Page 193

The display lights up with the message “Happy New Year.”

It’s the perfect shot.

Thalia stands in the foreground, her back to me but her head turned, her face fully visible. On the right, the frame catches only the first word of the display—“Happy”—while the sky above explodes in gold and silver fireworks.

Before she can ask what’s happening, I close the distance between us, slide one hand to her waist, and kiss her.

Passionate. Unapologetically public. A kiss filled with the promise that from now on, every year will find us exactly like this—together.

When the people around us begin to embrace, we pull apart and start hugging everyone in turn.

“I’m so happy for you,” my mom says when it’s her turn to wrap us both in her arms.

My father grips my hand, pride written all over his face, then pulls both Thalia and me into a single embrace.

We don’t even get the chance to respond before someone suddenly shouts, “Group hug,” and all the guys close in around us.

“I can’t breathe,” Chase says after a few moments, making us all burst out laughing before we finally break apart.

From inside the house, waiters appear carrying trays of champagne glasses for us and for the rest of the guests.

“To a new year full of success, fulfillment, and love,” Sierra says.

I pull Thalia into my arms, and she lets her head rest against my chest, her smile never once fading.

“Happy New Year, kitten,” I murmur softly. And then, like the sick fucking puppy I became, “I love you,” I add.

Still not quite used to hearing those words from me, she flinches faintly in my arms.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing you say that,” she admits, tears shimmering in her eyes.

I press a slow kiss to her hair—and then I realize I’m not done yet.

Keeping her close with the hand that also holds my champagne glass, I reach into my pocket with the other and take out my phone again.

“What are you doing?” she asks, glancing at it.

I don’t answer, because she’s about to see for herself—and I want that reaction exactly as it comes.

I unlock the screen and do something I’ve never done before. I open my Instagram account and move to add a new post.

The moment I select the photo from the gallery, Thalia gasps in my arms—but I only tighten my hold around her as I choose the picture and type the caption.

“Mine.”

Simple. Direct. Unmistakable.

I want the message to be crystal clear—to the world, and especially to the press.

I want it known that Thalia is mine, and therefore untouchable.

The second I tap “post,” Thalia turns fully toward me, her eyes wide and shining as tears spill over, her lips parting, shock written all over her face.

“What are you doing?” she asks again, her voice trembling.

I lock the phone and slip it back into my pocket, decision already made and carried through. Setting the champagne glass on a passing waiter’s tray, I wrap both arms around her.

“I’m making sure absolutely everyone knows you’re mine,” I whisper against her lips. “Including you.”