“You are so sweet, Serafin, but you’ve done plenty,” I say.
“Oh, we’re just getting started. You have a good pile of paintings here, but you’re going to need a lot more when you open your gallery.”
My jaw drops. I’ve been featured in other people’s galleries many times in my life, but having something of my own was always way too far out of reach. I don’t know anything about real estate, let alone how to run a business. The art part comes naturally, but I’ve always struggled with wrapping my brain around the rest of it.
“I can’t afford that, Serafin. Nobody is going to give me a loan. I’ve only been employed for a few days. Even if I sell all of these off, there’s not enough for even a downpayment. I like that you’re encouraging me, but I need to keep my feet on the ground.”
“You need to dream big, misui. You’re gifted. I always knew it, and so will the world. Besides, while I was out liberating your paintings yesterday, I also had a visit with my father’s lawyer to make sure any contract you signed with my parents was nullified. Turns out, my parents put some of that stay away money in a trust fund for you when you turned twenty nine. They were smart enough to know your parents weren’t going to put any of it away for your future. You’ve got at least an art gallery and a new car in cash.”
“Nope,” I say. “No way. I’m done with that, Serafin. I’m not here for your money or your parents money. I thought we established that.”
“Oh, come on,” he says with a devious smile, pulling me in. “If you don’t spend that money, it just disappears. Besides, I think it would bring me great joy if my mother had to live the rest of her life watching you do exactly what you love.”
“You mean exactly who I love,” I say, licking my lips.
He pecks me on the lips. “You’re free, babe. No more contracts from my parents. No more Bartek. No more hiding.”
“I feel like something bad’s about to happen,” I say with a nervous laugh. “Shit doesn’t just fall together for people like me.”
“Get used to it,” he says, picking me up in his arms and twirling me around.
“And how am I ever going to repay you?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.
“Maybe you could sign a contract with me,” he says, raising his eyebrows. His chiseled jaw tightens as he stares into my eyes.
“Like a sex slave thing?” I ask, laughing nervously.
“Like a marriage thing, you big weirdo,” he says, setting me back on the ground. He slaps my ass with his hand. “The sex slave stuff is included in that.”
“You want me to be your wife?” I stammer. If it was anyone else in the whole wide world, it would sound ridiculous, but I know in my heart he’s dead serious. I know in my heart
“I’ve always wanted you to be my wife. I never thought we’d end up any other way.”
He runs his fingers down my face, and I smile and nod. There are no words for how I feel right now. There’s no reason why I should say no. There’s nothing I want anything more in the world than to spend the rest of my days with him.
“I feel like a teenager again,” I say. “The whole world is at our fingertips.”
“It’s not being a teenager, Mia. It’s being with your soul mate. It’s being whole.”
“I would love to marry you,” I say. “Right now, today, but I have to go to work.”
He laughs and shakes his head, and I wrap him in a hug. He’s my best friend. My calm in the storm. My home. I feel so giddy, the room spins around me and I struggle to catch my breath.
“The ring will be ready later today. I couldn’t wait, though. I’m sorry. I can never wait with you, Mia. I want everything right now. I want to make up for all the lost time.”
“Me too,” I say. I can’t believe I doubted him for running off, even for a second. I can’t believe my mind even went to that dark place. He was off erasing our past so we could start all over again. He’s always been the best thing that ever happened to me.
“Now get your sweet ass to work. I’ll call Jakub and put in your two weeks notice for you this afternoon.”
“Serafin, you will do no such thing!” I shake my head and press my lips to his. “You’re going to be my husband. Not my keeper.”
And I’m going to be his wife. Not his mother. Not his pawn.
Maybe his sex slave.
I don’t hate the sound of that. He gave me everything I need to be his equal, he gave me a leg to stand on on my own, and for the first time, I feel worthy of all these gifts he’s showering me in.
“Make me list today,” he says. “Paints, brushes, those scrapey things you use… whatever. I want to make sure you have the best of the best.”
“Scrapey things,” I giggle. “You don’t need a whole lot to make a good painting. Shot of vodka, pack of smokes, pinch of existential dread.”
He raises his eyebrows and presses his forehead to mine.
“Past experiences count,” I say with a laugh. “I’m sure there’s enough collective trauma between the two of us for a lifetime of paintings.”
“You’re a little twisted, Mia.”
I just shrug and peck him on the nose as I strut down the hallway. Being with Serafin has always been like getting run over by a train. Everything
