Vivienne
I think I fell in love with him in a garden.
Not a poetic, fairytale kind of garden. No roses, no slow music, no conveniently timed rain. Just Damien. A summer night. And me. Sitting on top of a marble table in his family's back patio, legs swinging, heart doing weird gymnastics in my chest.
I was seventeen. He was eighteen. It was the night of his graduation party—expensive champagne, golden fairy lights, too many people trying to impress him.
And he'd disappeared from it all.
Of course, I found him. I always do.
"You're hiding," I said, climbing onto the table with my strappy heels and too-loud laugh. "The star of the show has stage fright?"
He didn't look up. Just tossed a grape in the air and caught it with his mouth like the insufferable god he is.
"I'm avoiding idiocy," he replied.
"Same thing," I giggled, nudging him with my foot. "Hey, do you remember when you got suspended in second grade for threatening to throw a boy out the window because he made me cry?"
"You did cry."
"He stole my purple glitter pen."
He finally looked up, expression unreadable. "Still carry that thing around?"
I nodded. "It's in my purse right now."
He blinked once. Smiled—barely. That ghost-smile he only ever gives me.
And that was the moment.
That exact second.
I didn't realize it then, but something in me shifted. The stars moved. The world slowed. And the boy I'd known since birth stopped being just Damien.
I still remember the way the light hit his face—half shadow, half silver glow—and the way he rested his arm on the table like he had nowhere else to be but beside me.
"Promise me something," I blurted. "No matter what happens… we don't stop being us."
He tilted his head. "You're being dramatic again."
"Swear on something. Your weird, moody honor."
He rolled his eyes but nodded once. "Fine. I swear."
And just like that, I was doomed.
---
I blink back into the present.
Same boy, different setting.
Now he's a med student in a black hoodie, long-legged and slightly annoyed, walking beside me through a campus that's already whispering our names.
And I'm… still hopeless.
We pass a fountain where two girls are pretending not to stare. I wave at them like I'm royalty. "Good morning, darlings! Love the boots!" I chirp, even though they're wearing knock-off Louboutins and I'm wearing the real thing.
Damien sighs beside me. "You're going to scare people off."
I beam. "I know."
His pace is slow, his hands stuffed in his pockets, but I know him—I know he's letting me walk with him. He could've ditched me at the car. He didn't.
I look at his profile, sharp and perfect and completely unfair to the human race.
Same eyes.
Same voice.
Same quiet power.
And it hits me all over again—that memory in the garden, the way he said I swear without blinking. He probably doesn't remember it. But I do.
I remember everything.
"Hey, Damien?" I say, just to hear his name.
He doesn't look at me, but I can feel him listening.
"I think we're gonna be amazing here."
A beat. Then he glances at me sideways. "We?"
I nod with my whole soul. "Obviously."
He huffs a small laugh under his breath. And if I didn't know him so well, I'd think it meant nothing.
But it does.
It always does.
---
We part ways after his lecture. Med building for him. Law school for me. But not before he gives me that you talk too much stare, and I respond with my you love it grin.
I bounce off—literally bounce, because my platform boots are that good—and only see him again hours later, when I show up at his dorm.
To make sure he's eaten. Obviously.
Also to threaten his roommate with death if he makes too much noise while Damien studies. That's what best friends do.
I knock.
No response.
So I let myself in. Like always.
And that's when I see him.
Not Damien.
Roommate Guy.
Shirtless. Abs. Blue eyes. That boyish smile that says I bench press betrayal for breakfast.
He blinks at me. "Whoa. You're Vivienne?"
I blink back. "And you're… not wearing a shirt."
He laughs and grabs a hoodie from his bed. "Sorry. Wasn't expecting someone to just walk in looking like that."
Okay, I'm flattered.
(Also slightly offended. Why didn't Damien warn him I exist?)
I sit on Damien's bed like I own it. Because I do. "And you are?"
"Luca," he says, sliding the hoodie on, though he still looks at me like I'm a living firework. "Damien didn't tell me his best friend was a goddess."
I smile sweetly. "He also didn't tell me his roommate was a flirt."
Just then, the door clicks open.
And in walks the reason my heart forgets its job on a daily basis.
Damien.
He freezes when he sees Luca standing a little too close to me. His gaze drops to my crossed legs on the bed—his bed—and then to Luca's hoodie that I'm pretty sure says Cambridge Rugby Team.
Damien says nothing.
Just lifts one perfect eyebrow. "You lost your own bed, Viv?"
I beam. "Yours smells like pine and arrogance. I like it."
Luca laughs.
Damien doesn't.
That eyebrow stays raised. "Get off."
"No."
"Vivienne."
I roll onto my stomach like a cat. "Damien."
Luca's watching this like he just bought front-row tickets to a live rom-com.
And I realize something.
He's cute.
He's charming.
And he totally has a crush on me.
But I also realize something else.
I don't care.
Because the only boy who can make my name sound like both a threat and a prayer—
Is already standing across the room, glaring like he invented the emotion possessive.