“Sounds likeyourMum.”
I shake my head, smiling to myself. “It’s starting to feel like we’re becoming a family or something.”
He pauses, then shrugs lightly. “Hmm. Yeah. Seems like it.”
There’s something careful in his tone, thoughtful.
“I should probably warn Mama and Tatanow,” I say. “Give them over three hundred days to emotionally prepare for the idea that we might miss apartof Christmas.”
He laughs outright. “Yes. Definitely do that gently. We don’t want to cause an international incident.”
We finish with the tree and carry the last box down the hall, heading for the bedroom to deal with the stray decorations. I reach for the lights draped along the headboard, then stop.
“No,” I say suddenly. “Actually… let’s keep them up here.”
He looks at me, eyebrow lifting.
“I like it,” I explain. “The glow. When all the other lights are off.”
He smiles. “Yeah. Me too.”
The rest of the night unfolds the way it always does now, effortlessly. We pull the bed down, straighten the sheets. One of us showers,then the other. Toothbrushes side by side, familiar elbows bumping. No rush.No performance.
Somewhere in the middle of it, it hits me how easy this has become. In the last year, we’ve slipped into a rhythm so natural I sometimes forget who he is to the rest of the world. Most days, he’s just Rafe, barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, quietly humming to himself. Some mornings, I wake to find him still up at four, scribbling lyrics in a notebook or whispering lines into his phone. He says they’ll disappear if he waits too long. I start the coffee and sit with him, watching his fingers move, peaceful and focused, observing the truest version of him. Other days, he’s gone, and the ache creeps in, cruel and insistent, until I realize how much space he occupies simply by existing near me.
Then there are the nights I’m on call, the screech of my pager cutting through sleep, the way I bolt upright and scramble for clothes while he blinks himself awake, already reaching for my keys. The sight of him standing in the doorway, hair rumpled, concern written all over his face before he kisses me goodbye, always makes me smile, even when I’m exhausted. Sometimes, without warning, Piotr crashes back into the room just like he did in life. His laugh in a memory, a smell, a stupid joke I almost expect to hear, and I break apart. I collapse into it, sobbing like it’s the first day all over again. Rafe just holds me, patient in a way I still don’t understand, like he has all the time in the world for a pain that isn’t even his.
Most of the time, though, it’s just this,us. Quiet.Ordinary.We climb into bed, the lights casting soft shadows across the walls. The night feels warm, like it’s wrapped itself around us. Rafe pulls me in, but I feel a hint of tension in him, something unspoken being held.
I tilt my head back slightly. “Something on your mind?”
He hesitates, then exhales softly. “Oh, nothing. Just—” He tightens his arms. “Why are you so bloody far away?” I smile and scoot closer, tucking myself against him until there’s no space left to negotiate. His breath evens out almost immediately. “Better,” he murmurs.
We settle like that, limbs tangled, breaths syncing, the lights glowing softly above us. My eyes drift closed, sleep tugging at the edges. For a moment, everything feels exactly where it’s supposed to be.
We stay like that for a while, just breathing, tangled in sheets and the peaceful quiet, until suddenly, he moves. He leans over me, reaching for the side table. I feel the brush of his arm, the cool air sneaking under the blanket.
“What are you doing?” I mumble, half asleep.
“Hold on,” he whispers, his voice close to my ear, all warmth and nerves. He laughs softly, the sound rumbling against my back. I feel him pull something small from the drawer. When he wraps both arms around me again, his chest pressed to my back, I glance down.
A tiny box sits in his hands. For a heartbeat, I can’t breathe. He opens it. Inside, the diamond catches the faint light and throws it back at me, silver and blue. Sapphires, circle the edge. My favorite color entwined with the six seeds of Persephone. He always remembers the details.
“Rafe,” I whisper. “Are you—?”
He presses a kiss to my temple, I can feel his smile against me. “Give me a second.”
I laugh, tears already burning. He swallows once, then leans closer, his voice barely a breath against my ear.
“Katarzyna Sawadzka,will you allow me the pleasure of remainingabsolutelyobsessed with you, for the rest of this lifetime and every one that follows? Will you take thisrathersparkly pomegranate and become my Persephone,officially?”
The way he says it, almost shy, moves me. I turn in his arms, and the smile he gives me feels like light breaking through. I kiss him, tasting the salt of our tears, the laughter on our lips, and whisper into his mouth, “Yes.”
He slides the ring onto my finger, both of us staring at it like it’s something alive. My tears fall before I can stop them, small and warm against my skin. He tilts my chin up, brushing them away with his thumb, his own eyes wet in the dim light.
His mouth claims mine again, slower now, devastating in its patience. He knows exactly what it’s doing to me and doesn’t apologize for it. His hand tightens at my waist, fingers flexing, eager. I make a sound into his mouth, soft and involuntary. He answers it with a groan that vibrates straight through me.
“Kas,” he mutters, breath rough. “How am I supposed to survive until our wedding when you sound likethat?” We both smile at that.Our wedding.
