They say the beginning of every relationship pass like a dream. The magic, the spark, the fire, wild sex, laughter, dates, cheers... Believe me, they are not exaggerating, but they are wrong. The honeymoon phase lasts longer. We are nearing the end of May, and Nate and I are still living the dream.

Though, every dream eventually comes to an end.

Nate returns home one night as I'm color correcting clips for a major client in the tiny office in our apartment.

"Abbs?" he calls from the hall. His keys clink—must have tossed them into the silver bowl at the entrance. "When's the last time you checked the mail, babe? I found a stack of envelopes downstairs."

I lower my headphones to my shoulders with an eye roll. Who remembers to check the mail nowadays? "It's probably spam. Just throw everything into the bin," I say.

Tearing of paper and subtle noises of pages flipping reach me from the corridor. I turn back to my screen as everything becomes silent—too silent... I roll my chair to the door, hold my breath, and listen.

Not a sound.

"Nate?"

The silence grows.

I get up and walk out of the room to find him standing in the hallway, staring at a formal-looking, square envelope. His shoulders seem tense under his white shirt.

"What's that?" I ask.

Nate raises his gaze and shakes his head. His cheeks are all red as if someone had just slapped him across the face.

"What is it, babe?" I take a step forward, but he backs away. "Nate?"

He lowers the envelope and sucks in a deep breath. "A wedding invitation."

"Oh." My cheeks flare too, but I shrug. "Well, it's nothing new. Why the face?"

Nate rakes back his fingers through the hair that fall into his eyes. "You're right. I mean—I see him every day, and we talk about work... But we never talk. You know?"

I cross my arms. Nate has never confronted his brother about the fight at the charity ball. And I know that deep down, he resents himself for it.

After staring blankly at the envelope for a while, Nate suddenly tears it open as if it caught on fire and takes out the invitation. Intricate, gold writings on an off-white paper shine under our corridor's lights. I lean a shoulder against the wall as Nate's narrowed eyes track every word on the paper—back and forth. His lips press into a tight line. Then he dips a hand into the envelope again and takes out a smaller card.

"He's letting me know that I'm his best man," he says dryly.

I open my mouth to object, but then bite my lip and nod. Truth is, I'm dying to tell Nate that his brother is not worth his while. Roman never apologized to me after the ball either, but messing up Nate's face, pretending nothing has happened, and forcing him to be his best man with a stupid wedding invitation is something else.

"You don't have to go," I say.

Nate throws the letter on the console table with a sigh and shakes his head. "I'm not going alone. You're coming with me."

Now, it's my turn to shake my head, and I shake it with a smirk. "Nope, thank you."

"Abbs..."

"No!" I wave my hands in objection. That vivid dream where Roman had me against the wall with a wedding ring on his finger flashes in the back of my mind. Nate makes a move, but I step back. "No, Nate! Why do you want me there? To cause another fight? Do you want me to ruin what we have?"

Fuck... Did I just say that out loud?

Nate's eyes widen, then lose their glow. He lowers his head, placing a hand on his hip to find his balance.

I push myself off the wall to get closer to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way," Fuck. Now Nate thinks that—

"Do you still have feelings for him?"

"No! Of course not." I hurry and grab his arm but he is keeping his gaze on the floor. "Nate..." His breathing escalates. "Nate, babe." I cup his cheek and force him to look into my eyes. The pain in his greens pierces my heart. "I don't have feelings for Roman," I say, but my voice quivers when my lips form that name. Nate doesn't miss it. He moves away from my touch, averting his glossy gaze. "I don't. I swear!"

"Then prove it," he says firmly, turning his back at me. Is he swiping a thumb across his eye? I touch his shoulder, but he doesn't budge. "Come to the wedding," he says. His voice is strong, cold, and clear. "Be there with me. Show me that you're mine—only mine. Heart, body and soul."

My logic screams, 'I'm already his! What else does he want?' But another part of me knows what he means. My chest still sizzles when I think of Roman...as if there's a dying, wounded beast caged deep inside.

I glide my hand across Nate's shoulder. He hesitates and draws in a shaky breath before turning around. I wrap my arms around his neck, and rise on my toes to peck his ear, nose, cheek... When I jump, Nate catches my hips in the air and wraps my legs around his waist. I don't lose a second to press my lips against his.

"I love you," I whisper into our kiss. "I love you, Nate."

Something salty drips into our kiss and breaks my heart. He is shuddering. His skin is getting hotter while his breaths are getting shorter.

"Take me," I whisper, digging my fingers into his soft hair. "Take my heart."

Nate moans against my lips. His hold around me tightens as he carries me to our bedroom. I hug him back with everything I've got, but I can't tear my eyes from the envelope on the console table. I'm scared. I'm scared shitless of the future for the first time in my life.

That is a letter from the devil himself, and he is inviting us to meet him in our personal hell.