chapter 66: committed

Blaise POV:

This was the fifth time Miles and I had met up. We'd made it a habit to see each other every first Saturday of the month, and somehow, it had become something I looked forward to more than I cared to admit.

Tonight, we sat at our usual spot, a dimly lit bar that wasn't too loud but still had enough atmosphere to keep things from feeling too intimate. Miles swirled his drink in his hand before setting it down and leaning in slightly.

"So, Slash finally got his official sentence," he said. "Life in prison. They originally wanted to give him forty years, but I made sure he wouldn't get out."

I stared at him, my fingers tightening around my glass. "You did that?"

He nodded. "I insisted."

A slow exhale left my lips. "Thank you." And I meant it. Slash being locked up for good meant I could finally breathe a little easier.

Miles grinned. "You could show a little more excitement. I did just make sure your psycho ex never sees daylight again."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, if we're talking good news, I got promoted."

His eyes widened. "Wait, what? You're not an intern anymore?"

I smirked. "Nope."

Miles lifted his glass. "Then we should drink to that."

I let him order us another round, but after a few sips, I found myself hesitating, setting my glass down.

He noticed immediately. "What, afraid you'll do something out of character again?"

I bit my lip, embarrassed. "Back then, I just did stupid things."

Miles leaned in, voice quieter. "It wasn't stupid,"

I didn't respond. Instead, I just pushed my drink further away.

He sighed, sitting back. "Fine. Let's go to my place then."

I blinked at him. "Why?"

He shrugged. "Come on, it's the least you can do for me after I got Slash locked up for life and paid for every single one of our meetups."

I scoffed. "You wanted to meet up."

Miles gave me a deadpan look. "You're actually rude, you know that?"

"Then don't hang out with me," I shot back, crossing my arms.

He leaned in, a smirk playing on his lips. "See, the thing is, I actually like hanging out with you."

I hesitated, my heart skipping a beat.

He took that as an opportunity. "So, you coming or what?"

Somehow, he convinced me.

—

We ended up at his apartment, sitting across from each other on the floor, playing cards. He was annoyingly good at it, and my competitive streak kept me there longer than I planned.

But eventually, I stood up, stretching. "Alright, I should get going."

Miles followed me to the door as I slipped my shoes on.

I was reaching for my jacket when I suddenly felt him standing behind me, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. His breath ghosted against the back of my neck, and I hesitated, my heart picking up speed.

Slowly, I turned around, looking up at him.

His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes. He leaned in an inch, then stopped, hesitating, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Can I kiss you?"

I nodded slowly.

The moment our lips met, it was soft, cautious. A slow burn rather than an immediate blaze. But when he pulled back, our eyes locked, something unspoken passing between us. Then, with more urgency, he kissed me again.

His hands moved to my waist, tugging me closer. I barely noticed when he slid my bag off my shoulder, then my jacket. My fingers found his braids, weaving through them as he guided us back into the apartment.

He lifted me effortlessly, placing me gently on the couch, hovering over me. I smiled against his lips, and he mirrored it before kissing me again. My hands found the buttons of his shirt, and as I undid them, revealing his toned chest, my breath hitched.

I traced my fingers along his skin before pressing a soft kiss there. He shivered under my touch. Then, he glanced at my top, his hands resting lightly at the hem.

"May I?" Miles asked, his voice low, almost hesitant, as his fingers brushed the hem of my top.

I nodded, my breath hitching when he slowly pulled it over my head, his fingertips grazing my skin. His eyes roamed over me, dark and unreadable, before he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss on my collarbone. His hands traced the curve of my waist, firm but careful, as if memorizing every inch.

I reached up, pulling him closer, feeling the heat radiating from his bare skin against mine. His lips moved to my neck, his breath warm and teasing, making my heart race. My fingers ran over his back, his shoulders, every ridge of muscle tightening under my touch.

He lifted me effortlessly, shifting so I was beneath him, his weight pressing down just enough to make me feel grounded. The way he looked at me, like I was something precious, something he didn't want to rush, made my chest tighten in a way I wasn't prepared for.

His lips met mine again, deeper this time, his hands caressing my sides before settling at my waist. I pulled him closer, my body reacting instinctively, and for a moment, everything else faded. The warmth of his skin, the way he moved, slow and deliberate, as if savoring every second.

