“Let’s never again mention our fathers. Let them rot into oblivion.”
I nod. That’s all I can do, being grateful for not having to talk about those people who no longer hold power over our lives.
Atlas’s attention and fingers move to the small, poorly stitched wound on my arm, his touch turning gentle. His thumb grazes the zigzagging suture that one of Owen’s friends—a first-year med student—barely managed to stitch with his disturbingly shaky hands, while repeating on a loop, “I’m sorry. I never wanted to be a doctor,” each time the curved needle punctured my skin. When Atlas’s gaze levels with mine, I can see the same rage and guilt I saw the moment I got shot. But I don’t want those emotions eating at him, so I let my thoughts drift elsewhere and try to drag him along with me.
“How did you find me here?”
Noon at the Hemisfèric was my find-me-if-shit-hits-the-fan place and time, not at a beat-up hotel on the outskirts of the city, where I chose to hide myself, just in case.
Having a fake ID and covering my tracks makes me wonder if I could ever truly hide. Seems his promise to find me anywhere wasn’t empty after all.
“And don’t tell me you’ve followed the scent of crazy.”
He chuckles.
“Link tracked you through the city’s CCTV footage. I was pretty much watching you live every day until I got to you.”
“Stalker.”
“Only for you, Miss Lana Eros.” Oh, fuck! I bet he’s noticed the semordnilaps, which Owen was so unkind to arrange. “Anal Sore? Seriously, honey? You’re a sucker for insane fake names.”
“Well, I got the fakes for free, so I couldn’t exactly complain about the name, could I? The guy who provided them holds a tinybit of a grudge over an accident involving a game of hot potato with M-80 fireworks. He kinda lost a pinky back then.”
“Who the fuck needs a pinky, anyway?” Atlas shrugs.
Oh my God! We’re soulmates.
“That’s exactly what I said.”
I grin so wide it hurts, while his fingers pull the fabric of my panties to the side, and a finger plunges inside me. A pinky? I could probably come just from the way Atlas is looking at me. On a pinky at that.
“I have a problem with that name.”
He rumbles as he pulls the finger out and sucks it clean.
“You and I both.” I chuckle.
“Summer Holt has a much better ring to it. Don’t you think?”
Wait!
What?!
What?!
My heart somersaults in my chest before my brain can process what’s happening. That fucking churro I ate earlier must’ve been spiked to make me hallucinate.
Summer Holt?
“Are you asking me to marry you?” He opens his mouth to answer, but I cut in. “Oh wait, I know...” My eyes roll so hard I catch a glimpse of the empty parking lot at my back. “You have a problem with the wordask.”
He gives me a lopsided smile before landing another soft kiss on my lips and reaching for his back pocket.
“No, love. I will ask. I will plead. And I will beg if I have to, as long as you say yes.” His hand closes around my left one, holding a huge cushion-cut ring against my finger. “And if by some deranged and inexplicable reason you say no, I’ll still make you my wife.”How romantic!“I want the world to know you are mine and I am yours.” Then he slides the ring on my finger without waiting for my reply.
My mind flings between the gorgeous diamond on my handthat will certainly tempt someone to try and mug me for it, and Atlas, unbuckling his belt. I want to tease him, because it wouldn’t be us if I didn’t, or at least sayyes.Despite his big talk, I know he wants to hear it, but nothing comes out of me as I stare thunderstruck.
Atlas sliding up my flimsy velvet dress is the only thing pulling me out of my speechless daze.
