Page 99 of Mine to Ruin

“I’d love that.” I tip my chin up and kiss him.

On the way home, I turn to him.

“I am glad we came here.” I grab his hand in mine, and my thumb caresses the inside of his palm. He lifts our interlaced hands and kisses my fingers. “I love you. This has never changed and never will.”

“Promise it, swear it, vow it. Be mine,” he says gravelly.

“I do. I am.”

Love deserves all the chances in the world. I don’t want to ask what if. I would rather live this through, and say, ‘No regrets, I just followed my heart.’

The days before Christmas rush by in a daze of painting, shopping trips, and baking cookies.

When we reach my parents’ house, something deeper passes between my father and Kian, but seeing them in an easy conversation is enough to make me forget. My mom makes her special drink with Malibu, apple juice, and cinnamon. She tells Kian how she would catch me licking the remnants when I was a child, and he flashes his pearly white teeth.

I ask him later in bed how he used to spend Christmas.

“My grandfather would always be there,” he says, “so they had to pretend we were normal. A cook prepared dinner, strangers arranged the tree, and bought gifts.”

My heart constricts in my chest. “I am sorry, baby.”

“It’s not your fault, angel.”

We exchange gifts the next morning, and I watch Kian fighting with emotions as my parents hand him a present. He thanks them then excuses himself.

My mom says, “He must not have had a good childhood.” My dad nods at her, and I follow Kian to the backyard, his eyes forlorn. I wrap my hands around him and say, “Is it okay to be here, or should I give you a moment?”

He puts his arms around me and holds me tight. “You make everything better.”

My Kian resurrects from whatever holds him captive and then we go back. My mom embraces him and thanks him for the weekend spa voucher he offered her and my dad for the opening of his next hotel in San Diego.

He whispers a thank you for something I can’t catch. My mom wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes and my dad pats him on the shoulder. I don’t believe it has anything to do with the set of sports gear they bought him. Awkward, but they seem to get along so well, and that’s all that counts.

“Thank you for the art supplies.”

He must have bought an entire shop, but he grins and says, “I think it will come in handy.”

He unwraps his present, an abstract representation of a figure on layers of white show, arms forming wings. But what else to gift to a person who could buy himself everything.

“You like it?” I ask and two mesmerizing dimples dig in his cheeks.

“I love everything you paint,” he says, voice thick with admiration.

Once we’re home again, he puts his hands over my eyes, and he guides me down the hallway.

“Another present? You spoil me.” I can’t keep my joy out of my voice.

“It’s never enough.”

This man of mine. He opens a door, and when he drops his hands, my eyes well up. He transformed one of the guest’s rooms into my very own studio. I turn around and jump in his arms, and I crush my lips on his.

“Thank you so much. It’s… I am speechless.”

“I just want to make you happy.”

“You make me more than happy.”

Chapter 32

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