“Happy birthday, beautiful,” he whispers.
Beautiful. Not cute or pretty. He thinks I’m beautiful.
I move my head to the side and hide my face with my hair to stop him from noticing the blush tinting my cheeks, but it’s useless. Especially when I stop breathing because he moves my face back and his lips descend against my forehead.
“Another year of you and me.”
The chain around my neck tugs, but I stay completely still as I feel the heat radiate through the cotton as he checks the pendant. He makes a sound of approval that practically melts my insides.
I don’t miss how his eyes drop to my chest every time I see him, like he’s checking it’s still there. The corners of his mouth tilt up, and he does a little nod that I’m not sure is meant for him or me.
But I get it. I have that feeling whenever I see the bracelet around his wrist—a new one because he seems to break it every two years.
Thanks to the advancement of technology and since Mick started working full time at the garage, we both have phones and a decent camera. This means that he spends all day, every day, taking photos of everything but himself, and I have half a million selfies with him. Now, on one side of the locket, I have something to remember Ma, and on the other side, there’s a picture of Mickey and me.
“Did you eat breakfast? What do you have for lunch?” Mickey asks.
I stiffen. These questions are worse than random tests at school because at least I have a chance of passing them. Mickey’s questions, on the other hand, are an instant fail. Straight to detention （also known as Roman’s blistering glare and his huff of disapproval）。
If I could sink into the grass, I would. He should just hand me a shovel now if he’s planning on asking any follow-up questions.
He shakes his head, reaching for something behind him as he mutters, “Signore, dammi forza.”
Lord, give me strength.
I bite the inside of my cheek because I can deal with his anger, but not his disapproval.
“I have crackers.” I wince the second the words are out of my mouth.
“And?” He cocks a brow.
Please, no more follow-up questions.
“Maybe an apple…”
He sighs again and drops a container into my hands, which I quickly shove into my bag. He’s about to say more, but the sound of the front door opening causes his entire body to tense.
I gasp when he tugs me behind him, becoming a makeshift barrier between me and Marcus as he innocently descends the stairs. But Marcus’s eyes aren’t on me; they’re on Mickey, and they’re having a stare-off so vicious they could silence the cicadas with it.
Make that four traditions. He always glares at Marcus.
Neither of them breaks eye contact, even when I try to get Mickey’s attention.
“I don’t like him.” His voice is devoid of any softness, something I’ve only heard seconds before he goes in for the attack. “If he touches you, say the word, and he’s fucking dead. You got it?” Those steel eyes dart to where my room is, and he scowls. “I told you to keep your windows closed.” Roman trains his attention back on me, and I almost step back with how much ire simmers there. “Do you put the chair under the door handle like I told you to?”
“I mean, sometimes?” I haven’t. Not once. What if Jeremy has a nightmare?
I can’t very well lock him out.
His eyes darken. “The alternative is leaving the phone on the entire night so I can hear if that fucker comes in. Don’t say I don’t give you options.”
I shouldn’t get all gooey when he goes into protective mode, but I do. I don’t just know that he cares about me. I feel like I’m cared for.
“I’ll make sure I don’t forget,” I say, just to ease him. He worries a lot about other males, especially after how much I was bullied when I went away. But mainly because he sees what happens to the wives in the houses he used to get put in.
“You leave your window open at night. Nothing will stop me from checking to see whether you've been a good girl and done as you've been told.” If his voice alone could kill, I’d be dead ten times over. “You better make sure you do it.”
I bite the corner of my lip. Every sound, every accent-laced syllable coming out of his mouth is sending me and my swooning into a frenzy. “Or what?”
Oh no. I realize right away I shouldn’t have said that.
I wait with bated breath as the darkness in his eyes changes from murder to mayhem, and his lips morph into the grin that has every girl around dropping their panties.