And I let him.

Chapa POV:

It had been six months since Bose left. Since that one text where he told me the truth, he had only reached out twice. Twice in six damn months. If I could, I would've booked a flight to Italy myself, but I had no clue where he even was. If it took him four weeks to get there when he actually speaks Italian, how the hell was I supposed to find him?

His mom wanted to visit him too, but I told her not to. It would just make things harder. So instead, I kept visiting her. Over time, she started realizing things—how her husband treated Bose, how he treated me. It was like she was seeing everything through new eyes. We talked a lot, tried to keep each other hopeful, but the waiting was unbearable.

I hated it. I hated not hearing from him. I hated not knowing when he'd come back. I hated missing him. But none of it was his fault. His birth dad was alive, and he needed him. I just... I just hoped this wasn't all for nothing.

Today, I was heading to his mom again. The rain was brutal, so I decided to drive. I got my official driver's license a month ago, and there was no way I was letting Bose's car just sit there. When I pulled up to the mansion, his mom was already at the door, probably having heard the engine.

"Chapa," she greeted with a small smile.

I lifted the bag of food. "Brought something for you."

Her smile widened. "That's sweet of you, come in."

I stepped inside, shaking off the rain. She led me to the kitchen, and as I set the food down, she studied me for a second before asking, "How have you been feeling lately?"

"Tired," I admitted. "And I hate waiting for him."

She hummed, nodding. "I understand." Then, after a pause, she asked again, "Are you really okay?"

I shrugged, not looking at her. I didn't want to talk about it.

"Chapa, I can tell you're not okay," she said, stepping closer. "Come here."

Before I could protest, she pulled me into a hug. I stiffened at first, not used to this kind of thing from her. But after a second, I let myself relax, my arms loosely wrapping around her.

"It'll be alright," she murmured. "He'll come home."

I swallowed hard, my throat tight.

She sighed. "I miss him too, but I know it's different for you. You saw him every day, lived with him. The house must feel empty without him."

I didn't respond right away. Then I asked, "What are you going to do if his dad recovers?"

She exhaled, pulling back to look at me. "I don't know yet," she admitted. "I'll figure it out when the time comes."

I nodded, not knowing what else to say.

The hug lingered a little longer. It didn't just make me feel warm—it made me feel close to Bose again, even if only for a moment. And I needed that more than I realized.

Andrew POV:

I sat on the couch, hands clasped together so tightly my fingers started to ache. Mika's parents sat across from me, her mom with a warm but curious expression, her dad leaning back, arms crossed, his face unreadable. I had planned this conversation in my head a hundred times, but now that I was actually here, my throat felt dry, and my pulse was hammering against my ribs.

Mika's mom smiled encouragingly. "You look nervous, Andrew."

I let out a short laugh. "That obvious, huh?" I exhaled sharply, gathering my thoughts. "I, uh... I wanted to talk to you both about something important."

Her dad raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

I straightened my back. "I want to marry Mika."

The room went silent. Neither of them reacted right away. Her mom's smile faltered slightly, her dad's expression remained unreadable.

I cleared my throat and kept going. "I love her. More than I've ever loved anything or anyone. She's... she's the person I want to wake up next to for the rest of my life. The person I want to argue with over stupid things, the person I want to travel with, to build something real with. She challenges me, she makes me laugh when I least expect it, and even when she's driving me crazy, I still want to be around her. I never imagined settling down this soon, but with her, it just... makes sense."

Mika's mom pressed a hand to her chest, her lips parting slightly. Her dad, though, stayed quiet, watching me carefully.

"I know marriage is serious," I continued, my voice steadier now. "It's not just about love—it's about commitment. About showing up even when things are hard, about growing together instead of apart. I know I'm not perfect compared to her, but I don't care about perfect. I care about her. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to her."

Her mom finally broke the silence. "Oh, Andrew..." Her voice was soft, and when she reached for my hands, they were warm. "That's beautiful."

I smiled at her, but my eyes flicked to Mika's dad, who still hadn't said a word. He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "Marriage isn't a grand speech, Andrew. It's years of work. It's frustration, patience, compromise. Do you really understand that?"

I met his gaze without hesitation. "Yes, sir. I do."

