Wicked Love | √

Fourty

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

My chin drops as I blush. But he catches my chin and lifts it back up. "Beautiful," he repeats, holding me steady, refusing to let me pull away or hide from his unwavering praise.

"Thank you," I tell him earnestly. My eyes continue to take in the room around us. The one before held so many memories. But it also held lies and mistrust and fear. This one doesn't.

It's filled with love and hope and something I didn't know if I'd have a few weeks ago, a future.

"Don't thank me yet. This was only part one of the surprise," he tells me with an eager gleam in his eyes.

"What?" I question surprised. Another one? This was everything to me. What else does he have up his sleeve?

He steps away from me and peels off his coat and tosses it onto the large leather couch. He goes to one of the many shelves and quickly grabs a book. He then walks back over to me and presents me with it.

The cover has a girl with vibrant green eyes and dark hair, and she's dancing. It's a colorful illustration, and she looks so free yet powerful.

"Pretty," I murmur to myself as my fingers brush against the stunning cover. "What's it about?"

"A dancer in college who thinks she's nobody. A normal student who blends into the crowd. But she's a powerful sorcerer and she finds out all these new things about herself. And she finds her people. Her family."

A tear slides down my cheek at his words. I might not be a dancer or a sorcerer, but this year I found out more about myself than I ever have. I grew into a stronger and better person. My friends truly did become my family, my support. Even Everett and Lawrence became people I can trust and depend on, which in a million years I never thought I would say.

"Open it up," he urges as his fingers cup my tear stained cheek.

I flip open the hardcover to see two tickets to the New York City Ballet.

The thing my mother took away from me angrily because my father didn't like my grades. I haven't been back since because it left a bad taste in my mouth.

But Preston wants to change those memories. He wants to make new ones with me. He wants to change that negative into a positive.

I close the book softly and look up at him with pure adoration. "I love you," I whisper slowly.

"I love you Jameson. More and more each day. More than the day I found you reading under the streetlamp. More than the day I convinced you to let me tutor. Just more."

I'd usually fight him on that, but I'll let him have it this time cause this gift and those words mean everything to me.

I turn to place the book on the large ornate armchair near me before my hands lift to cover his hand that still remains on my cheek. "I know we have another semester together. And a summer. And I'm being dramatic. But I'm going to miss you so much next year." I don't want to be the needy girlfriend, but I also don't care. I'm just speaking my truth.

A part of me wants to almost chuckle at my words. When I started this semester I'd barely spoken two words to Preston Rothwell in years. And suddenly he's become my everything. But he didn't take away the parts of me that make me me. He added to them. He enhanced them.

No part of me scared him like it did others. And no part of his demons pushed me away.

Instead, that which made most people run away from us made us stronger together because we didn't have to change who we are.

I didn't have to tame those parts of me to make myself more palatable. That strength, those demons, are now armed in silver and gold and stronger and wiser than ever. They sit in the shadows, in waiting for us when we might need them.