Sweaty, elated, physically and emotionally spent, I drift between sleep and waking in Sebastian’s arms.

“I still feel like I’m dreaming,” I whisper into his throat.

His hand smoothes down my naked back. “This does feel a bit surreal.” Shifting his head back on the pillow, he looks down at me. “I meant what I said. Everything. I don’t want to hide my feelings for you anymore.”

My heart skips. “Okay. Me, either.”

I know he means telling family, not the world. That will come soon enough, whether we want it to or not. He’s too famous. Too visible in entertainment media.

A spike of anxiety sends goose bumps down my arms. My breath shortens as for the first time, the magnitude of what we’re committing to hits me. Flashing lights. Public image and appearances. Parties and red carpets and fake smiles and superficial conversations.

“Don’t think about it,” he says softly. “Stay in the moment with me. We’ll figure it out as it comes.”

“But—”

He gently palms my face. “Candace, listen. Since I was a kid, all I’ve known is acting. Playing the part that was expected of me, trying so hard to find my place in the world. For the first time, I want to be only myself—with you.” He pauses. “Has Nona ever told you what happened, why I came to the U.S.?”

I shake my head, confused by the shift in topic but curious in spite of myself.

His gaze lifts, going unfocused as he stares into the past. Even though we’re pressed together, a line of heat where our bodies meet, I feel his sudden distance. When he speaks, his voice is distant as well. Reedy and strained, as if he’s digging the words from a hard-packed ground.

“My father was a criminal. A con-artist. Most likely an alcoholic, but I didn’t know it then. When a con didn’t pan out the way he wanted, he would go into these week-long rages. He took his frustration out on my mother, and eventually—when I grew big enough to intervene—me.”

“Oh, Bast,” I whisper, clutching him tighter. “I didn’t know.”

He nods, gaze flickering to my face. “No one here knows except Nona and your parents. Not even Alex knows the whole story. For years after I came here, I couldn’t speak of it. Your mother eventually got me to see a therapist in Boston. He helped me process the trauma, or at least accept it and move forward.”

By the rigidity in his jaw, I know the story isn’t over. I have a sudden memory of Sebastian punching a kid at school who made a joke about him not having a mother. Shortly thereafter, my mom started driving him into Boston two evenings a month. We were told it was bonding time for them—which I stupidly resented.

“God, I was such an asshole to you. I’m so sorry for how I treated you.”

Warm lips caress my forehead. “You didn’t know where I came from, just that I invaded your life. And let’s be honest, I liked your attention in whatever form it came.” He chuckles softly. “You’re so beautiful when you’re angry, amore mio.”

My love.

“I love you,” I tell him, softly and fervently.

I feel his smile against my hairline. “I know.” A sigh passes my ear. “When I was ten, my father’s abuse became more frequent and severe. I was hospitalized twice, once for broken ribs and then for a concussion. After the last time, my mother checked me out of the hospital and we fled to some friends of hers in Florence. A week later, he found us.”

Sebastian drags in a slow, trembling breath. His heart pounds fast; I feel the reverberations against my skin. Feeling helpless, I hold him and wait for the rest.

“I wasn’t there,” he continues. “I’d gone for a walk. Florence is so beautiful at night. I stood on the Ponte Vecchio, the oldest bridge in the city, and stared at the water of the Arno for hours. I remember feeling… free. Hopeful. My mother and I had spent the last days dreaming about a new life in the United States with her sister. Nona had bought us plane tickets—we planned to get visas. When I finally returned to the apartment, there were police everywhere and a crowd in the street.” Another slow breath as he wills out the words. “He’d gotten his hands on a gun, killed my mother and her friends, then turned the gun on himself.”

Blood roars in my ears. Already primed from earlier tonight, my tear ducts overflow. “Bast, I’m so sorry.”

“Hush, don’t cry,” he soothes, smiling softly as he wipes tears from my face. “I survived. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Sniffling, I groan. “This is fucked up. I should be the one comforting you.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve had many years to come to terms with it. I don’t want you to feel pain for me, Candace, but I’m grateful for your tears because it means you have all of me now. I always hoped—dreamed—that someday I’d stop being afraid of you long enough to give you the last piece. Tell me this doesn’t change how you feel, that you’re not ashamed of my past.”

I gape at him, shocked. “Are you kidding? Of course it doesn’t change how I feel. If anything, it makes me love you more. You’re an idiot.”

Sebastian cracks a smile, his sleepy eyes glittering with humor. “I’m glad my confession hasn’t dulled your tongue. I was worried you’d treat me differently.”

I smack his arm, but gently. Looking into his eyes, my own well again. “Jesus, I’m a weeping fool tonight.”

He kisses my nose, then pulls me closer, tucking my head beneath his chin. “You know, I’m still waiting for an explanation for that shit you pulled in L.A.”

I snuggle closer, kissing his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He huffs into my hair. “It’s actually a relief to know I wasn’t the only one who was afraid.”

Inhaling a decadent mix of our scents, I admit, “I was terrified. You’ve always been my Achilles’ heel. The secret shadow in my heart. Honestly, I’m still terrified. Of a lot of things.”

“Seems like we’ve both spent years playing the part we thought was expected. What do you say we drop the act?”

“What does that mean?” I ask through a yawn.

“It means we finally let go of the idea that we don’t deserve to be happy.”

The words hang in the air, trembling with rightness. I think of the years I wasted trying to prove to the world I was a good person to make up for my family’s wealth. And the deeper issue of my worth—the one woven into my psyche since the death of my mother, since overhearing that phone call in my father’s office. The question of love’s validity.

Allowing my thoughts to ramble out my mouth, I murmur, “Remember when I told you that I don’t believe a love like my parents shared is possible for most of us?” He nods. “I’ve been angry for a long time, Bast. Bitter that my definition of love was a lie—if my father could betray my mother while she was dying, their love was bullshit. I guess what I’m finally realizing is that even if he didn’t break Mom’s heart—even if she never knew—I allowed it to break mine.”

He doesn’t say anything, but I feel his focus, his acceptance and love. So I conclude, “I’m going to talk to him about it.”

His arms tighten. “Are you sure?”

I nod, then sniffle out a laugh. “I need to know. If I can forgive you for being a dick and breaking my heart in college, maybe I can find a way to forgive him, too.”

“No more breaking hearts,” he whispers. “No matter what, Candace, I’ll never leave you again.”

No matter what.

I choke out, “Even if—”

“Even if,” he interrupts. “You’re stuck with me. Deal with it.”

I relax against him, my fears melting away. “Gladly.”