

He snorts. “That was a house, but it wasn’t your home.” Roman adjusts himself in his seat and checks the rearview mirror. I’m guessing it’s to see if we’re being followed. “Our home is wherever we make it.”

Our. We. He’s talking like someone who isn’t just going to disappear again.

“You went too far.”

“No amount of blood spilled will ever be too much for you.”

“When will it end?”

He smirks. “When I’m in a grave, and even then, Hell won’t keep me from you.”

I jump when his warm hand lands on my leg without a single thread to separate our skin. The contact makes me heady in my already delirious mind. I have to squeeze my legs together, because my body hasn’t forgotten the state he brought me to in the house. I grab his wrist to try to push him away, but my pathetic attempt does nothing against his brute strength.

I know what he’ll find if he dips his hands into my shorts again. No matter how much I tell myself that I shouldn’t want this or that I am meant to be angry at him, my body has other ideas. He has the face of an angel and the mind of the devil.

“But you’ll ruin me,” I whisper.

I watch as his smile turns ravenous, and the desire to run kicks in. “Does that excite you?”

His hand inches higher until it’s at the junction of my thighs. My voice hitches when I say, “No.”

“Don’t worry. If you break, I’ll put you back together. If you run, I’m running right behind you. If you burn, I’ll burn with you.”

When I look down at his hand, I tense for an entirely different reason. Under the fading lights of the city, I spot a black-and-red embroidered friendship bracelet peeking out beneath his long sleeve shirt.

He still has it.

I glance at my own wrist and swallow.

The bindings dig into my skin, and he catches sight of my wince, frowning to himself.

He moves his hand to fiddle with something on the center dash, but the absence of his touch doesn’t make me breathe any easier. It isn’t until soft chirping filters through the speakers that I stop breathing altogether.

I haven’t listened to a nature podcast in years. We had a list of all the podcasts we wanted to listen to, then every day, we would plan which one we’d listen to that night as we fell asleep under a different roof. He said it would be like we were right next to each other, hearing the same sounds and learning the same things.

When he left, I couldn’t listen to them anymore, because I was too busy wallowing over someone who wasn’t there. And now here we are, listening to the same podcast like the past three years never happened.

I watch skeptically as he pulls a blanket from the back seat and drapes it over my lap.

“Go to sleep,” he says, tone filled with the warmth he’s only ever directed at me. “You’ve had a long night. I’ll wake you up once we’re there.”

I know I should protest, and self-preservation requires I stay awake to see where I am going.

His hand moves languidly up and down my leg, lacking any pretense other than comfort. Against my better judgment, the hypnotic touch makes my muscles relax.

Before sleep pulls me under, I hear him ask, “Do you remember what I told you, Bella? Do you remember what I promised you?”

Of course I do. I could never forget his promise.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 7

ROMAN

7 Years Ago

Roman: 15 years old – Isabella: 13 years old.

I’m bad at math, but lately, I’ve been really fucking good at it.

43 weeks.

301 days.

7224 hours.

That’s how long she’s been gone.

I’m great at counting now. Bella would be proud.

She used to tell me that she likes to count the marks on her ceiling when she feels like her mind is a little too much for her. I didn’t see the appeal in counting anything, because putting a value on something implies a limitation.

Now I get it. I’ve started counting my steps as I walk, not always intentionally. Still, I count the bricks in the pavement and add another point for every one my shoe touches. Sometimes I count the number of stairs as I go up or down. I lose focus half the time and miscount, but no one is keeping track. No one will know of the mistake but me.

Here are a few examples of my new fondness for counting:

Six. That’s how many times Aaron—my new foster father—has scowled at me this morning.

Two. That’s the number of times he’s hit me since I woke up.

Eighteen. That’s how many hours I’ve gone without food—not Aaron’s fault—Because nothing tastes right.

And my favorite: one. That’s how long until I see Bella again. One hour.

I knew the hell I went through would be worth it the second I saw her again. When she left, I sat in the back of a cop car, bloody and bruised, my voice hoarse from screaming my lungs out, then seeing the vicious look on Steve’s face when he picked me up. By that point, I was too numb to the reality of the situation to figure out where I was or why I was there.

