“I’m scared I’m going to get lost, can you give me a tour?”
Dumping our bags by the door, he guides me through one doorway, revealing the kitchen. “This is the kitchen.”
“Well, I didn’t see the oven and think it was the bedroom.” I haven’t even finished rolling my eyes before he’s trying to grab me. Darting to the other side of the kitchen island in a fit of laughter to avoid him, he scowls and shakes his head at me.
“You’re so fucking annoying.”
“And you’re slow. You should work on that.”
The rest of my tour takes hardly any time because it’s done by me running between rooms, cackling as Nathan tries to catch me. I know he’s letting me get away, one of his steps is two of mine, but this way is more fun.
I vaguely take in the tall ceilings and natural light.Blah blah. All the things you’re supposed to comment on when you’re in a beautiful home. What I’m really thinking is these big archways are making it super easy to not get tackled to the ground.
Running up the mammoth staircase, a staircase that should be reserved for ball gown entrances, Nate sneakily guides me toward one room in particular.
Out of breath, overexcited, and ready to admit defeat, I open the door to what is—surprise, surprise—his bedroom. Stopping in the doorway, his arms wrap around me from behind, carrying me
in and throwing me on his bed.
Throwing himself down next to me, he rolls me on top of him. “What did you think of the house tour?”
“I think I need to do more cardio.”
I feel the laugh rumble in his chest beneath my body, and his hands brush the hair out of my face. “I’ve been nervous about bringing you here.”
“Why?”
“It’s nothing like your house. There aren’t pictures, the only trophies you’ll see are Sasha’s, and it’s all a bit…I dunno. Cold.”
Even as I quickly moved between rooms, it was hard not to notice how clinical everything feels. There aren’t even any Christmas decorations anywhere, for fuck’s sake.
I know his dad is an asshole, Nate’s made that perfectly clear. But knowing your son is going to be home alone and not even putting a Christmas tree up? What about Sasha, who lived here all month? What if I’d stayed in Washington or California? He’d be in this huge, empty house alone.
A lump forms in my throat and I try to swallow it down, but it’s no use.
His eyes widen, body freezing. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” I cry, pushing myself to a seated position. “I don’t mean to be an emotional wreck all the time, I just.Fuck. I’m just thinking about what it would have been like for you to be here alone. I’m so happy I’m here with you.”
“Me too.”
THIRTY-SIX | NATHAN
When isthe right time to tell someone you love them?
Falling in love was not what I expected to do this year. I’ve never been in love, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell her without her running. She only said the wordboyfriendout loud to other people a couple of days ago, and now suddenly I’m thinking of hitting her with those three words? I must be losing it.
But I can’t help it, they’re on the tip of my tongue constantly.
My anxiety might come from knowing it’s been a series of unfortunate events that’s brought us to where we are now—an incredibly fortunate situation—which doesn’t happen very often. I feel lucky. That’s the only word that seems appropriate because things could have gone the complete opposite direction.
I could talk for hours about her beauty. Describe every freckle, every faint line, every inch of her body. Anastasia is like the sun, warm and blindingly beautiful. But to be honest, it’s not what makes her my person.
I’m in love with her determination and her commitment, her soft side, the way she manages to tell me exactly how she’s feeling and why, no matter how uncomfortable it might make her at first.
She’s taught me communicating doesn’t mean everything is perfect, it doesn’t mean we don’t disagree. It means we work through the imperfect bit together, and if we don’t agree, we at least know why the other feels that way, even if it’s not going to change our minds. We’re still individuals, but we’re individuals together, and I never knew relationships could be like this.
Above all else, she cares about me and my happiness. She makes me study, she encourages me to talk about my mom; I could lie here and list all the things she does that push me to be the version of myself I want to be. She’s my best friend.