Snow falls softly on the windshield as I drive the big black sedan back down the curving woodsy roads to the cabin. I’m on my way back from a quick shopping trip in Ithaca, getting some groceries we desperately needed. It’s nice to be out in the middle of nowhere — feels a lot safer than being in the middle of a crowd, especially with my fugitive Mafioso boyfriend — but it’s not the most convenient situation. Still, I don’t mind it very much, having to make solo trips to Ithaca. I love driving on the lonely country back roads, as long as the weather isn’t too terrible. I would much rather be making these little trips with Bruno, but we’ve recently gotten more nervous about his being out in public. I’m always worried that someone will recognize him somehow, even way out here upstate, and turn him in.

Today I was especially glad he stayed behind at the cabin, because it’s Christmas Eve, and the crowds were out in full force today in Ithaca. The grocery store was packed with families buying gigantic turkeys and tins of holiday cookies, parents racing down the toy aisles to buy last-minute gifts for their kids. I went in with a simple list of groceries, planning to have a low-key Christmas with Bruno, hand-making pasta and antipasti tomorrow. It was difficult to resist going down the street to the cluster of specialty shops to look for a Christmas present to give him, but he made me promise not to get him anything. A low-key Christmas. No gifts, no fuss. Just quietly spending time together by the fire.

I mean, I can’t complain. I love the holidays, but for so many years it’s been just my mom and me, so I’ve gotten accustomed to not going all out for Christmas. I do miss my mom, and I worry about her being all alone for the holidays. Cell service is still virtually impossible out in the sticks, but on my drives into Ithaca I usually give her a call once I’m in range.

I’m worried one of these days she’s going to swallow her pride and plead with me to come back, or worse, start asking questions I know I can’t truthfully answer. But she’s promised that she is doing just fine on her own, and even hinted that she might be spending the holiday with “someone special.” I know how secretive she is about that kind of thing — I’ve never spent much time with any of her social circle — so I didn’t press her for more information. Besides, if my mom has finally joined this decade and made herself a Tinder account or something, I definitely do not need to know about it.

On my own end, romance is truly in the air, floating around our little cabin hideaway just like the soft flurries of pure white snow. It’s hard to believe that just months ago I was alone in the city, fully expecting to never see him again, and worrying that even if I did get to see him, he would be irrevocably changed by his time in the clink. And he has changed, of course. I see the faint worry lines on his face, the hint of sadness in those beautiful green eyes, the way he sometimes grinds his teeth at night when he’s sleeping. It’s a tension I hope someday he’ll be able to release, but for now it’s perfectly understandable.

Especially since he’s now dealing with being on the run. Anyone would be tense and a little paranoid in this predicament. But apart from that edge, he’s the same man. Maybe even more of a man than he was before. Granted, it makes sense that he’s changed over time. After all, he was only a teenager when we first met. And so was I. It seems like both of us have changed, becoming both tougher and softer at the same time. The world has hardened us, but when we’re alone together we’re soft.

I think we’re good for each other. In fact, I know we are.

I pull the car down the gravel road up to the cabin and park. Just as I’m turning off the engine, my stomach twists and I feel a little nauseous. I clap a hand over my mouth and catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. I look slightly green. I don’t know why this keeps happening, but I must have caught some kind of icky bug. I’m not too surprised, since I’m notorious for getting sick over the holidays. My body just doesn’t love cold weather.

I walk around to the back of the car and pop the trunk open, but before I can even pick anything up, I hear the front door of the cabin click open and in a few quick strides Bruno is beside me. “You’re back,” he says, grinning as he easily loads up his arms with all the grocery bags.

“Yep,” I answer. “You’re awfully smiley. What’s going on?”

Carrying what has to be at least twenty pounds of groceries, he gives me a wink. “What? I can’t just be excited to see the love of my life returning safely home after her harrowing drive through a blizzard?”

I burst out laughing as I follow him up to the cabin. “A blizzard? Bruno, it’s barely snowing.” As I step through the doorway, my eyes adjust to the dimmer light and I realize that the entire place is strung up with twinkling Christmas lights, white candles flickering on every surface, and there’s a pervasive sweet smell in the air. Is it… eggnog?

“Oh my god,” I breathe, looking around in awe. Bruno sets all the groceries down in the kitchen and starts putting things away, looking over at me happily.

“I know we said ‘low-key’ Christmas, but I felt like the place needed a little bit of holiday ambiance. I was going to put on some music, but the guy who owns the cabin must have the worst taste in Christmas music imaginable. All I could find was an old Feliz Navidad record. You’d think someone with that much Frank Sinatra in their collection would have better taste, but apparently not,” Bruno laughs.

