"To love," I finish, holding her gaze as something powerful passes between us.
The tequila burns going down, but the warmth in my chest has nothing to do with alcohol. It's in the way Emma fusses over making sure we've eaten, in how Amanda's already planning a celebration dinner at her place. It's in the comfortable way Cole and Nick include me in their business discussion, like I've always been part of their circle. It's in how Brian runs his club with the same dedication I once admired in my father, but tempered with genuine care for the people around him.
The night unfolds in a blur of laughter, stories, and the kind of warmth that only comes from being surrounded by people who love you unconditionally. By the time Red and I make it home, the Boston sky is starting to lighten with hints of dawn, the first tentative rays breaking through the darkness.
Morning comes too soon, sunlight streaming through the loft's windows in golden ribbons. Red's still sleeping, her auburn hair spread across my chest like liquid fire, her breathing deep and peaceful. I watch her for a moment, memorizing the way the early light catches the spray of freckles across her nose, how her lips curve slightly even in sleep, the delicate flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks.
Everything's ready. Has been for weeks. But this morning, watching her sleep in our bed, I know it's time.
"Red." I brush my lips against her temple. "Wake up."
She stirs, those eyes blinking open slowly. "Mmm... what time is it?"
"Early. But I want to show you something."
She stretches, cat-like and graceful, her body arching against mine. "Now? After last night's celebration?"
"Trust me?"
Her smile, still soft with sleep, lights up her entire face. "Always, Sainty."
* * *
BELLA
* * *
The familiar roads leading out of Boston slowly give way to winding country lanes, and something tugs at my memory, a half-forgotten dream. Ares is uncharacteristically quiet beside me, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel in a rhythm I recognize as nervous energy.
"Are we going where I think we're going?" My heart stutters as we turn onto a tree-lined drive I haven't seen in fifteen years.
He just smiles, that rare, genuine smile that still makes my stomach flip. The one that transforms him from the powerful businessman into my Sainty, the boy who used to watch me draw for hours with wonder in his eyes.
The old Saint estate emerges from the morning mist like a ghost from our past. My breath catches as memories flood back—running through these grounds with dirty shoes, sketching in hidden corners, stealing kisses in the rose garden. The pain and betrayal that followed, now dulled by time and truth.
"Ares..." My voice wavers, caught between past and present.
"Trust me, Red." He parks near the staff cottage—my cottage—and my heart clenches at the sight of its weathered walls. Even now, I swear I can smell Grandma's fresh-baked cookies, hear her humming as she worked, feel her gentle hands braiding my hair.
"Are we even allowed to be here?" I ask as he helps me from the car, his hand warm and steady in mine.
"Actually..." That mischievous glint I love appears in his eyes. "We are. Come on."
He leads me down the familiar path toward the rose garden. The grounds are a bit wild now, nature slowly reclaiming what was once meticulously maintained. But there's a strange beauty in it—like the estate is finally breathing after years of rigid control.
"Oh my god." I stop short as we round the corner. The rose garden, though overgrown, is still here. And there, beneath the tangle of blooms, is our bench. The very spot where a teenage boy with careful hands and cautious eyes first told me he wanted to be more than friends.
"You remember?" Ares's voice is soft behind me, threaded with uncertainty.
"Of course I remember." My fingers trail over the weathered wood, feeling every groove and imperfection. "I used to draw here while you talked about your dreams. All the places you wanted to see, things you wanted to do." I laugh softly, the sound catching on emotion. "I even painted this bench once. Spent hours getting the shadows just right."
"I remember. You were wearing paint-splattered pants." His arms slide around my waist, pulling me back against his chest, his heartbeat strong against my spine. "Your hair was falling out of that messy braid you always wore. You had a smudge of blue paint right here." His lips brush my temple, soft as butterfly wings. "You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."
"Ares..." There's something in his voice, something that makes my heart race with wild hope.
"This is where I first knew I loved you." He turns me in his arms, and the intensity in his eyes takes my breath away. "Right here, watching you create beauty out of nothing, seeing how you could find light in even the darkest places."
"Why did you bring me here?" I whisper, though something warm and wild is blooming in my chest.
