Page 44

Bella

My heart hammers against my ribs as we reach my floor. This is it. Don't chicken out now, Jenkins.

"We need to go to the roof." I try to keep my voice casual as I bypass my apartment door, but inside I'm practically vibrating with nervous energy.

Ares's eyebrows shoot up. "The roof?" His lips twitch. "Red, if this is your way of telling me you're going to push me off—"

"Please." I roll my eyes, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the fire escape door. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't waste such a beautiful night."

"That's... oddly comforting and terrifying at the same time."

My laugh echoes off the wall as I lead him up the metal steps. God, I hope everything is still perfect up there. Amanda helped me set it all up earlier, promising to come back and light the candles just before we got home. My palms are sweating, but Ares's hand in mine feels steady, grounding.

We reach the "ROOF ACCESS—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" sign, and I fish the key from my pocket, saying a silent thank you to Mrs. Martinez and her love of my female strength series.

"Should I be concerned that you have roof access?"

"Artist's privilege." I wink, turning the key. "The building manager's wife bought three of my paintings. Amazing what a little art appreciation can get you in this city."

My heart is in my throat as I push open the door. Please let it be perfect. Please let him—

Ares goes completely still beside me, and for a moment, I see the rooftop through his eyes.

String lights twinkle between potted plants, casting everything in a soft, golden glow.

The nest of pillows and blankets looks inviting in the center, surrounded by hurricane candles flickering in the summer breeze.

The telescope, thank god for Amanda's connections, stands ready near the edge, perfectly positioned for stargazing.

"Red..." His voice comes out rough, full of emotion that makes my chest tight.

I shrug, trying to play it cool even as heat floods my cheeks. "I had some help. Amanda knows someone who rents telescopes, and—"

His mouth crashes into mine, cutting off my rambling. The kiss is fierce, desperate, full of things we can't say. When we break apart, I'm breathless, and the look in his eyes makes me feel like I'm the only star in the sky.

"Remember that night?" I whisper, running my fingers along his jawline. "In the garden?"

"August 15th," he answers immediately, and my heart flutters. Of course he remembers the exact date. "There was a meteor shower."

"You were such a show-off with all your constellation knowledge." I can't help but tease him, even as the memory wraps around me like a warm blanket. "Such a nerd."

"Says the girl who wanted to paint the stars." His hands find my waist, pulling me closer.

"I did paint them." I lead him to the blankets where I've set up wine, chips, and chocolate-covered strawberries. "That painting hung in my room for years. Until..."

The words stick in my throat. Until everything fell apart.

"Hey." His palm cups my cheek, thumb brushing away tension I didn't realize I was holding. "We're not there anymore. We're here."

I lean into his touch, letting his warmth anchor me to the present. "That's why I wanted to do this. To make new memories. Better ones."

Something shifts in his expression, a softness that makes my breath catch.

"Show me the stars, Red."

We settle into the nest of pillows I arranged earlier, and I pour us each a glass of wine, a ridiculously expensive cabernet that Alisha insisted was perfect for stargazing. The night air wraps around us like silk, carrying the distant hum of the city.

"Look." I point upward, finding the familiar pattern. "You can see Cassiopeia from here."

"The vain queen," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "Forced to circle the celestial pole forever as punishment for her pride."

"Someone paid attention in astronomy class."

"Had to. My tutor was ruthless." He pulls me closer, and I melt into him. "Though I was more interested in the girl who used to sketch constellations in her notebook during our study sessions."

I laugh, remembering those afternoons in the Saint library. "I was trying to impress you with my knowledge of celestial bodies."

"Trust me, Red. Your body is celestial enough."

"Smooth talker." But I snuggle deeper into his embrace, feeling safe, cherished.

Suddenly, Ares sits up, reaching for his phone. "Speaking of memories..."

"What are you—"

The opening notes of "Angel" drift through the night air, and my heart stutters to a halt. The familiar melody wraps around me like an embrace from the past.

"Ares..." My voice wavers between laughter and tears.

But he's already on his feet, unbuttoning his shirt with dramatic flair. "This wasn't part of the original performance," he says with a wicked grin, "but I thought I'd give you the upgraded version. The adult edition."

I cover my mouth as he tosses his shirt aside, standing before me in the moonlight, all sculpted muscle and beautiful ink.

His compass tattoo catches the glow of the string lights, and for a moment, I'm transported back to that tiny kitchen in the staff cottage, wooden spoon microphone and stolen wine, two teenagers drunk on love and possibility.

"Baby, you're my angel..." he sings, completely off-key just like that night years ago, extending his hand with a flourish.

Laughter bubbles up from some long-forgotten place inside me as I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. He spins me in a circle, his hand warm and firm in mine, the other arm wrapping around my waist to guide me through the turn as he belts out the chorus with his imaginary microphone.

"You're still such a dork," I manage between giggles as he releases my hand to cradle my back, dipping me dramatically.

He pulls me back up, both hands now free to cup my face as his expression softens. He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek with gentle fingers. "Yeah, but I'm your dork. Always have been."

The tears come then, joy spilling over as I press my forehead against his chest. His heartbeat thunders beneath my ear, strong and steady and real. "My Sainty," I whisper, the words meant only for him. "My beautiful, dorky Sainty."

His arms tighten around me as we sway to the music, the stars our only witnesses. The boy with the wooden spoon microphone and the girl who sketched stars—here we are, older, scarred, but somehow finding our way back to each other.

