The wind whips my hair on my face as I try to calm my breathing. I look at his Alone Place. Can I be with him on these terms? And what happens if I do? I will lose the Solises, Reagan, new friends I have not yet met, and in the end, even him. No! I should go. I should leave right now.

I try with all my strength to take a step forward on the hilltop. My muscles recoil from the idea. The world goes blank again as if my senses register Aiden’s impending absence and refuse to acknowledge anything else but him. All I can see in the dark night is a beautiful, tormented man who has moved roses across continents for me, who has brought me to life in every sense of the word. My heels sink in the grass. I can’t leave. I have to at least try. Maybe if he allows himself some normal, happy memories, they will balance out the bad ones, and with time, replace them.

I take a shuddering breath and enter the tent. He has not moved an inch—his face still grave. I stride across the dance floor to him, surprised my knees can support me.

“Should I drive you home?” he asks, his voice almost hoarse.

I take his hand. “Not tonight. I want to find out on my own.”

His lips press in a thin line and he closes his eyes.

“I learn by trying, not by telling, Aiden.”

When he opens his eyes, they start lightening to turquoise. His lips lift into a defeated smile.

“Scientist through and through.”

“A major genetic flaw, according to my mum.”

“So where does that leave us?”

I lock my fingers with his. “I believe you called it a ceasefire.” I reach on my tiptoes to kiss his scar.

He sighs, whether in pleasure or frustration I don’t know. And for now, I don’t want to find out. I trail kisses along his tense jaw to the corner of his mouth.

“Kiss me,” I say.

He truly smiles now. “One temporary victory and you’re already giving me orders?”

“Yes.” I fist my hands in his hair, pulling him close. “Now, no more talking from you tonight unless it’s dirty!”

That’s it for Aiden. His mouth parts for a full Pink Martini stanza. Then his eyes darken and he pulls me roughly to him. With a groan like surrender, his mouth is on mine. His tongue and lips start a deadly tango of their own. He grips my face so tightly that I feel his strength down to my bones.

“You want dirty, Elisa, but I can’t say fuck around the roses,” he says between kisses. “So now, you’ve made this harder on yourself.”

In my pounding ears, I register Pink Martini singing about whispering amado mio. Maybe it’s the song or Aiden’s tongue tip tracing my lips but the last vestiges of my brain resolve the stutter and go up in flames. And just like that, I know the words that have been taunting me since I first saw this place.

I grip his face and kiss him with all their power because I cannot say them out loud. But with every stroke of my tongue, my mind says, I love you. I love you. I love you.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Work of Art

One week has passed. It felt like a day…and like a lifetime. It felt like a day because no matter how many hours I have with Aiden, they fly too fast. It felt like a lifetime because I’ve never lived more than I am living now.

“You shouldn’t look so stunning. It will attract police attention,” Aiden says, caging me in his arms as Benson hauls me to my graduation party. We’ve discovered that if Aiden holds me in the car, his customary traffic tension eases a fraction.

“You don’t mind that I’m wearing my mum’s dress?” I ask, fluffing the sea gray skirt.

“Elisa, wear whatever makes you smile like this. And in any event, I think your mother should be at this party.”

As should you.

I stare out of the window to distract myself from the void that flares in my chest every time things like work or sleep pull us apart. Hydrogen, oxygen, radium—I race through them as I watch the world go by. In the opposite direction of Casa Solis.

“Umm, Aiden, I think we’re going the wrong way. Casa Solis is in North Portland.”

He gives me a dimply smile. “You’re not going to Casa Solis, Elisa.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Benson smiles in the mirror too, but my pulse starts racing in terror. Last time Aiden planned a surprise, he was trying to expel me from his life. Nothing has changed in that department—we’re still on ceasefire.

He kisses my temple. “Not that kind of surprise.”

I deflate and slump in his arms. “Do the Solises and Reagan know?”

“Yes, they’re waiting for you—your roommate not at all graciously, I might add.”

“Don’t worry about Reagan. She’s just protective. She’ll come around.” I kiss his scar, and watch every turn Benson makes. We seem to be going toward Portland State University.

At last, the Rover stops smoothly in front of—I cannot believe it—the Portland Art Museum! On the curb is a white sign:

ELISA’S GRADUATION PARTY

THE ENGLISH SILVER GALLERY

BELLUSCHI BUILDING

My hand flies to my mouth as though to stop my jaw from zipping out of the window and landing next to Monet’s Waterlilies.

“You rented the whole museum?” I whisper through my fingers, half-horrified, half-awed. From my peripheral vision, I register Benson getting out of the car.

“No, not all of it. Just one gallery, which as we know, is an improvement for me.”

I meet his calm eyes. What’s the point of arguing with dreams? “Yes, it is,” I say. “And beautiful. And hideously expens—”

He presses his index finger to my lips, shaking his head. “Please don’t make this a money issue. I want it to be everything you want.”

His voice is so soft that it lingers on my skin much like his touch. But how can this party be everything I want when everything I want is here in this car with me and will not come inside?

“Won’t you come?” The words burst from my mouth.

He straightens immediately and drops his hand from my lips, all tenderness gone from his eyes. “Not this again.”

“But what if we just sit in the corner and make out the whole time? No one will dare come near us.”

He shakes his head, not finding my joke funny. “No.”

He holds my eyes with the forceful glare I have come to know well. I cannot argue with him. And if I do, he will become convinced that he is depriving me of major life moments and try to leave again.

I nod, forcing a smile on my face. “Right, safety first. I understand, Lieutenant.” I try to execute a Marine salute but my hand just plops to the side.

He watches me for a long moment and then his glare relents. “Good. Now, do you have all your presents for your family?”

“Yes, all wrapped in turquoise and ready to go.”

He smiles. “Turquoise? Interesting choice.”

Unable to resist his smile, I grin too. “My new favorite color. Do you want to see your present?” My voice cracks a little when I think of what I’m about to do.

“My present?” He frowns as though he does not think he deserves a present.

“Yes. And before you argue, you’ve been giving me a new Margolis outfit every day. Now it’s my turn.”

The dimple puckers in his weekend stubble. “Yes, ma’am.”

I dig inside my purse for the purple-and-turquoise box. When I find it, I hold it one last time, my fingers clutching it tightly.

“Here,” I say, giving it to him with both hands. It has a dried Aeternum taped on top. The rest of the roses are in the cooler in the chemistry building undergoing geraniol extraction.

He takes the box with a boyish grin.

“I’m not sure when was the last time I got a present,” he says. “Actually, I do know. January eighth, at 1:34 p.m. A bottle of Balvenie from Benson.”

I laugh, the sound quivering with emotion. “Belated Christmas present?”

“Yes. Even though I’ve told him twenty-four times not to get me anything.”