21

Ruben always woke up early, but he had the feeling that he'd slept later than usual. The sun fought its way through the gaps between Cherry's curtains, bathing the room in gentle light. The first thing he felt was the warm weight of her leg, slung over him as if it belonged there. It certainly felt like it did. His hand was resting on her hip, and he realised with a jolt that his fingers were intertwined with hers. He'd never heard of people holding hands in their sleep. He liked it, though. The panic that usually clogged his throat at the thought of this kind of thing—this kind of casual intimacy —was nowhere to be found. Maybe Hans was right. Maybe he was in love with her. But he had this idea of falling in love that involved… earthquakes and fanfare and, frankly, disaster. This all felt very… normal. As if he'd been waiting his whole life to feel like this. To want someone like this. Shouldn't love be tragic and fraught and all that shit? He wasn't sure. Ruben looked at Cherry's head, her hair all wrapped up in a pretty silk scarf. It was slightly wonky. He had a feeling that was his fault. Then he pulled back just a little bit, to see her face. He really fucking wanted to see her face. She looked the same as always: beautiful. Unusually beautiful. The kind of beauty that people noticed, that they stopped to look at, that they made fools of themselves over. Her face wasrelaxed in sleep, her full lips pouting slightly and her plump cheeks soft. But her skin was different. Her usually flawless complexion was interrupted by little marks, slightly darker than the rest of her skin. Like freckles, but bigger, softer, less frequent, scattered apart. Scars? He traced a thumb over a few of the marks, like a constellation across her cheekbone. Her skin felt like silk. He liked it; liked touching her without the makeup she usually wore, the velvety powder or whatever the fuck it was. He wanted her to nudge her awake. He wanted to see her face when she came. But he should let her sleep. Of course, as soon as he thought that, she woke up. She let out a few soft sighs, fidgeting slightly, her lashes fluttering. He felt her hand tighten around his, and then her eyes opened all at once and she said, "Fuck." Which didn't sound good. "What?" He said. "You're still here." "Of course I'm still here." He felt the soft, satisfied feeling in his chest drain away. "Did you want me to leave?" She frowned. "No. But…" Her eyes skittered away from his, and if he didn't know better, he'd have thought she was blushing. He captured her cheek in the palm of her hand, pushed gently until she looked up at him. "What?" He asked softly. He didn't know what to expect. Maybe karma had come knocking on his door, and she was about to give him a speech about how this wasn't serious and she wasn't ready for a relationship. But then, he hadn't asked for a relationship, exactly. Yet. Plus, they were kind of in a relationship. They were engaged, for God's sake. It occurred to him that he hadn't given her a ring. He wanted suddenly, urgently, to give her one. Specifically, the one sitting in his room, in a drawer, beside an old photo album of his parents. He was in love with her. He was in love with her. Fuck. What the fuck was she going to say? Cherry bit her lip and whispered, as if they weren't alone: "What if Agathe comes over?" Ruben blinked. "Well… She comes over every day. To make breakfast." "Exactly! So she'll notice that we're in the same room! "Why would she notice that?" "You think she doesn't watch you like a hawk?" He was trying not to laugh. Cherry looked genuinely worried. He didn't think she'd be pleased if he laughed. "Okay," he said slowly. "But why would she care?" Cherry blinked. For a second, she looked stumped. Then she said, "I care." "About what?" "About your sweet little grandma knowing I've been fucking her grandson." She batted at his chest. "Get out. Go back to your room." Ruben grinned. "But you haven't been fucking me. Not really. Why don't we—" "Ooooh my God, will you stop? Get out!" "Fine, fine." Ruben threw off the blankets and tried to bite back the huge, shit-eating grin he could feel spreading across his face. Then he caught Cherry staring at his naked chest with a rather vacant expression and stopped trying to hold back the grin. He was in love, and the object of his affections didn't hate or regret him, and appeared to enjoy the sight of his chest. Really, what more could a man ask for? All of her. He shoved that thought aside.

Next chance I get," he said, "I'm fucking you." "Piss off." She sat up, scowled at him, and grabbed her phone from the bedside table. "Are you saying no?" She rolled her eyes. "If you don't get out, I'm never speaking to you again." "You know, Cherry, we are engaged. There's really no need to be embarrassed—" She threw a pillow at his head. He left. He was happier than he'd ever been in his life.