Chapter 36
Natalia
Dressed in tights and a dark grey mock neck sweater dress with short heeled combat boots, I pace the expanse of Lana’s outdoor seating area.
My hair is straightened again, but because I wanted to and because of my recent trim at which I treated myself to a blowout. Either way, I feel good about myself tonight—my outfit, my hair, the eyebrow gel and mascara, and my usual perfume.
This is my new favorite New Year’s Eve outfit by far.
“Natalia, you’re making me dizzy.” Isabelle blows out a raspberry. “I’m kind of tipsy,” she whispers. “Don’t tell Lana.”
“I’m right here,” Lana whispers as she sips her glass of water. “Nat, what’s going on?”
I sigh, and my pacing comes to a slow stop. “He told me he loved me,” I say quietly. “That he’s…in love with me.”
“Who?” Isabelle whispers a bit too loudly.
“She’s drunk.” Lana rolls her eyes. For today, and today only, Lana and Christian let us bring a bottle of champagne for us to share at midnight. It seems Isa got a head start.
“I am not!” Isa gasps, snickering. “Oh—Rowan!”
“Duh.” Lana chuckles.
Isabelle continues. “Do you not love him back?”
I take a moment, knowing they’re going to give me another duh reaction. But I get over it and slowly nod. Strangely, I don’t get a duh reaction, only soft, small smiles. “Yeah,” I rasp. “I just haven’t told him—in English.” Now they look confused. “But he always tells me.”
“He’s such a golden retriever, I love him,” Isabelle says. “And it’s cute he keeps telling you.”
“Do you feel pressured to tell him you love him back?” Lana asks.
I shake my head. “No, it’s nice. It’s like a reminder, you know? It helps. I need the words.”
“Well, we love you,” Lana says, grinning.
“I love you guys too.” I grin back. “We’ve agreed to take it slow,” I tell them. “It’s what we need. What I need.”
“That’s good,” Isa says. “Right?”
“It’s good,” I confirm. “I’m not sure how slow slow is. I mean this started with sex. How slow can we really take it?”
“Do you want me to listen or do you want advice?” Lana asks softly.
“Advise me, please.”
“I think slow is your pace,” she says. “You decide what slow is. You can take it slow and have sex, but make it more about intimacy. Does that make sense?”
I nod.
“And maybe slow is just more conversation,” she continues. “Let him further in, Natty. It won’t kill you, we promise.”
“I know it’s scary,” Isabelle says, “but just imagine how worth it it’ll be.”
“I feel like I’m the most toxic, chaotic, problematic idiot who is incapable of being a girlfriend.”
“You’re not toxic.”
“Sure,” I mutter.
“You just needed help,” Lana says. “Sometimes, maybe, the way in which we handle our trauma can make us toxic, but you’re trying to heal from it—to handle it better. You’re making yourself better. But slow is whatever definition you give it.”
“Yeah,” Isabelle breathes. “Everything she said.”
I snort. “I told him I love him.”
“Yeah, not in English!” Isabelle groans. “Then why are we having this conversation?”
“Because I said it in Korean,” I murmur.
Lana chortles. “So you think it doesn’t count?”
“He said it first, in Korean,” I explain. “And then I said it back.”
“That counts,” Isa says.
“Does it?”
“Yes!” Lana exclaims. “Jesus Christ, Nat! I tell Christian I love him all the time in Spanish. It counts!”
I groan, tossing my head back on the cushions. “Okay, fine.”
“Grace would call you a silly moose right about now,” Isabelle teases and pokes at my side.
I laugh. It’s moments like these, with my best friends, that I feel like the most privileged person in the world.
“Have I told you guys recently how much I love you both?” I croak, my lips growing into a heavy pout.
“Yes,” Lana says, curling up to my side and hugging my arm. “You have.”
“You do all the time,” Isa adds, curling up to my right side.
“Not enough,” I mumble. “Also, can we go inside? It’s fucking freezing.”
“God, yes please.” Isabelle shivers and stands immediately. Lana turns off the outdoor heaters before we scurry inside the warm house.
Lana beelines to the water dispenser for a refill then into Christian’s arms. Isabelle picks up Gracie to spin her around while awkwardly, and not at all subtly, lingering around Nico.
I close the back door behind me and I’m encased by warmth, chatter, and laughter—surrounded by some of the best people I have in my life. But it takes only a second to find the person who might be my favorite.
I find the man I’m looking for, everything about him pulling everything about me right toward him. It’s like there’s a compass within me, always leading me to my destination. He is my destination. He is where I end up—with whom I end up.
I slide right into his side, disrupting the conversation he has going on with Julian and Luca, and I don’t feel guilty about it. The guys don’t so much as blink at us, as if this is the most normal thing they have ever seen.
His arm curls around me so effortlessly that I can’t believe this is even real life, the kind of life where Rowan Asher has his arms around me and I’m burying my face into his sweater because it smells just like him—his natural scent, cologne, laundry detergent, soap, everything that smells like him.
I wish I could capture the essence of him and carry it in a tiny perfume bottle everywhere I go.
Luca goes on about the next Formula 1 season while Julian talks about who he’s rooting for. I disconnect from their conversation when they start talking about UFC, and let myself sink into Rowan.
Soon, a drunk Isabelle is herding everyone to the floor so we can play different versions of Cards Against Humanity. Isabelle’s favorite is the Latinx/Hispanic version of the game.
Luca and Julian leave immediately, mostly because Grace is pulling them by their fingers with all her strength.
Rowan’s arm rubs up and down my spine, and those bright baby blues come to mine.
“Hi.” I peer up at him through my lashes.
“Hey, sweetheart.” There’s that boyish grin, and the zoo of butterflies inside of me are unleashed.
Loving him is a rush. Him loving me is a rush.
I’m a junkie.
“Happy New Year’s Eve,” I say quietly, shyly.
Rowan, being the man he is, wraps both of his arms around me and somehow pulls me closer so that my breasts are practically being pushed back inside of my body. His hands splay on my lower back, fingers curving against the swell of my backside, and he bumps his nose against mine.
“Happy New Year’s Eve.” He kisses the corner of my mouth.
“I have a silly question for you,” I murmur, my finger mindlessly toying with the fabric of his sweater. “You don’t have to answer it. You can laugh. You can say no—”
“I wouldn’t do any of that,” Rowan says gently. “Ask me, Natalia.”
“Are we…together?” I feel the heat creep up my neck and into my face.
Slowly, a half-smile stretches his full rosy lips. “Do you want to be together with me, sweetheart?”
“That sounds redundant,” I poke.
“Do you want to be with me, Natalia?”
“I asked you first.”
“You see…” He tsks, and I narrow my eyes. “In my mind, we’ve been dating since I met you.”
I shove his chest with a chuckle. “Rowan! You’re being mean.”
He laughs and brings me back in. “Yes, sweetheart, we’re together.” I pinch his ribs. “What was that for? I said we’re together.”
“That was for making me think you were going to say something stupid.”
“Stupid like, no, we aren’t together?”
“Yes,” I mumble.
Rowan shoots me a half-crooked smile with those sparkling, happy boy eyes. “You’re so cute.” He chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. We have a game to play.”
Saranghae. Saranghae. Saranghae.
I love you. I love you. I love you.