He studied me for a long moment, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know Mika's stubborn."

I huffed out a laugh. "Very."

"She always does everything herself perfectly."

"Tell me about it."

"She's going to push your buttons."

"She already does."

Her dad let out a long sigh, then finally—finally—he nodded. "Alright. If she wants to marry you, I won't stand in the way."

Relief crashed over me so fast I nearly sagged back into the couch. Mika's mom beamed, pulling me into a tight hug, and for the first time that night, I felt like I could actually breathe.

Mika's dad stood, extending a hand toward me. "Welcome to the family."

I shook it firmly, swallowing the knot in my throat.

I had done it.

—

I hurried down the street, adjusting the cuff of my sleeve as I spotted Mika sitting at an outdoor café table, her foot bouncing impatiently under the table. She had that look on her face—the one where her eyes narrowed just slightly, lips pursed like she was trying to decide whether she was going to tease me or actually be annoyed.

"You're late," she said as I slid into the chair across from her.

I held up my hands in surrender. "I know, I know. I got held up."

She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "Held up where, exactly?"

I hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Nowhere important."

Her eyes narrowed further. "You're a terrible liar."

I smirked. "I like to think I'm selectively honest."

"Andrew." Her voice carried that warning tone that told me she wasn't going to let this go.

I sighed dramatically. "Fine. If you must know, I was talking to your parents."

Her expression shifted immediately, her brows knitting together in confusion. "My parents?"

"Yeah." I picked up the menu, pretending to be deeply interested in it. "You know, just casual conversation. The weather, sports, life..."

She reached across the table and pulled the menu down so I'd look at her. "Andrew. What did you talk about?"

I met her gaze, letting the moment stretch just enough to make her impatient. "Just some things I wanted to get their opinion on."

Mika groaned, leaning back in her chair. "You're being annoying on purpose."

I grinned. "Maybe a little."

She studied me for a second, then shook her head. "You better not be planning something weird."

"Weird?" I put a hand to my chest, feigning offense. "I'm wounded."

She rolled her eyes but didn't push further. The waiter arrived, and we placed our orders, settling into an easier rhythm. The late summer air was warm, the sun casting golden light over the city, and for a while, we just talked—about her work, about my latest projects, about that viral video of a raccoon stealing a burrito that had made her laugh so hard she cried.

At some point, she reached across the table and took my hand, absentmindedly tracing circles on my skin with her thumb.

"You're acting weird," she murmured after a while.

"Weird how?"

"I don't know. Just... different."

I shrugged, squeezing her hand. "Maybe I'm just appreciating the moment."

She gave me a skeptical look but didn't let go. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I've been told."

She huffed, but a small smile played on her lips. "I don't know what's going on with you, but fine. I'll drop it."

For now.

I knew her too well to think she wouldn't circle back eventually. But for now, I just wanted to enjoy the night with her.

Miles POV:

I woke up to the soft sound of sheets shifting. The room was dim, the early morning light creeping through the curtains, casting streaks of gold over the bed. Blaise was moving—slowly, carefully, trying not to wake me as she slipped out from under the blanket. I could feel the warmth where she had been a second ago, fading the further she got from me.

Oh, hell no.

Before she could escape, I reached out, caught her wrist, and pulled her right back into bed. She let out a small yelp, followed by a chuckle as she landed against my chest.

"Miles," she groaned, her voice still laced with sleep. "I was trying not to wake you."

I grinned, tightening my hold around her waist, my arms wrapping her up completely. "You failed."

She huffed, but I could feel the smile against my skin as she gave up and relaxed into me. My face was buried in her hair, the scent of her shampoo lingering there, something faintly sweet and familiar. I wanted to stay like this—just the two of us, nothing else in the world mattering for a little while.

"You're warm," she murmured, almost like she was thinking out loud.

"You're the one who was trying to run away," I pointed out, my voice still rough with sleep.

She pulled back just enough to look at me. "I wasn't running away."

"Really?" I raised a brow. "Because it sure felt like an escape attempt."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she shifted, turning onto her side so we were face to face. Her gaze softened as she studied me, like she was trying to figure something out.

I reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "What?"

She hesitated, then sighed. "I don't know. This... us."

I stayed quiet, letting her take her time.

