“Forgot you? What are you talking about?”
“You don’t remember this, but we met for the first timeat Dad’s house when we were kids,” he murmurs in my neck. “We were seven, and I was in the garden to gather flowers for Mom, and you were sitting on this tree looking like a fairy. Then you fell over me, gave me candies, and wished me a happy birthday. I think I’ve been in love with you since, baby.”
I pull back, my heart pounding so hard, it clogs my throat. “Wait. The kid with the daisy was you…?”
“Yes.” He trails his hands over my cheek and through my hair, touching me everywhere, like he’s trying to sink deeper than my skin. “You forgot about me, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t. I came back the next day looking for you, but none of the staff recognized you. I thought you were an imaginary friend, I had lots of those while I was growing up, so I didn’t question it. Oh! Now I know why your pictures from when you were a kid looked familiar. It’s because we met before! That’s why you called me fairy prince when we met again during the games in high school—because you thought I looked like a fairy…?”
“Yeah. I was both annoyed and hurt that you didn’t remember me when I think I’ve been in love with you since then, baby.”
My lips quiver, my heart tightening under the weight of too many emotions until it overflows. He loved me back then?
Marcus?Me?
“I…was your first crush?”
“Firstlove. And the only one.” He smiles. “Mom said that on the way back, I asked her if I could marry you.”
My rib cage is clenching, unable to process just how ecstatic and surreal this all feels. “Maybe I loved you, too.”
“You don’t have to say that?—”
“I mean it. I was really sad when no one rememberedyou, and I still have that daisy in my elementary school book somewhere. It was the first time someone called me pretty but not like a girl. Just pretty. I really liked that.”
“So you do remember me?”
“Of course I do. I told Mom all about you and even named you Daisy…wait! Don’t tell me, the daisy tattoo…?”
He clutches my hand and places it on his thigh, where I know the tattoo is. “Yes, it’s for you, my prince.”
“And here I was jealous of some imaginary girl.” I laugh to myself.
“You don’t need to be jealous of anyone.” He lifts my palm from his thigh and drops a kiss to the middle, then presses it on his cheek, softly, tenderly. “You own me, Preston. You have for longer than I was willing to admit. I kept trying to name it—obsession, fixation, the urge to drag you close and keep you where I could see you. But it wasn’t any of that. Not really. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about wanting you and became aboutneedingyou. Every day, I woke up with the need to know you’re breathing and still choosing this messed-up thing between us.”
“I would always choose this thing between us, Marcus.” My lips shake around the words.
“Me too, baby.” He kisses my palm again. “I used to think I didn’t feel much. Or anything. That whatever part of me that was supposed to love never developed. But then you came in so loud and chaotic and slightly broken, and suddenly, everything I didn’t think I had started pulling me toward you. I look at you, and all I want is to put myself between you and the world. Not because I’m trying to claim you, though that does exist. But it’s because I can’t stand the thought ofanythingtouching you. Because every emotion I thought I didn’t have…apparently bleeds for you.”
“Oh, Marcus,” I breathe, brushing my lips to his, coming undone at his words. “You’re so done.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah. I just decided I’ll never let you go.”
“Neither will I, baby.”
And then I’m kissing him deep, and he kisses me back with slow, devastating certainty as I cling to him like he’s the only thing holding me upright.
And maybe he is.
I used to think love only came with pain, but this man showed me just how wrong that was.
He showed me how to love deeply, strongly, even a touch chaotically, until I know I’m not alone in this anymore.
And he’ll make sure I never will be.
EPILOGUE 1 — PRESTON
