Chapter Forty – Fawn
I’ve just finished wrapping the canvas, smoothing the paper one last time, when I hear a knock at the front door. I know it’s Dylan because it’s not just one knock. No, it’s like a musical of taps.
My hands go restless at my sides, caught somewhere between giddy and terrified. I don’t know why; it’s not like I haven’t been on dates with my boyfriends. Oh, those words — my boyfriends. Mine.
A thin line of sweat starts to form on the back of my neck. I suck in a breath that isn’t necessary and head toward the door. Each step rings out, announcing me well before I’m ready. Finally, I hold the handle for a fraction too long before opening it.
And there they are.
My men.
My hot men who look straight out of a Bond film.
They’re both wearing sharp, white button-down shirts, their sleeves rolled up just high enough to suggest the definition beneath.
The top buttons are undone, exuding an effortless, dangerous kind of confidence that makes my heart skip a beat.
On their lower halves, black trousers appear tailored to perfection, along with shiny smart shoes.
Torin’s hair is slicked back, glistening in the moonlight. His stubble is trimmed to perfection, like he deliberately planned the effect it would have on me. His eyes trail across my body, satisfaction etched in his face, though he hasn’t uttered a single word.
Dylan is standing there with an easy, swaggering energy, his forearm veins visible as he moves. His smile is long — the kind that spreads from his eyes and lingers. In one hand, he’s holding a little red box.
“Hello, princess,” he coos softly. “Well, don’t you look beautiful?”
The words hit me straight in the knees. My body sways, growing weak in a way that makes me want to laugh, melt, and collapse all at once. For a split second, I am convinced I might just fall forward into them.
And honestly? I wouldn’t mind at all.
Dylan edges forward first, no hesitation in him at all. The palm of his hand cradles my jaw, his thumb pressed to my cheek as he kisses me. My heart skips a beat before I realize I’m not breathing. Then, Torin’s next, pressing a kiss on me.
“You look . . .” Torin begins, but he pauses, clearly at a loss for words.
He releases a small laugh and grasps both of my hands, his thumbs tracing along the tops of my knuckles.
“I’m . . . speechless,” he says, his gaze raking over me from top to bottom, as if memorizing every detail.
“But you always look beautiful,” he adds.
Then, he kisses me again, brief but full, leaving me a little dizzy.
Dylan draws closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Torin sure did choose the right dress. It’s bewitched me,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “but . . . it’s missing something.”
I furrow my brows. What am I missing? I’m already wearing the lace and the stockings. The dress hugs my body like a glove, my tits pushed up perfectly. I feel empowered and confident. What could I possibly be missing?
I wait for him to kiss me and make his cocky joke, but it never comes. Instead, he holds up the small red box he brought. He slowly opens the lid just a crack then quickly shuts it and yells, “Boo!”
Reflexively, I yelp and hop back.
“Fucking jackass,” Torin says, his voice utterly flat. I can’t help but chuckle.
Dylan opens the lid properly this time.
Oh. Wow.
Inside is the most beautiful gold necklace I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s so dainty and elegant. I barely breathe as I take it in. There are two birds carved in the gold, facing each other, holding a pink flower between them.
Dylan carefully lifts the necklace out of its box, his hands shaking. “It symbolizes us three, princess,” he says softly. “You’re our flower.”
The thought behind it is . . . powerful. It’s not just something beautiful to wear, but something that carries intention, history, and promise all at once — that I’m in the center of what we are together.
Feeling my throat constrict, I don’t trust my voice, so I simply sweep my hair out of the way for him.
His fingers graze my neck as he secures the clasp.
The moment the metal hits my skin, my hand automatically reaches up, my fingers encircling the locket, as if it will disappear if I don’t hold on to it.
“It’s so beautiful. I can’t accept this,” I breathe.
“Yes, you can,” Dylan replies in a beat. “And you will.”
“But—”
Dylan doesn’t listen; his voice cuts in again, gentle but excited. “Open it up, princess.”
I take a deep breath, thumb pressing into the tiny groove. The locket opens smoothly — and there it is.
A photo of us, on the dock. It’s obvious the moment meant something to them too.
Great minds really do think alike.
My sight goes blurry in a split second, tears welling in my eyes before I can control myself.
“It’s everything and more,” I manage to squeak out, the catch in my voice betraying me.
My head turns just enough to catch the three of us in the mirror by the front door. The gold perfectly complements my red dress, as if it has always been part of the look. Dylan and Torin stand behind me, one on each side, their faces filled with soft, proud, undeniable expressions.