Because the voices were quiet, and she wasn’t there.

I stared at the darkness for three days. And in those three days, I understood what Bella meant when she said that sometimes the quiet in the brain is too loud. Usually, I had my own thoughts to keep me going, but they left with her. Then Steve got busted for child abuse, and now, here I am with Aaron. He’s a total cunt. But Julie is nice enough—when she’s around.

Aaron likes to accidentally forget to feed me when Julie is away at work. Some kind of hairstylist or makeup artist or something. But it isn’t like when I was eight years old and didn’t know my way around the kitchen.

So, I just help myself to the kitchen—on the rare occasion there’s food.

Whether by blind faith or complete idiocy, I’m still here, putting up with the back of Aaron’s hand whenever Julie isn’t around. Yes, I tried running away a few times to find Bella, but I always came back. And yes, Aaron tried kicking me to the curb for it, but the government checks kept rolling in.

Plus, leaving for good wasn’t an option. How else would she know how to find me?

But she’s back.

She’s back. She’s back. She’s back.

God, she’s finally back.

I saw Bella last week. Just the back of her head, but I knew without a doubt that it was her. I’d recognize those terrible braids anywhere. She clutched her mom's Mickey Mouse toy in her hand as she climbed up some steps. Walking behind her was little Jeremy and a guy my age. And man, if it didn’t get my heart pumping. I’m assuming he’s her foster brother, but it doesn’t matter who he is to her; I don’t trust him.

Her new place is just down the street from me, but I haven’t been able to go up to her. Not yet. I need to be ready.

Instead, I followed her as she walked to Steve’s place and asked where I was. I watched her lip tremble as she shuffled back to her house, defeated. It hurt to see, but it’ll all be worth it.

It’s the first day back to school after summer break, and I am betting everything I own that Bella will go to the same school. It’s the closest school to our houses, and if she isn’t there, I’ll need to find a way to transfer.

I toy with the broken bracelet in my pocket, my bag heavier than usual. I watch her from a distance, holding Jeremy’s hand as she walks toward his elementary school. I’m glad he ended up with Bella so she has someone other than me. Though, I’d prefer it if it was just me.

No, I’m not jealous, I swear.

The little guy’s backpack is practically the size of him, coming down to the backs of his knees as he wobbles along, lugging the thing around. Admittedly, it looks empty, while hers is filled to the brim. No one would mistake them as siblings, not with Jeremy’s umber complexion and Bella’s golden skin.

But out of everything, what has warmth unfurling in the space I haven’t felt beat in almost a year, is the wonky, Wednesday Addams braid she’s sporting. It’s aggravating to look at how uneven it is, with a couple of wrong twists.

But to me, it’s perfect.

Everything she does is perfect.

I didn’t know it was possible, but somehow, she looks even cuter. I could stare at her all day with her baggy jeans held up by a string and the—what I’m guessing is DIY’d—tie-dyed shirt with some boy band on it.

She’s taller than I remember, and I don’t know if I like that. I think she might actually be taller than the boys in her class. She better not be taller than me. I don’t think my ego can take that kind of damage.

I want to pull my hair out with how slow the walk is, and I know it has nothing to do with Jeremy’s little legs. Seeing how hard she’s clutching his hand, my guess is that Bella is anxious.

Does she miss me? Is she hoping she’ll see me at school? What will she do when she sees me? Smile? Cry happy tears? Freak out about my black eye?

When she gets to the front of Jeremy’s school, she turns him around, takes stuff out of her backpack, puts it in his, and then waves him off like a doting mother as he all but skips to class without a backward glance. I guess his nerves are gone because he had the first-day jitters last week when his school started.

Once he’s out of sight, her shoulders sag and she curls in on herself, grasping the straps of her bag like she’s trying to stay afloat and the bag is her only lifeline.

My blood sounds louder in my ears. What the fuck happened to her when she was gone? I haven’t seen her act like that since we were kids.

Bella was never the type to draw attention to herself, but at some point, she stopped acting like she had to ensure she didn’t breathe too loudly. Her head would be held up, not too high that she’s looking down her nose, but not too low that she’s looking up from her lashes.

