It was a morbid thought, but I knew it was one we all harbored.
Fuck us for that.
ELEVEN
ROSALIE
“We never get to do this,” Ethan murmured, kissing along my collarbone.
I turned in his arms and pressed my lips to his, the bathwater sending a soft wave against the edge of the massive tub with the movement. “Then we shouldn’t waste a moment of it.”
“I like the way you think.” He let out a soft laugh before he kissed me. Within seconds, we created waves of lavender-scented bubbles as we explored one another’s bodies, with me situated between his legs. After a minute of hot, tangling tongues and demanding touches, I slowed us down, wanting this to last as long as possible.
“You and Fox do this a lot,” he commented as I rested my head against his chest, my back to his front. He didn’t seem upset that I’d broken off the make-out session. He simply held me tighter instead. I bit into my sandwich before offering him a bite, which he took.
“I can see why,” he continued, still talking about the bath.
“Foxy likes bubble baths. Don’t tell Enzo and Cole. They’ll tease him over it.” I fed him more of the sandwich, which he bit into without protest.
Ethan laughed softly after swallowing. “I get why he likes them. They’re growing on me, too, especially when you’re in the tub with me.” He paused and ran his hand lightly over my thigh. “Your skin is so soft.”
I snuggled tighter against him, letting the silence take over again while we ate the rest of the grilled cheese he’d made.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Will you tell me about your life?”
He was quiet for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“Your past. I-I don’t know a lot about it. Maybe I can help.”
His silence was longer this time. I didn’t think he would talk, but his voice was soft when he did.
“My parents’ names were Maxim and Alina Stepanov.”
I stilled as he began his story, listening intently. He never spoke of his real parents. Janie and Robert, his adoptive parents, were amazing and kind to him. I knew they’d adopted him when he was quite young, and he’d been abused before them.
His fingers trailed lightly down my arm until he found my hand and then clutched it. He trembled slightly as he continued.
“I was born Luka MaximevichStepanov. My father was born in Russia. Moscow. My mother was born here in the States. They met in passing at a party. At least, that’s what my grandfather told me. Andrei Novikov.” He let out a huff of air. “It’s been so long since I’ve said my given name.”
“Did your family speak Russian?”
“Da,” he said thickly. “Fuck. I-I can’t, baby. I just can’t.”
I turned in his arms and stared at him. “You don’t have to. If you’re not ready, then don’t.”
“That’s the problem. I’ll never be ready, and I need to be. I need to face these demons so I can move on. So I can find some footing to survive,” his voice came out hoarse as he stared back at me with vibrant green eyes.
My heart hurt for him so much.
“Then take your time. There’s nothing wrong with going slow.” I kissed his cheek, making him let out a slow breath.
“I still remember the language. It’s a little rusty, but I remember,” he said softly. “I never speak it, but it’s always in my head. It’s a curse that haunts me. Old ghosts, you know? Sometimes-sometimes, my thoughts are in Russian. Funny, isn’t it?”
I studied him, not answering because I was sure he wasn’t looking for me to say anything to his statement.