“Again, when did you possibly have the chance to buy all this stuff?” I ask, shaking my head. Bruno saunters over and puts his arms around me, giving me a rather smug smile.

“Like I’ve said before, you aren’t very observant. As soon as you set foot in the snack aisles I know your attention is completely taken up trying to choose between chocolate chip cookies or chocolate graham crackers, so I just quickly sneak away to electronics. You really have yourself to thank for this. You’re very easy to surprise,” he explains.

“Okay, okay, I get it, I’m oblivious,” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “But in my defense, chocolate is very distracting.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. All the sneakiness is worth it just to see the look on your face when I get to surprise you with something,” he says, kissing me on the forehead. “Plus, I do have an ulterior motive here. The fairy lights might be for Christmas cheer, but the candles are supposed to set a different kind of mood, if you get my drift.”

I smile and lean in to kiss him, standing on my tiptoes. “Oh, you don’t need to light a bunch of candles to get me in the mood for that.”

Bruno scoops me up in his arms and carries me down the hall to the bedroom, gently tossing me onto the gigantic bed. I can tell the sheets have been freshly washed and dried — another surprise he took care of while I was out — and there are more candles lit up around the room. I lie back and stretch out, watching greedily as Bruno strips off his long-sleeved Henley and jeans, then his boxers. It’s a delicious sight, his muscles rippling in the flickering candlelight as he climbs onto the bed beside me. He leans down to kiss me, his hands sliding down to grope my breasts as I feel warmth spreading between my thighs. Even his simplest touch sets me on fire, my body waking up instantly. He reaches down to pull my thick blue sweater up over my head, peeling away my undershirt, bra, jeans, and panties quickly. I can tell he’s eager for it, his patience limited.

I love it when he’s like this, when I can tell just how difficult it is for him to take his time with me. Slow and sensual is good, too, but there’s just something so satisfying about seeing him unable to resist me for another second that really turns me on and makes me feel special. He bends to pull one of my nipples into his warm mouth, his tongue playing over the stiffened point. I groan and arch my back to meet his lips as his hand slips down between my legs to stroke my clit.

“Already so wet for me, dolcezza,” he murmurs, moving to my other breast.

“You make me wet just by looking at me,” I answer breathlessly, my eyes rolling back in my head as he expertly circles my clit with his forefinger, giving me spikes of pleasure. Then he moves his hand down, sliding two fingers inside my slick hole to stroke my g-spot slowly and teasingly. He backs down between my legs, leaning in to enclose my folds in his mouth, his tongue flicking over my clit while his fingers thrust into me faster and harder.

“Oh fuck,” I murmur, rolling my hips to meet his touch. I reach out and grasp at the bed sheets with both hands, feeling my pleasure mounting higher and higher. “So—so good.”

“Come for me, Serena,” he says softly, his fingers curling ever so slightly to push harder against that heavenly spot deep inside me. He sucks at my clit, sending spirals of warmth and tingles up through my body and I clench at the sheets as I climax with a whimper.

My body goes limp as he quickly slides off the bed and picks me up so that I’m straddling him, my legs around his waist. With my pussy still shuddering with the after waves of my orgasm, he walks me over to pin me against the wall and slams his cock inside of me with one fluid shove. I cry out, immediately coming again. I can feel my honey gushing over his cock as he rears back and thrusts into me again and again, fucking me hard against the wall. He has one arm holding me up and the other holding my wrists together above my head as he fucks me, spearing me with his thick, hard cock.

“Yes! Oh god, fuck me,” I moan, closing my eyes as I lose myself to the shocks of pure bliss radiating through me. I revel in Bruno’s ridiculous strength, his ability to hold me up and fuck me so hard with ease, like I weigh nothing at all.

“I know you love it like this,” he growls through gritted teeth, leaning forward so that his lips brush against my ear. “You love it fast and hard, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I murmur, feeling a third orgasm coming on. The head of his cock is slamming into my g-spot while the friction of our bodies pressed up together stimulates my clit, combining into an indescribable pleasure.

“I want to hear you come, mia passerotta. I want to hear you scream for me,” he commands softly, sending ticklish shivers down my spine. “Tell me how good it feels.”

He fucks me faster, the slick slap of his balls against my ass resounding in the quiet room as my pussy clenches tighter and tighter. “Oh my god, oh my god,” I moan. “Bruno, it feels so fucking good. You’re so deep! Oh fuck.”

