With Cole arriving tomorrow to y at a local London venue, Rafael and I spend his one and only day here exploring the city. We visit a few famous sites, explore Regent Street and the expensive stores, and hang out at a local pub before heading back to the hotel to get ready for dinner.


    When we return to our room, I’m shocked to find three new packages from Liberty London set on a small table beside our bed.


    I turn to face Rafael. “Tell me you didn’t.”


    “I’m going to take a quick shower and shave,” he says nonchntly before heading to the bathroom.


    Buzzing with anticipation, I unwrap the first box to reveal the exact dress I tried on at the store. I told Rafael it wasn’t worth the money, which I still stand by, but clearly, he didn’t agree. The luxurious dress came with a hefty price tag I associate with<span id="page_541">wedding dresses and ball gowns, and I’m tempted to ask him to return it before I have a chance to stain it, but I reconsider.


    Rafael could see my request as a slight against him, and I don’t have the heart to ruin his grand gesture with my insecurity.


    Even if it means wearing a morous dress worth two of my parents’ mortgage payments.


    The next box has a pair of heels I gawked over—in my exact size too—while the final box has something I neverid eyes on today.


    A golden hair pin in the shape of a shooting star that I am going to pretend is encrusted with fake stones rather than the expensive alternative.


    Mi estre, he called me.


    I spend the next however many minutes gawking at the sparkling gems that glitter in the light, alternating between tucking the pin into my hair and pulling it out and cing it carefully back in the small box.


    “Do you like it?” Rafael asks while catching me in the act of ripping a few hairs out in the process of removing it.


    Iloveit, but I can’t say that when I don’t intend on keeping it.


    “What store is it from?” I stroke the diamon—no, thefakegemstones. For all I know, the array of stones could beb-created, which, while still expensive, isn’t the same as ones mined straight from the earth.


    You keep telling yourself that<span id="page_542">.


    “I found it in Lake Aurora, while Julian was ring shopping.”


    My head snaps in the direction of the door, where Rafael is standing in nothing but a towel.


    “What?”


    “I’m d Julian dragged me along, or else I wouldn’t have found it.” He moves toward me, plucks the pin from my tight fist, carefully grabs some of my hair, and secures it in ce beside my ear. “Beautiful.” He’s staring at me rather than the pin, and a tingling sensation skates down my spine.


    “It’s expensive.”


    “What if I told you it wasn’t?”


    “We promised not to lie.”


    “Technically, I wouldn’t be.”


    Of course he wouldn’t. To a billionaire, I’m sure this barely makes a dent in his bank ount, but to me, it means so much more.


    I attempt to scowl but fail. “I shouldn’t ept it.”


    “But you will.”


    “Confident much?”


    He leans in and presses his mouth against my ear. “Please, Elle? For me?”


    I shudder at his request. “Fine.”Belongs ? to N?velDrama.Org.


    His sly grin looks like it wants to be introduced to my fist. “Go get ready before we’rete.” He turns me in a rush and ps my ass.


    I re at him from over my shoulder before grabbing the new dress, heels, and my makeup bag.


    After thirty minutes of primping in the bathroom and receiving a text of approval from my best friend, I head into the<span id="page_543">room with my head held high only to teeter on my new heels as Rafael’s gaze follows a path from my head to my toes.


    “You look…”


    My lungs stall.


    “Divina.” The word rolls off his tongue, along with a wave of heat through my belly.


    His tongue darts out to trace the bottom of his lip, and my heart jolts in my chest as he walks over to me and pulls me into a kiss.


    “I thought we were going to bete,” I say with a rasp.


    “It will be worth it.” He reaches for my hand, but I slip away from him before he has a chance to ruin my thirty minutes’ worth of work.


    “No! Stay away.” I rush for the door as quickly as my heels will permit.


    He chuckles as he follows behind me. “For now.”


    Another shiver of anticipation spreads over my skin, drawing goose bumps in their wake.


    With a wave of newfound confidence, I head toward the elevator bank while swaying my hips, earning another groan from the man who collects pieces of my heart with every passing day.


    After dinner and two rounds of incredible sex, Rafael is knocked out while I remain wide-awake thanks to jetg and some building anxiety about my first day of work tomorrow. I struggle to fall asleep, so I pull out my songwriting notebook and flip through the pages before stopping on one that I haven’t touched since we were in Hawaii<span id="page_544">.


    I know some songs are meant to never be finished, but whenever I think of leaving the one I started about Rafael unwritten, I’m hit with a strong sense of loss. So in a rush of inspiration after Rafael told me he loved me, I pick up where I left off on that first day on the boat.


    It was snowing hard on Christmas Eve,


    When our paths crossed that first time.


    Couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed me,


    But then again, neither had I.


    I stare at the lyrics hard enough to make my eyes cross. The temptation to scribble over them is still there, but it’s overshadowed by the urge to continue.


    Not for Cole, but for myself.


    “Silver Scars” taught me a few hard lessons, including not sharing every song I write with others. So while I can finish the song I started about Rafael and myself, I don’t n on handing it over to Cole for him to use on his next album.


    It isourlove story, not the world’s, and I n on keeping it that way.


    My muse remains asleep,pletely unaware of me softly strumming the guitar beside him.


    Like father, like son. He and Nico could sleep through a heavy metal concert without even stirring.


    When I think about Rafael leaving tomorrow, my chest physically hurts, but then I remind myself that I should be grateful for him being here right now.


    We can make it through five weeks because, no matter what, we bothloveeach other<span id="page_545">.


    I shake my head and refocus on my song. The process of getting to the final product is different every time, depending on whether I focus on writing the lyrics first or perfecting the melody.


    This time, I have a clear picture of the story I want to tell and the melody I want to apany it. Unlike most of my other songs, which tend to have a simr mncholic vibe to them, this one follows a different beat. One that has sadness, sure, but the underlying sense of wistfulness and longing is present from the very first chord.


    “I haven’t heard that one before.”


    I startle at the sound of Rafael’s sleepy voice. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”


    “Don’t apologize—” His reply is cut off by a yawn. “I didn’t realize I fell asleep.” Theforter I threw over his body falls as he sits up against the headboard and rubs his eyes. “Is that the song you’re writing for Cole?”


    “No.”


    He looks confused. “Oh.”


    “This one is just for me.” I discreetly shut my notebook. While I doubt Rafael could put the pieces together since I’ve only written one verse, it won’t take him long to guess who the song is about once I continue writing it.


    “Can I hear it?”


    “Nope.”


    “After everything we’ve done, you’re still shy?” His sly smile reminds me of the same one he had earlier while his head was pressed between my thighs.


    Color floods my cheeks, making them hot to the touch.<span id="page_546">“No. It’s just not finished yet.”


    “So you’ll let me listen once it is?”


    “Sure. Once it’s written, I’ll let you hear it.”


    His eyes narrow.


    I smile.


    “You’re scheming,” he says with a scowl.


    “And you’re talking way too much for someone who seemed dead asleep just a few minutes ago.”


    Without a beard to cover half his face, his rosy skin is fully on disy, giving him away.


    I sigh. “How long have you been listening?”


    “A few minutes. I swear.”


    My heart rate calms. At most, he heard the whole first verse since I was messing with a few chords while trying to perfect the sound.


    “This song sounds different from your others.”


    My head, along with my world, tilts. “What?”


    “It’s… I don’t know how to describe it. It’s just different.”


    He is right. Unlike my other songs, this one is happy. Hopeful even. Like a never-ending epilogue of our unfinished love story.


    A love story that has only just begun, with the best parts still left to be written.