Page 106

Later that night, Ilie on my stomach on the bed, a pillow in my arms, eyes lost in the dark orange flames smouldering inthe fireplace. It’s started snowing again outside, and a dreamy silence reigns over the house, broken only by the faint crackling of embers.

“Something on your mind?” Evan asks. He’s lying on his stomach across the bed, propped on his elbows, reading a book. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“I didn’t think I’d have such a lovely time,” I say softly, still gazing into the fire.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” He butts the tip of his nose lightly into my shoulder. “Why do you sound so sad?”

The silence drags out.

I finally answer in a whisper. “I haven’t told my parents I’m in England for the holiday.”

“No? Why not?”

In the softness and warmth and the steady gentleness of his presence, it’s easier than I imagined to tell him the truth.

“I’m scared of telling them I won’t be moving back to the UK after Harvard.”

“It’ll feel scary all the way until you do it,” Evan says, kissing my shoulder lightly. “And once it’s done, you’ll wonder why it was ever so scary. You’ll see.”

“You think?”

“I think your parents are going to be proud of you no matter what. And even if they weren’t, it’s your life to live.” He rolls me onto my back, tucking me into him by my waist, and gazes down into my eyes. “Anyway, when has fear ever stopped you before?”

I let out a weak laugh. “My secret is I’m actually scared most of the time.”

“That’s what makes you so brave.”

“Not that brave.”

“Braveenough to tell them,” he says, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “And if your courage fails you, I’ll be there to lend you some of mine.”

I lick my lips, a nervous flutter skittering through me.

“Does that mean you’re meeting my parents?”

“I probably should.” His fingers trace lazy patterns over my stomach, making the muscles beneath the skin twitch at the sensation. “Since I’ll be asking them for your hand someday.”

For a moment, my heartbeat stutters. I curl my arms around Evan’s shoulders, pull him down to me.

“Are you going to make an honest woman out of me?”

“How else am I going to stop you from being such a dirty little liar?”

I let out a fake gasp. “When have I ever lied to you?”

“Three years ago. When you told me you didn’t believe in marriage.”

“I don’t,” I tell him. And, “But I do like the idea of marryingyou.”

Surprise and delight flash across his face and melt away under the sunshine of his smile.

“You sure about that?” he says softly. “Can’t take it back, Sutton.”

I answer just as softly.

“I don’t want to take it back.”

46