“Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn’t tear, I find a beautiful red leatherbox. Cartier. It’s familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my watch.Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of silver, or platinumor white gold—I don’t know, but it’s absolutely enchanting. Attached to itare several charms: the Eiffel Tower, a London black cab, a helicopter—CharlieTango, a glider—the soaring, a catamaran—The Grace, a bed, and an ice creamcone? I look up at him, bemused.“Vanilla?” He shrugs apologetically, and I can’t help but laugh. Of course.“Christian, this is beautiful. Thank you. It’s yar.” He grins.My favorite is the heart. It’s a locket.“You can put a picture or whatever in that.”“A picture of you.” I glance at him through my lashes. “Always in my heart.”He smiles his lovely, heartbreakingly shy smile.I fondle the last two charms: a letter C—oh yes, I was his first girlfriend touse his first name. I smile at the thought. And finally, there’s a key.“To my heart and soul,” he whispers.”

“I fondle the last two charms: a letter C- oh yes, I was his first girlfriend to use his first name. I smile at the thought. And finally, there's a key."To my heart and soul," he whispers.”

“I love you,” I murmur, and he smiles his heart-achingly shy smile, and I melt. “I will always love you, Christian.”“And I you,” he says softly.“In spite of my disobedience?” I raise my eyebrow.“Because of your disobedience, Anastasia.” He grins.”

“You wanted hearts and flowers,” he murmurs.I blink at him, not quite believing what I’m seeing.“You have my heart.” And he waves toward the room.“And here are the flowers,” I whisper, completing his sentence. “Christian, it’s lovely.”

“Okay, okay.” I set my hand on top of his and guide it to my chest, so it’s right over my heart. “Feel my heartbeat. Can you feel it?”“Yes.”“Feel how steady it is?”“It’s fast.”“Yes, well, that has nothing to do with the box.” I wince as soon as I’m donespeaking. I just admitted to something. Hopefully he doesn’t realize that.”

“He lifts my hand from the root and presses it to his bare chest, over his heart. My breath stops. I wonder if he can feel the pulse racing in my wrist, because it’s beating just as quickly as his heartbeat.“Do you know the Ai’oan word for heart?” he asks.I shake my head.“It’s py’a.” We’re so close, his whisper is right in my ear, and his breath warms the side of my neck. “You are my heart, Pia”I lick my lips. When did they get so dry?His other hand cradles the back of my head, tipping my face upward. “A body can't live without a heart. And I can’t live without you.”