But then he grabs my hands and looks into my soul. “Look, this isn’t at all how I wanted to do this. But I love you. A deep-within-my-soul, heartbreakingly beautiful kind of love.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he holds up his hand. “No. I don’t want you to say anything. And I’m not even saying I love you yet. When I say that, I want it to be perfectly right. Like out of one of your fairy tales. But I need you to know how I feel.”
I wipe my tears and nod.
And then we kiss.
And this kiss kills me.
A knife straight through my heart kills me.
Because I feel that way too.
“You’re still crying,” he says, wiping away my tears.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, baby. It’s been a rough night. Let’s go to bed.”
Then he takes my hand, leads me to my turret, takes my dress off, puts his blue linen shirt on me, pulls me into bed, kisses me sweetly, and holds me tight.
Pretty soon, I notice that he’s breathing heavily; asleep.
I glance at the clock, counting down the time I have left with him and holding him tighter than I ever have before.
Sorta like fate.
3am
I can’t sleep. My brain is still counting down—ticking and ticking— the hours and, now, the minutes until I have to say goodbye.
My stomach hurts. My heart aches. I feel sick.
I still can’t believe he wished on the moon.
But, yet, I know it’s true. Deep down inside me, I know it’s true.
And I don’t want to leave him.
But I know I have to.
I know it’s the only way.
I stare at him sleeping next to me.
Knowing it will be the last time.
I close my eyes and try to soak him in. The feel of his body curled into mine. His strong hand protectively holding my leg. The smell of his neck. The pace of his beating heart.
As I start to cry, I hear music. The same chords gently strummed across a guitar over and over. A soft, dreamy voice.
I slide out of bed, being careful not to wake Aiden, peek out the window, and see Damian sitting down by the water with his guitar.
I throw a robe around me and tiptoe out of the room.
“That’s pretty,” I say, sitting down next to him. “Is it new?”
When he replies, I see the boy I used to know, who was a little unsure of his talent, not the confident man he’s become. “I’m working on a song for her. I feel like I know everything about her but yet I don’t know the most important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“How to make her mine. She’s gorgeous. Sweet. My dream girl. When I walked up the beach, I felt like . . . I don’t even know; it’s hard to put into words. That’s why I’m having a hard time with this song.”
He studies me closely. “Are you and Aiden okay?”
I shrug, not knowing what to say.
“He had a chat with me. Like the talk Tommy had with me the night before I took you parking.”
“We didn’t go parking.”
“You and I know why you wanted to go up there.”
“Research for a role.”
“Exactly. But Tommy didn’t believe that. He basically told me if I touched you, he’d fuck me up.”
“He wouldn’t say that!”
“He didn’t say that, but that was the message. Trust me.”
“He's really protective of her. They've been through a lot together.”
“I know about everything.”
“Like what?”
“She told me all of it. Listed every reason why I shouldn’t like her. What happened with her mom. Why she ended up at school. Why Aiden went there. Her affair with the teacher. Her friend threatening her. Her partying, activities, and the names and addresses of every boy she ever kissed.”
“Why would you need their addresses?”
“So I can write each one a thank you note for being a dick to her.”
“You really have been talking.”
He nods. “And I told her everything about me. My past, the tour, and even the groupies. Now if I could just put in words how I felt when I first met her.”
I think about how Aiden made me feel when I first met him. “Did you feel like she spoke to your soul? Or like she was a magnet that you couldn’t help but be pulled toward?”
“That’s exactly what it felt like. Hang on,” he says as he writes the words magnetic and soul into the notes app on his phone. “She probably thinks I’m a freak because I can’t stop staring at her, but I feel like I’m looking at my future. And that smile.” He stops again and adds smile and future to his list.
“Wanna hear a funny story?”
He nods at me.
“I tutor Aiden in French. And one of the very first times we were in the library studying, he told me we were fate. That it was fate that we were there. That we both ended up at the same school. And I laughed at him . . .”
Damian starts typing, so I stop talking. “No, keep going,” he says.
“Anyway, he asked me what the French word for fate was and it’s . . .”
“Sort,” Damian says slowly.
“Right. And then he said that we’re sorta like fate.”
He puts his palm into the air. “Hang on.” He types some more then says, “What else?”
“Then he told me that he’s going to ask me to marry him at the . . .” Tears start streaming down my face. Damian looks up from his phone.