"I want to try," she admitted finally. "But I'm not sure yet. I've had... bad experiences before."

Slash.

I didn't say his name, but we both knew who she meant. I felt my jaw clench, the old frustration creeping in. That bastard had left scars on her, even if they weren't visible.

"I get it," I said, my voice quieter now. "You don't have to rush anything."

She gave me a small, almost grateful smile. "You're being surprisingly patient."

I smirked. "Don't get used to it."

That made her laugh, a soft, real sound that made my chest feel lighter.

For a moment, we just lay there, looking at each other, wrapped up in the quiet of the morning. Then, without thinking, I leaned in and kissed her forehead, letting my lips linger there for a second longer than necessary.

"You don't have to figure everything out right now," I told her. "We'll just take it one step at a time."

She exhaled, nodding slightly. "Yeah. One step at a time."

And for now, that was enough.

Andrew POV:

I had the ring in my pocket the whole day. It felt heavier than it should, a small velvet box pressing against my thigh as if reminding me of the weight of what I was about to do. I had been planning this for weeks, waiting for the right moment, but every time I thought about it, my heart pounded so hard I was sure Mika would hear it.

Today was going to be the day.

I picked her up in the evening, something casual but thoughtful—just us, no crowded places, no extravagant gestures. I knew Mika. She didn't want an over-the-top spectacle, and honestly, neither did I. This was something intimate, something that only needed the two of us.

We went for a drive, nowhere in particular at first. I let her pick the music, as always, and listened to her sing softly to the songs she liked best. I laughed when she made dramatic faces at the emotional parts, her eyes wide and playful.

"Where are we even going?" she asked at some point, glancing at me.

"You'll see," I said, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

Eventually, I pulled up to the spot—a quiet clearing just outside the city, where you could see the skyline in the distance but still hear nothing but the wind in the trees. It was the kind of place where time felt slower, where the world felt a little less overwhelming.

Mika stepped out of the car, hugging herself against the cool evening air.

"Didn't know we were going stargazing," she said, raising an eyebrow at me.

"We're not. Just... trust me."

I grabbed the blanket I had packed and spread it out on the grass. Then I pulled out the takeout I had picked up from her favorite place, handing her a container.

"Okay, I'll admit, this is kinda cute," she said, smirking.

I sat down beside her, watching as she popped open the lid and took a bite. "You do know how to make a good date night."

I let her eat, let the conversation flow naturally. We talked about little things—how work had been, what show she was currently obsessed with, how she had almost tripped on the sidewalk earlier and acted like nothing happened. I laughed, she rolled her eyes, and for a while, everything felt like every other night we spent together.

But tonight wasn't just any night.

When she was finishing up her food, I exhaled and shifted slightly. My fingers brushed over the box in my pocket, and my heart kicked up again.

I looked at her, really looked at her—the way her hair fell over her shoulders, the way her eyes reflected the distant city lights.

"Mika," I said, and she turned to me, chewing the last bite of her food.

"Yeah?"

I swallowed, then smiled. "Could you grab my phone out of my car?"

She tilted her head. "Sure."

In the mean time I was already moving. Already reaching into my pocket, already dropping onto one knee in front of her.

And just like that, the world got quieter.

Mika's eyes widened as she turned around from my car, her breath catching.

I held up the ring, my hands steady despite how fast my heart was beating.

"I don't need a big, dramatic proposal," I said. "Because every moment with you already feels like something out of a dream. You make the worst days feel okay. You make me want to be better, to do better. I love you, Mika. More than I know how to put into words. And I want to keep loving you, every single day, for the rest of my life."

I took a breath, then looked up at her.

"So... will you marry me?"

Mika didn't say anything at first. She just stared at me, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant hum of the city and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

My chest felt tight. I had imagined this moment a thousand different ways, but now that I was here—on one knee, ring in hand, heart practically in my throat—it felt like time had stopped.

Then, finally, she exhaled a shaky breath.

"You idiot," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I blinked. "Uh—"

She launched forward, grabbing my face and kissing me before I could even react.

I nearly lost my balance, still kneeling, but I caught myself, my free hand instinctively going to her waist. She pulled back just enough to look at me, her forehead resting against mine.

"Yes," she murmured.

I almost didn't register it.

"Yes?" I repeated, just to be sure.