“If there’s ever a moment when we’re not at your side,” Dylan whispers close to my ear, “we’ll still be right here, close to your heart.”
I shake my head slightly, and a mixture of emotions rushes through me. I hope I never experience that kind of situation. I need them by my side, always.
A tear seeps out, traveling down my cheek before I can control it. However, Torin intervenes, his thumb erasing the tear, doing it with such gentleness, my heart hurts.
“Thank you,” I manage, looking at them both. “Honestly. It’s . . . it’s . . . stunning. I actually can’t speak.”
It’s not just the necklace.
It’s them.
I don’t think words alone can express how much I appreciate them and the necklace.
“Hey, hey . . . don’t cry,” Dylan says softly, his hand firmly planted on my shoulder. “We don’t want you messing up that pretty makeup, do we?”
I inhale a shaky breath and use the back of my hand to wipe my eyes, slowly so I won’t smudge my mascara. Thank fuck for a decent setting spray.
It takes some effort to force myself to clear my throat and steady myself despite my chest feeling far too full. “Well,” my voice now steadier, “I’ve got you two something. It’s not as fancy . . .”
Two steps toward the canvas and I already know this isn’t going to go the way I planned — the thing is heavy. I struggle with it for a second or two until Torin is by my side. “Fucking hell, baby,” he mutters with a half-laugh as he takes some of the weight. “What is this?”
“It’s your gift,” I say, my heart beating rapidly. “I would like you to open it together.”
Their eyes meet in one of those conversations that doesn’t need words, and second later, they tear at the paper. As the center of the canvas is revealed, Torin makes a perfect o with his lips, as if the wind has been knocked out of him.
“It’s a canvas of us three,” he says, a touch of wonder in his voice. His thumb moves to the corner, slowly tracing out the words as if he must touch them to believe they’re there. “Wow . . . look what it says, Dylan.”
I hold my breath, and Dylan’s smile brightens — it touches my chest as he reads it.
Us three.
The three of us.
Always.
The air in the room seems to vibrate suddenly, like a massive puzzle piece has fallen into place. My nerves spike, and I begin to bite my nails, questioning myself. “I know it’s not much compared to what you got me, but—”
Torin doesn’t even let me finish. He passes the canvas to Dylan then reaches up to cradle my face.
I feel grounded. He lifts my chin just enough so I’m looking right at him.
“Baby . . .” His voice is sure, not a crack of doubt in it.
“Honestly, it’s perfect. You didn’t just give us a picture.
You picked a special moment, one we can cherish forever. ”
The knot in my chest unravels all at once, replaced by something soft and spreading.
As I glimpse at Dylan from the corner of my eye, he leans and struggles to hold the canvas, his arms awkward as he tries not to drop it.
He’s still grinning at me. “You know this is going to be a centerpiece in our house, right?” he says.
“I’d hang it in my room so I can wake up to those pretty eyes every morning, but I doubt Torin would let me. ”
I can always count on Dylan to break the tension, to pull me out of my own head before I spiral too far.
“And you’re correct. We can share it,” Torin says dryly. “Those amber eyes aren’t just yours.”
My hands rise to my collarbone, to the necklace there, a comforting weight beneath my fingers. “Listen, are you sure it’s okay? I mean . . . I know it’s nothing in comparison to this incredible gift.”
Torin exhales sharply and rolls his eyes, like he’s had enough. “That’s it, missy!” he says, decisive. “I’m fucking fed up with you doubting yourself.”
Before I even get a chance to open my mouth, he simply swoops up and swings me over his shoulder. I shriek, holding on for dear life as everything goes upside down.
“Torin!” I giggle with every bounce as he strides toward the door. “Put me down!”
“Nope. We’ve got a date to get to.”
“Were her nostrils flaring?” Dylan calls out from behind, canvas slung under his arm, shaking his head in mock amusement. “That means she’s overthinking or she’s mad.”
“Yup!” Torin shouts back without missing a beat.
“My nostrils don’t flare!” I shout, feeling my nose twitch. “Damnit.”
I laugh again, cheeks aching, heart full, the sound of it spilling out of me as he carries me out the door — necklace warm against my skin, heels dangling.
Torin finally sets me back on my feet once we’re outside, the cool air brushing my flushed skin.
He looks proud, his eyes sparkling with that mix of confidence and mischief.
He places his palm behind my head on the doorframe and closes the gap.
“Now tell me, baby,” he says, mouth tugging into a smirk, “are you wearing the lacy underwear?”
“Of course,” I reply.
“Atta girl.”
He leans in mid-laugh, lips catching mine, and his tongue teasing me.
And just like that, I know tonight’s going to be another good one.