I pick up my pace, closing the distance between us and easing some of the tension caused by the thing now thumping in my chest. She’s too caught up in her own world, threading between the throng of people, focused on getting where she needs to go.

As soon as she passes through the school gate, my patience disappears. Too much time has passed, and I’m not waiting another second.

I creep up behind her and whisper over her shoulder. “There you are, Princess.”

Bella whirls around and stumbles back. My blood roars louder when her eyes round with fear, and she throws her arms up like she’s trying to block a punch—just like I taught her.

Every cell in my body goes hot and cold at the same time. She doesn’t need to say it. Somebody hurt her. Somebody laid a fucking hand on her. I don’t care who he is; he’s a dead man.

Bella will flinch or yelp and put a hand over her heart, but she never pales like her life flashed behind her eyes. The Bella I know doesn’t cower, and she sure as hell doesn’t look like she’s bracing for an assault.

But then everything stops—every bruise on my body, every incessant noise in my head, every buzz in my vein, and every murderous beat of my heart. Because the fear is gone, and the only thing in her eyes is what I’ve been yearning to see for almost a year.

Relief.

Joy.

Longing.

“Mickey,” she gasps.

She lunges for me before another word can make it out, and it’s my turn to stumble back. Her arms wrap around my neck, and she crushes me to her so there isn’t an inch of space between us. I don’t waste a second before curling my body around hers, grabbing and holding her like if I blink, I’ll be back to counting without an end in sight.

She’s not allowed to disappear again. I won’t let it happen.

The feeling of her pressed against me, holding me as if I actually mean something to her... it's nothing like all the times before.

When she hugged me on my birthday, it was a congratulatory hug. Something that came from the heart but was handed out like a simple gift and not something to be treasured. Something that’s meant to fade within passing minutes.

This? This is the world colliding and the stars aligning. More than a thousand words are strung together in a thousand different ways. She missed me. She wishes we were never separated. She didn’t stop thinking about me for a second. She’s back, and she’s never letting go.

Like this, the world won’t be able to touch her. No one will be able to hurt her, and she never has to worry about a thing ever again.

The top of her head grazes my lips as I pull her tighter and sigh.

Good. I’m still taller than her.

Keep it that way.

She doesn’t move away, and there’s no way that I’m about to. “I missed you, Mickey.”

I close my eyes and lean my cheek against her. That name is for us. Roman is who I am to everyone else: The boy whose parents didn’t want him the second he was born, and neither did his grandparents. Roman is the one who interrupts in class and can’t sit still. The one who’s pure mischief and going nowhere in life.

Even after all these years of Bella being able to pronounce her r’s, only she says my real name with something other than disgust.

Mickey and Roman are one and the same, but Mickey is just for her. It’s the name that has my heart ratcheting because it means I’m her home. She feels safe with me and never wants to lose me, just like her Mickey Mouse. I could die happy knowing she calls me that.

At one point, she became too embarrassed to call me Mickey because someone told her it was cringy. I beat him up and tried convincing Bella not to listen to him, but because I was young and stupid, I didn’t realize what the name really meant to her. I’ll never take it for granted.

“I missed you too,” I mumble into her hair.

“I—” She tries pulling away, but I don’t let her go. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I swear I didn’t know. I swear. They told me to pack my things—I thought they were kicking me out, and a truck came. I wanted to tell you. I tried so hard—”

“It’s okay.”

Her tears soak my shirt as she trembles against me. “I didn’t want to go. But they didn’t give me a choice. They made me—”

“I know. It’s okay, Bella.”

“I tried to fight them, but they wouldn’t let me leave. I wanted to see you before I left. I promise, Mickey, I had no idea. I didn’t want to leave you.”

A sob escapes her as she catches her breath. I pull her away from me and cup her cheeks, forcing her to look up at me. “I understand. I know you would never leave me.” I thumb away her tears. “None of that matters anymore; you know why?”

Her bottom lip quivers, and I almost lose it. “Because you’re back, and neither of us is going anywhere without the other. You hear me?”

Hesitantly, she nods.

“You will never be alone again. I swear on my life. Wherever you go, I’ll be right there. We’ll always find each other. I’m not going anywhere. It’s a promise. We’re forever, Princess, and nothing will ever come between us. Do you understand?”

