Page 73 of King of Pain
Laughing, I tear into the package. Beneath the black paper is a shallow, square box, about eighteen inches wide. I carefully slide the lid off, and my breath catches so sharply it’s almost painful.
The Smiths –The Queen Is DeadPromo Vinyl… with the alternate cover.
“Anthony fucking Pacini,” I breathe, my voice shaky. “What have you done? Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for this? How? What... I don’t even know what to say. Ant, this is... I can’t.”
Ant looks at me, his expression softening. “I wanted you to have it—your holy grail,” he says, remembering me mentioning it at the shop. “I called shops around the country until I found one.”
My jaw drops and I just stare at him.
He shrugs. “I’m not great with words, but the way you’ve bulldozed into my life and through some of my walls... it’s changed me, Chance. For the better.”
I gulp hard, my chest full of emotion. “I’d say you’re pretty fucking good with words, Ant. Jeez.” His eyes search mine for a moment and he gives me a soft smile.
“Okay, your turn,” I say quickly, gesturing to the large bag in front of him. “Though I’m really scared to follow that up.”
Ant laughs softly and opens the package, revealing a gold lidded box. He lifts the lid and stares at its contents: a large frame with a charcoal drawing of Stevie Nicks on the left side and the lyrics to “Dreams” on the right. Inscribed at the bottom of the frame are the words:If I could turn all your nightmares into dreams, I would.
Ant doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and I start to worry. When he finally looks up, tears are streaming down his cheeks, glistening in the soft light.
“Fuck, I’m sorry—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“This is the most amazing thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Did you draw this? I don’t remember talking to you about this song.”
“Well, you play the song enough, but Jen told me how you think it’s the greatest ever written,” I tell him. “And yeah, I drew that. I hope it’s okay.”
He gives me a look so raw and full of feeling that I have to look away, my heart thundering in my chest and roaring in my ears.
“Keep looking at me like that, Beautiful, and I’m going to lunge across this room and feast on those perfect lips until New Year’s,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can think better of it.
Ant’s breath hitches audibly, then he jumps up and bolts to the patio. I give him a minute, then follow, finding him leaning on the railing, staring out into the night.
Fuck.
Placing a hand on his back, I ask softly, “You okay? I’m sorry I ruined the moment.”
He sighs. “You didn’t ruin anything, Chance. I did. I panicked.”
I turn him to face me, cupping his cheeks in my hands. “Hey. Nothing is ruined. This was the most perfect night. My God, Ant, the effort you put into this dinner. Talking to Ma. That gift... Ant, the thoughtfulness. Were you expecting me not to want to shove my tongue down your throat?”
He huffs a laugh.
I give him a crooked smirk. “Fuck, I probably would have offered to shove my tongue down Jen's throat if she got me that.”
A low and unmistakable rumble emits from his chest, and I blink. “Did you… did you just growl? Oh my God. Our Christmas Angel has a possessive side. Ooh, Angel… it’s perfect. That’s your new name.” I laugh, even though my insides have turned to molten lava.
He just stares at me, not impressed.
I snicker. “Alright, why don’t you stay out here for a few minutes? I’m going to go in and make us drinks… Angel.”
I start to head back inside, but his hand catches my arm. “No,” he says, his voice trembling slightly.
“Oh, you don’t want a drink?” I ask, looking over my shoulder and raising an eyebrow.
“No, don’t call me Angel,” he says so softly I almost don’t hear him.
I turn back, searching his face. “Okay,” I say slowly, “I won’t call you Angel.”
“No, it’s not just that,” he stammers, letting out a shaky breath. His eyes dart to mine, holding my gaze like it’s taking everything he has to say this. “I... I like it when you call me Beautiful.”
