Page 143 of F*ckboys

"We all have to eat," he shrugs, spearing another forkful of pasta. "And where would I take my dates if not here?"

A swift kick impacts his shin under the table. He winces, catching the glint of humor in my eyes. "I'm not just another date, Aksel King."

"No, you're not." He reaches across the table to capture my hand, rubbing my thumb over her knuckles. "You never were. And, for the record, I've never brought anyone else here. It's been my special hideaway, a precious place just for me."

"Well, then I'm honored," I feel my cheeks heating at the thought of being the only person Aksel's ever brought to this gorgeous little retreat.

To my surprise, the restaurant features a special menu item with my name—the 'Fallon pavlova' covered in my favorite passionfruit pulp and fresh fruit toppings.

"My favorite dessert!" I gasp, staring at the plate set before me, a trembling smile curving my lips. How flattering, how special. "How did you know?"

"I know everything about you, Fallon." He brushes a stray curl behind my ear, lingering to cup my cheek. "I never forgot."

Tonight is like nothing I never could have dreamed of. It's as if Aksel has given me a glimpse into the life we could have together. A life filled with laughter and love. Thoughtfulness, and genuine appreciation, care and adoration for one another. One where the past remains in the past, and the future is ours to write.

Of course, I'm still wary, still hurting from old wounds. But I feel a flicker of hope. A candle in the darkness, guiding us home.

To each other.

Aksel

The laughter we shared, the secrets whispered over candlelight—they bound us together in a way I've craved for so long.

Fallon came back to me tonight. And this time it's for keeps.

She pauses on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, a soft smile curving her lips. "Thank you for tonight. I—I had a really nice time. You were so thoughtful, and…" she glances at her tennis bracelet, "this was all very unexpected but appreciated."

"The pleasure was all mine." I tuck a stray curl behind her ear, lingering to caress her cheek. "Can we do this again really soon?"

Fallon hesitates, but in her eyes, I glimpse a flicker of warmth. Of possibility. "I'd like that."

My heart kicks into overdrive as I stare down at this woman who still holds the missing pieces of my soul. "Tomorrow night. I'm taking you out for Thai food, your favorite."

Fallon laughs, the sound like music to my ears. "Trying to butter me up with more delicious food? What's your angle, King?"

I grin, pulling her into my arms. "Maybe. Is it working?"

"Maybe." Fallon tilts her chin up, and I close the distance between us—

Tonight changed everything.

Fallon came back to me, and this time, for real, I'm never letting her go.

Chapter 80

Aksel

Isit across from Fallon's father, the imposing figure of Colton Dempsey, in his lavish living room. The air is thick with tension as he lays down his demand: "Aksel, you need to propose to my daughter."

His words hit me like a freight train. Thank goodness Fallon isn't here to see the expression on my face. Not that I don't intend on proposing to her one day. One day soon, even. But right now, while it's early days and we still have so much to figure out?

Just this morning, we had an all-out spat about the virtues of granola versus muesli, and I'd really like to get those communication issues ironed out before we walk down the aisle and commit for life.

"Sir, don't you think that's a bit... hasty?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. But deep down, I can feel the pressure bearing down on me, threatening to crush our relationship. I was already feeling guilt pressing down on me for the white lie I told Fallon, that I needed to work late.

Telling her that I'd been summoned here by her father for a mysterious meeting would have pissed her off, and he'd sworn me to secrecy. But now, a mandatory marriage proposal? That introduces a whole new level of pressure.

"Tradition demands it, and it's good for business," he states firmly, not an ounce of compromise in his tone. I focus on his steely gaze, searching for any sign of empathy, but find none. Tradition. Reputation. Social status. Old money might try to present itself as modern, but these entrenched value systems have their hooks in deep beneath the surface. They're all anyone in those circles worries about, other than money of course.

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