I lift my head up to pop a kiss on her nose. “Plus, without it, I would have never met you, and that would’ve been the biggest loss. All the trophies and awards I’ve gotten over the years, I would trade them all for that night I met you.”
“I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you for sharing that with me.”
“I’ll share it all with you, Stevie. The good and the bad, I’m not afraid to show you all of it.”
“And I’ll accept it all.” She caresses my cheek. “Nothing would turn me away from you, Aleks. I spent so many years in a relationship, thinking I was happy, fooling myself. I didn’t realize that the way I was being loved wasn’t love. Maybe at one point it was, but by the end, it was just a toxic cycle of manipulation. But being with you? God, it’s like my life was in black and white, and you’re introducing me to all the colors.”
“Hearing that coming from an artist says a lot.”
She laughs at me. “It’s true. You helped me realize the sort of love I’m worth.”
Love.
I push myself up, leaning on my elbow. I stare at her, bathed in the darkness, haloed by the red light, my angel living in the underworld.
“I’m falling in love with you, Stephanie Andwell.”
Her eyes widen before they soften and melt. Her smile, her sunrise smile, leaks out.
“I’m falling in love with you, too, Aleksander Knight.”
She pulls me in for a kiss. It’s sweet like honey, sticking to my soul. We lie down against the pillows, and I pull her up against my body. She curls into my chest, and I pepper the crown of her head with kisses.
We fall asleep that way—entwined—my body protecting hers. No matter what, I will serve as her knight and slay any foes that get in our way. I will keep her safe because my heart is becoming hers.
No. That’s a lie.
My heart is already hers.
TWENTY-NINE
* * *
STEVIE
AS THEY BLOOM BY UNLIKE PLUTO
My groceries slip out of my hands, slamming onto the floor.
Pink.
Everywhere.
There are bouquets upon bouquets of pink roses in front of my door.
My entire vision is a blur of pink.
I slip to the floor, the pain in my knees registering for only a moment.
Why?
Why now?
He hasn’t sent any in weeks. I haven’t even heard from him. He hasn’t texted me, hasn’t called me. Even when I saw him at an art auction last weekend, he just gave me a bland greeting.
So, why?
I can’t do anything but stare and stare and stare.
“Stephanie, dear, are you alright?”
A hand shakes me out of my trance. I look up into the soft eyes of Ms. Arkin, the sweet old woman who lives in the apartment next to mine.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked if you were alright, dear?” Concern creases her expression.
I blink at her, then look around. The spilled groceries, the perfect flowers, and me, in the middle of the hallway. It’s a mess.
“Oh, yes, sorry. Just had a fright.” I try to laugh it off so I don’t worry her, but it clearly sounds fake.
I rush to pick up the groceries, shoving them back in my bags. Ms. Arkin crouches down and helps me, which just makes me feel worse. Once I’m standing, grocery bags repacked and in my hands, I expect her to leave. But she just watches me.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Stephanie? I’m sorry to ask again, but I would be doing a disservice to your grandmother if I didn’t.”
I take a deep breath, plastering on an even smile. “Yes, I’m alright. I thought a spider crawled out of the flowers. Silly, really.” I force my shaking hands to calm as I get my key out of my purse and unlock my door. It seems to placate her because she heads back toward her open door.
“Alright, well, I’ll bring over some of my lavender cookies later, they have calming effects.”
“That would be lovely.” I let my smile brighten even more and leave it there until she closes her door. Then it drops.
I stare down at the pink monstrosities again, and all I feel is anger. Pure, unadulterated anger.
Who does he think he is?
I kick one of the bouquets into my apartment.
Trying to mess with my head?
I kick another bouquet, the petals flying off.
Luring me into a false sense of peace?
I kick two bouquets this time with such force a professional soccer player would be proud.
I think fucking not.
I kick the last bouquet, my toe hitting something hard. I hear it go clanking into my apartment.
Weird.
I step inside, slamming the door closed behind me. I leave my groceries on the floor and search the ground for what could’ve made the noise, toeing through the strewn, bruised petals—but I find nothing. My amped up brain must have shorted out.
I stare at the broken bouquets on the floor. As offensive as they are, I can’t be bothered cleaning them up. I’d set fire to them if it wouldn’t burn down my apartment, and Chase doesn’t deserve that satisfaction.
Dammit, I need to figure out how the hell he is getting in here and setting them up.
I pick up my groceries, noting a wet spot on the ground. Groaning, I set them down again and peer inside. Yup. My jar of olives cracked.
Sighing, I trudge with the groceries to my kitchen, emptying out the dry bag before salvaging what I can from the olive-soaked one. My head twinges, a headache forming. My entire body feels drained from that one single moment, my emotional reserves depleted.
I get everything squared away, deciding to attack my chocolate-covered pretzels—which Aleks got me addicted to—while zoning my brain out with a cozy video game. But because I can’t have anything nice today, apparently, I trip over my rug, mere feet away from the couch. My arms pinwheel to correct my balance while still holding on to the bag of pretzels. I stumble a bit but remain upright.
Those flowers must be cursed.
I look back at the offending rug, ready to cuss out the inanimate object, when I spot something stuck under it. I toss the pretzels onto the couch, crouching down to stick my hand under the green woven material. My fingers close in on a rectangular chunk of plastic.
It’s a flash drive with a note strung onto the end.
Dread courses through me as I open it, reading the scrawled word.
Bullseye
“What?” I mutter to myself. Frowning, I turn the flash drive over in my hand.
Obviously, there is something on the USB. However, I’ve watched enough TV shows to know that there could be some malware on this thing that could attack my computer. I doubt Chase has enough skill to pull that off, but it doesn’t mean he couldn’t hire someone to do so.
I head into my bedroom, rummaging in my closet for a specific box. My fingers close around the gray box, and I tug it out, popping off the lid. I bought a cheap laptop when I studied abroad in Aix-en-Provence, afraid that someone might steal my expensive one. I never got rid of it, just threw it into my memorabilia box when I returned.
I crawl over to an outlet, plugging the laptop in and powering it on. I snort at the screensaver that pops up, a photo of me and my friends dramatically posing outside Cezanne’s studio. I type in my password three times before getting the correct one.
I thumb the flash drive, twirling it between my fingers. Stalling isn’t going to change whatever is on this thing. I push it open to reveal the USB and insert it into the laptop.