“Si, dolcezza,” he whispers. “Tell me more.”

“Bruno, you’re gonna make me fucking come. Oh god, it’s too much— I-I can’t take it. It feels so good. I love it when you fuck me like this. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—” my words break off right as another orgasm shatters across my body and I shudder, my legs shaking uncontrollably as Bruno keeps going, not slowing down even for a second. A moment later, he bellows my name and holds me close as his own orgasm explodes, shooting hot spunk deep inside my pussy.

He rests his forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily as we struggle to recover from the overwhelming pleasure. Then, without a single word, Bruno carries me into the bathroom and turns on the shower, setting me down.

“Fuck,” I mumble, brushing the hair back out of my eyes.

“Indeed,” Bruno agrees, an exhilarated smile on his face.

“Merry Christmas,” I tell him, laughing breathlessly. We both step into the shower and he starts washing us off, starting with me, as usual.

“That was the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. Who needs anything else?” he says, lathering soap over my shoulders as he leans down to kiss me.

After we shower off, we eat a quick dinner and get ready to climb into bed, both dressed in warm pajamas. Bruno looks ridiculously handsome in his plaid flannel pants, his shirtless chest powerful and glistening with post-shower dew. Just as I’m pulling the sheets up over myself and about to turn off the bedside lamp, Bruno comes over with his hands behind his back.

“I know we said we weren’t doing gifts, but I did get you something,” he says.

I sit up in bed, confused. “Oh, but I didn’t get you anything!” I lament.

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry. This gift is as much for me as it is for you.” He hands me a little golden box about the size of a standard book. I take off the lid to reveal two navy blue passport books. I frown at them in confusion, then look up at Bruno, who’s smiling warmly.

“What is this? I already have a passport,” I ask.

“It’s a chance at a brand new start,” he begins. “Those passports contain new identities for us to take on. I’ve been in contact with some of my people, and they’re arranging for us to be smuggled out of here. I’ve done some research and found a quiet, beautiful town just over the border in Canada where I think Bathing Beauty would do very well. We could finally be free and safe to live our lives, Serena. We could stop hiding here in the woods and be regular people again. We could be together without so much paranoia and fear. We can start over.”

“Oh my god,” I breathe, thumbing through the pages of the fake passport made for me. It looks completely authentic, identical to the one I already have except that it has a different name. I recognize the names as the Shakespearean character aliases I jokingly selected for the both of us weeks ago. “Are you serious about this?” I ask.

“Dead serious. All it takes is one phone call tomorrow morning and we’ll be on our way to freedom and safety, Serena,” he explains.

A million thoughts race through my head as my logical side argues with my romantic side. However, this time all the questions raised by fear are squashed back down with hope. My mother has a passport. She can visit us anytime. Rafaela and Nico can visit, too, and Raf always talks about wanting to see Niagara Falls anyway. The shop is doing well enough that I could probably afford to open a new location, maybe even keep the New York shop open, too. I can send money home to my mother, and the house should be paid off within the next few years anyway.

We could stop living under the shadow of fear. We could be free to walk down the streets hand-in-hand, knowing nobody could recognize us. Nobody would know our names.

My heart skips a beat. This dream… it could come true.

“What do you say?” Bruno asks, and I detect a slight hint of nervousness in his voice. I give him a smile, climbing out of bed to hug him tightly, pressing my face against his chest.

“I say yes. I say let’s do it. Tomorrow,” I tell him earnestly.

* * *

On Christmas morning, I wake up to the smell of bacon frying in the kitchen. As my brain comes awake I remember our discussion the night before, the fake passports, the plan to escape to Canada. I can’t help but smile as I bound out of bed and out into the living room. I see fluffy pancakes, maple syrup, a bowl of fruit, and a plate of bacon on the table waiting for me, but no Bruno. I walk into the kitchen to find him standing by the pantry, but when I catch sight of the serious look on his face, my smile fades away. He’s holding his phone to his ear, and I realize that’s why he’s hiding out over here by the pantry. Weirdly enough, through a lot of boredom and trial and error, we determined that the only spot in the cabin where we can get any hint of a signal is right by the pantry door. At first, I think that he must be making the call to his people to get us smuggled into Canada like we talked about, but when he hangs up, the pain on his face only intensifies. He looks over at me with baleful eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried.

He sighs, running a hand back through his hair. “Change of plans. Something awful has happened. I have to go back to the city.”