She nodded, a small, breathless laugh escaping her lips. "Yes, Andrew. Of course, yes."

Relief crashed over me like a wave, so strong it nearly knocked me over. I slid the ring onto her finger, my hands shaking now more than before. It fit perfectly.

Mika looked down at it, then back up at me, her eyes shining. "I can't believe you actually did this."

I grinned, my heart still racing. "You saying you didn't expect it?"

"I mean... I knew you loved me," she admitted, flexing her fingers slightly as if adjusting to the weight of the ring. "But marriage? That's... big."

"It is," I agreed, standing up fully and pulling her with me. "But there's no one else I'd ever want to do this with."

She bit her lip, looking at me with something unreadable in her expression. Then, suddenly, she smacked my arm.

"Hey—what was that for?" I laughed.

"For making me cry, you jerk," she huffed, wiping at her eyes. "And for springing this on me when I wasn't even prepared!"

I pulled her into me, wrapping my arms around her tightly. "I didn't need you to be prepared. I just needed you to say yes."

She sighed against my chest. "I did, didn't I?"

I kissed the top of her head, holding her even closer. "Yeah. You did."

And just like that, Mika was mine forever.

Bose POV:

As I sat at the breakfast table, I placed a piece of bread on my father's plate.

"Here you go, Dad," I said.

He glanced up at me with a faint smile. "I can get my own food, Bosey."

"I know, I just wanted to help you," I replied.

According to Francesca, my father had made huge progress. He could talk normally again, his eyes weren't as lost as they used to be, and he understood more of reality now. It had been one year since I left the U.S., and my phone had been dead for nearly as long. My charger didn't fit these old sockets, and there was no store in the village that sold anything remotely useful for modern electronics. Maybe that was a good thing. It kept me from thinking too much about home. About my mom. About Chapa.

Elio, Francesca's son, sat across from me, swinging his little legs under the table as he chewed on a piece of fruit. He was five, full of energy, and completely unaware of how much his mother had struggled. His father had walked out on them before he was even born. Francesca never said much about him, but I could tell she carried that weight alone.

She was kind, though. She had been feeding us, walking miles to the village for supplies, and taking care of my father long before I arrived. I owed her for that.

Yesterday, we sat down and talked about what comes next. I told her I'd help them get out of here—that I'd find a better farm near a modern village, somewhere with proper supplies. And that I'd ask my dad if he wanted to come back to the States with me.

She had looked at me and simply said, "You should go. Take your father and leave us behind."

I had refused immediately. "I can't do that. I won't just abandon you and Elio."

She had sighed, saying we'd talk about it later.

Now, after breakfast, my father was napping in the other room. He could finally lay down and sit more comfortably than before. He was still in a wheelchair, still too thin, but compared to the man I met months ago—fragile, unresponsive, unwilling to eat—he was much stronger. Francesca had told me he used to refuse food completely. Looking at him now, resting peacefully, I felt some relief knowing that part of him was healing.

Outside, Francesca and I sat down by the goats, milking them in silence until she glanced at me and said, "Thank you, Bose."

I frowned. "For what? You're the one who's been taking care of my dad. You gave us food, a roof over our heads."

She shook her head. "That's the least I could do. Your father is my family too. But without you, he wouldn't have made it this far."

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I just nodded.

After a while, she asked, "Do you like it here?"

I smirked. "I'd like it more if we had a real shower. Walking all the way to the lake to clean ourselves isn't exactly my idea of luxury."

She chuckled. "Anything else?"

I hesitated. "...I miss my loved ones."

Francesca studied me, her expression shifting. "You try to hide it, but I can tell you miss your mother. And your girl."

I let out a breath, staring at the ground. There was no point denying it. "Yeah," I admitted. "I miss them a lot."

She wiped her hands on a cloth and turned to me. "Then why are you scared to go back?"

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. "...What if Chapa moved on?" My voice was quiet, almost bitter. "I mean, I wouldn't blame her. I just left."

Francesca placed a hand on my arm, squeezing it lightly. "If she loves you, she won't forget you."

I swallowed. "And if she doesn't anymore?"

She gave me a sad smile. "Then you'll find out when you get back. But running from it won't change anything."

I didn't respond. I just nodded. Because deep down, I knew she was right.