She sniffles. “Yes.”

“Say it.”

“We’re forever.”

“Swear it.”

“I promise I’ll never leave you again.”

I grin. “Why?”

She narrows her eyes, but wipes her tears away as she raises her chin. But all I can see is the string bracelets fastened to her wrist. Not one. Two. “Because you’re a crazy asshole, but I love you for it.”

I think I stop breathing. I think my brain has stopped working altogether. I’ve never heard the word before. Not directed at me, anyway. Is that what it sounds like? Is this the word that describes the feeling in my chest every time I think about her? She said she loves me. The words repeat over and over and over.

She loves me. She loves me. She loves me.

Bella loves me.

“A little overbearing. Impulsive. Kinda frightening,” she continues.

“Do I scare you?”

“Never.” She frowns. “Not anymore, at least.”

I look away dramatically, deep in thought, as I force my fingers to peel away from her skin. “I think we should change that.”

I need to see her smile. I need to get my old Bella back—the one who isn’t so frightened of shadows.

She scoffs. “I wouldn’t say golden retrievers are scary.”

That might single-handedly be the most offensive thing anyone has ever said to me, but there’s a mischievous grin on her lips I don’t want to disappear. That is my Bella. The one who snaps and then licks the wound later… Sometimes. Only if I don’t piss her off again.

“Hellhound is more accurate,” I say as I nudge her toward one of the benches.

As embarrassing as it was, she read Percy Jackson to me a few years ago as a way to practice her speech—and because the only way I can sit still long enough to read a book is if she’s reading it to me. Greek mythology became my whole ass personality after that. There was some kind of Greek reference in my drawings for so long, I am officially a master at drawing armor.

“Eh.” She shrugs and bites the inside of her lip. “You’re harmless. You’re more like a handbag dog; all bark and no bite.”

She’s all shit, and she knows it. But Jesus Christ, I’m hooked on every word that comes out of her mouth because she’s finally back. I’ve waited so long, and it was all worth it.

Bella, ever the timid princess she is, lowers herself onto her seat far too gracefully. I plop down onto the bench in a heap, which is far more fitting. Especially when a can of spray paint is in my bag—it’s my newly acquired hobby.

I shove my hand in my pocket to stop myself from reaching out for her, and my fingers brush against the cotton strings of the bracelet. I run my tongue over my teeth as I pull it out and show it to her. “I, uh.” I clear my throat. “I accidentally broke it.” She blinks at the red and black tangles in my palm. I’ll admit, it’s a little worse for wear from living in my pocket. “And you’ve kept it on you?”

“Of course. It matches my complexion.”

Her brows knit together, but it’s filled with understanding. “I can make you another.”

“No. Can you fix it?”

She shakes her head, and I hate it. I’m not surprised. It’s ripped past the point of return. All the edges are fraying, and the knots have come undone. Only a miracle could salvage it.

Her delicate fingers fiddle with one of the string bracelets around her wrist—the red-and-black one that’s an exact replica of the one I broke—and she unfastens it.

Time seems to slow as she grabs my hand and fastens it around my wrist. She was wearing me.

She was wearing me.

She was wearing me.

She was wearing me.

“Don’t break it this time,” she says with a playful bite.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, reaching for my bag. I’ve been busy all week, and I can’t wait for the look on her face. “I got you something.”

She stills. “Wait. What do you mean you got me something? How did you know I was going to be here?”

I smirk. “I know everything.”

Bella slaps my arm, but it doesn’t hurt. She’s the only one who could get away with it. “You prick! You knew I was back, and you didn’t even say hi?”

She’s so adorable when she’s angry.

I wink at her. “Had to make you work for it.”

Bella gives me a look that tells me she thinks I’m insane. Yeah, probably, but she’s the only person who makes me feel this way. I’ll put all the blame on her for this one.

“As I was saying,” I drawl, and take out the crumpled bag. I don’t wrap presents—that shit just ain’t for me.

Bella once said, “It’s what’s on the inside that counts,” so I’m going to hold her to it.