When the song ends, Ares cups my face in his hands, his eyes reflecting the universe above us. "I love you, Red."

"I love you too," I whisper against his lips. "Even when I tried not to."

We sink back into our nest of blankets, wrapped in each other and starlight. Above us, the stars wheel in their ancient patterns, witnesses to countless stories like ours.

"I used to look up at these same stars," I admit softly. "After... after everything. I'd imagine you were looking at them too, somewhere out there."

"I was." His voice is rough. "In Switzerland, I'd sneak out to the school roof. The stars were so bright in the mountains."

My heart squeezes.

"I know we have battles ahead," he continues, fingers tracing patterns on my arm. "My parents won't give up easily."

I shift to look at him, studying the sharp lines of his face in the starlight. "Are you scared?"

"Of them? No." His jaw tightens. "Of losing you again? Terrified."

"You won't lose me." I prop myself up on one elbow, needing him to see the truth in my eyes. "We're not those kids anymore, Sainty. I'm not that scared girl who let them chase her away."

His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek. "No, you're not. You're stronger now. Fiercer."

"So are you." I turn my face to kiss his palm. "The boy I knew would never have stood up to his father like you’re doing now."

"The boy you knew was a coward."

"Hey." I grab his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. "That boy was trapped. But this man? The one who walked away from everything to find his own path and happiness? He's anything but a coward."

Above us, a star shoots across the sky, a brief flash of brilliance against the dark. I make a silent wish, just like I did that night in the garden all those years ago.

"What did you wish for?" Ares asks, his voice soft.

I smile, remembering. "Can't tell you. Bad luck."

"Did your last wish come true?"

The question catches me off guard. That night, young and desperately in love, I'd wished for forever with him. "Not then," I whisper. "But maybe now..."

His kiss is gentle, reverent, like he's trying to taste the words I can't say. When we break apart, I see my own hopes reflected in his eyes.

"Whatever comes next," he says, "we face it together."

I nod, curling back into his arms. The telescope stands forgotten as we lay there, wrapped in starlight and possibility.

For this moment, at least, the world below feels distant, unimportant. I trace the compass tattoo on my skin, feeling grounded despite the vastness above us.

"Tell me something," Ares murmurs against my hair. "What's your dream? Not just for your art, but... for everything."

The question catches me off guard. It's been so long since I've shared this with anyone. "Promise not to laugh?"

He shifts so he can see my face. "Never."

I take a deep breath, drawing courage from the steadiness in his eyes.

"I want to create a place for kids who are hurting.

Where they can heal through art." The words tumble out faster now, like they've been waiting to escape.

"Not just painting, any kind of creativity.

Music, dance, writing. A safe space where they can pour out all those feelings they can't express any other way. "

The silence stretches for a heartbeat, and suddenly I'm aware of how naive it might sound. How impossibly big this dream is. I start to pull away, cheeks burning. "God, listen to me. It's probably too—"

"Stop." His voice is gentle but firm as he pulls me back.

"I remember watching you after. How you'd spend hours in the garden with your sketchbook, putting everything you couldn't say into those drawings.

All that grief, that anger—you'd paint until you were exhausted, until you could finally sleep without nightmares.

" His thumb traces my cheek. "You're talking about giving that same lifeline to kids who are drowning. There's nothing naive about that."

My throat tightens at the memory. He's right—those endless nights in the Saint garden, my hands covered in charcoal and paint, art the only thing keeping me from shattering completely.

"Yeah," I manage. "After my parents, art saved me.

But not every kid has that outlet." My fingers clench in his shirt. "Some of them just... drown in it."

Ares is quiet for a moment, his hand running up and down my spine. But it's not the silence of dismissal, I can practically hear his mind working.

"It could be more than just a school," he says finally, and my heart skips at the 'could' instead of 'should'. Like he's already seeing it as real. "A community center maybe. Open to any kid who needs it, regardless of their background."

"You think that's possible?"

"Red." He cups my face, and the intensity in his eyes steals my breath. "You're talking about saving lives here. Giving kids a chance to be seen, to be heard. To turn their trauma into something beautiful, just like you did." His thumb brushes my cheek. "Of course it's possible."

"It would need funding," I start, but he's already nodding.

"And space, and teachers, and proper support staff." His voice takes on that focused tone I remember from when we were young and he'd get excited about an idea. "Art therapists maybe, counselors who understand trauma. We could partner with local schools, reach the kids who need it most."

My heart swells almost painfully. "We?"

"Try and stop me." He grins, fierce and beautiful. "You've got the vision, the understanding of what these kids need. I've got the business experience, the connections." His expression softens. "We'd make one hell of a team."

"Sainty..." I'm not sure if I want to laugh or cry.

"I mean it, Red. Your idea is incredible. You're incredible." He pulls me closer, pressing his forehead to mine. "You took your pain and turned it into a way to help others. How could I not want to be part of that?"

A shooting star streaks across the sky, but I don't need to make a wish this time. Everything I want is right here, believing in my dreams like they're already reality.

"I love you," I whisper against his lips. "God, I love you so much."

His kiss tastes like promises and possibility, like futures we're only beginning to imagine. When we break apart, his eyes are shining with something that looks suspiciously like tears.

"We're going to make it happen," he says, and it sounds like an oath. "All of it. Together."

Under a sky full of ancient stars, we began dreaming of a new constellation—together. And for the first time in forever, I let myself believe in the kind of future that once seemed impossible.