“I got you something.” I hold the bag out to her, and just before she’s about to grab it, I snatch it just out of reach. “Manners, Princess.”

Those big brown eyes of hers turn into slits. “Please.”

“Please, who?”

She sighs, but there’s no mistaking the excited tilt of her lips. “Please, Mickey.”

God, it’s so good to hear her say my name. “That’s better.”

She holds out her hand expectantly, waiting for the bag, but when a breath passes, her expression turns hesitant, then worried, then scared, all in a matter of two seconds. The heat in my blood returns because that’s not something my Bella does. Not if I can help it.

“I’ve decided to drip feed.”

The creasing of her brows is seriously cramping my vibe.

“I want to see each of your reactions.” I wink, attempting to lighten the mood.

She bites her lip and looks up at me from her lowered lashes like she’s too scared to say what she wants. Which is completely fucked up by my standards. I like Bella whichever way she comes, but I like the real Bella the most.

And Jesus, do I want to kiss her.

“First up,” I say as I stick my hand down into the ripped paper bag and pull out a book. Rejected by the Alpha. She stares at the book, then me, then back at the book with so much bewilderment that I might as well have pulled out a gun.

Jerking forward, she goes to snatch it, but I hold it out of her reach. Bella looks around with frantic eyes before scrambling for me to grab the book.

“Down, Mouse,” I tease, putting two fingers on her forehead and gently pushing her back.

This wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, but I ain’t mad about it. She keeps glancing around like someone might see.

“Remember the day before you left, when we went to the bookstore?” With each passing second, her skin glows redder and redder. I cock my head. Why is she so flustered about the fact I got it for her? She picked it off the shelf, read the back, then checked how much she had in her wallet. Then promptly put it back. “I’ve held on to it since then.”

“You…” She’s completely beet red as she blinks a couple more times at my outstretched hand. Bella clears her throat and sits up straighter. “You can’t afford it.”

“Money can’t buy everything.”

Translation: I stole it.

My lips stretch into a grin. “But I’ll give this to you on one condition?”

“What?”

Her breath hitches, and she leans forward slightly, looking around again like someone might catch us doing something illegal.

“You read it to me.”

She blanches, completely mortified, before turning redder than she was before. Whipping her head around, she spots the only person in earshot—one person with headphones—and then she covers the side of her mouth like the guy might hear, and she squeals, “That’s an R18 book.”

Oh. Oh, this is too good. I tsk and lean back against the bench. “Unrestricted access to written porn will ruin you, kid.”

Naughty, naughty girl.

To a bystander, it probably looks like we’re dealing drugs with how quickly she snatches the book from me and shoves it into her bag.

“Thank you,” she says under her breath. An adorable wrinkle forms along the bridge of her nose.

I chuckle and take it as my cue to move on to the next gift—something that won’t get her so wound up: a heart-shaped locket. There are a bunch of random ass swirls on the outside, and I know she’ll swoon over how “pretty” and “delicate” it is. Which is why the necklace is perfect for her.

“How did you afford—Who does this belong to, Mickey?”

“You.”

“Roman,” she warns.

I wince internally. She’d never wear something special that belonged to someone else, and I only have so much adult money—but my latest extra-curricular activities have changed that. I don’t make much, but the very first thing I bought was that necklace. I mean, it also meant that I had to skip a few meals, but it was worth it for her.

I’m not the best with my hands—not in the way that I want in this situation. I have my drawings, and Bella has her bracelets and anything else she puts her mind to, but it’s not enough.

Bella is sentimental, and I want to give her something that will withstand beating a window or running away from the cops—if she ever needed to. If we’re ever separated, a part of me will always be with her, around her neck and near her heart.

Though nothing will ever separate us. If she hasn’t realized it by now, she’s in for a surprise.

“I saved money.” Not a lie, but I’m not ready to tell Bella the whole truth just yet.

“Roman—"

“I promise you, no one has ever worn it but you. Now shut up and turn around.”

She doesn’t listen. Of course, she doesn’t listen. She narrows her eyes, completely disbelieving. “When did you get this?”

“Like, six months ago.” 163 days ago, to be precise.

Her shoulders sag a fraction. “But you didn’t even know if I was coming back.”