But that didn’t happen. Instead, Drina killed me, forcing Damen and me to continue our search for each other, again and again.

I gaze at him, blinking back the tears as I place my hand on his shoulder and he cups his arm snugly around my waist, twirling me across the dance floor, our feet moving expertly, my skirts swirling in a dizzying haze of blue. So overcome by the beauty he’s created, replicated just for me, I press tightly against him, lips at his ear when I ask if there are any more rooms to see.

And before I know it, I’m whisked down a confusing maze of halls, to the finest, grandest bedroom I’ve ever seen.

“Now, granted”—he smiles, pausing in the doorway as I try not to gawk as I take it all in—“this isn’t the Royal Bed Chamber—Marie Antoinette and I were never that close. Though this is an exact replica of the room that I stayed in on my numerous visits—so tell me, what do you think?”

I make my way across the large woven rug, taking in the silk-covered chairs, the abundance of candles, the liberal use of crystal and gold, making a running leap onto the plush, richly draped, canopied bed and patting the space just beside me as though I don’t have a care in the world.

Because I don’t.

I’m in Summerland now.

Roman can’t reach me.

“So, what do you think?” He leans over me, gaze sweeping my face.

I reach up, fingers tracing his high cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, when I say, “What do I think?” I shake my head and laugh, the sound light, joyous, the way it used to be. “I think you’re the most amazing boyfriend in the whole entire world. No, I take that back—”

He looks at me, feigned apprehension in his gaze.

“I think you’re the most amazing boyfriend on the planet—in the universe!” I smile. “Seriously, who else gets a date like this?”

“Are you sure you like it?” he asks, real concern moving in.

I lift my arms, encircling them around his neck as I pull him down to me. Aware of the energy veil that hovers between his lips and mine—allowing for what I’m starting to think of as our now-standard, almost kiss. But still happy to take what I can get.

“These were such heady times,” he says, pulling away and propping his head on his hand to better see me. “I just wanted you to experience it, get a taste for what it was like, what I was like. I’m so sorry you missed it, Ever, we would’ve had such fun. You would’ve been the belle of the ball—the most beautiful one”—he squints—“no—on second thought, Marie might not have liked that.” He shakes his head and laughs.

“Why?” My fingers play at the ruffles covering the front of his shirt, sneaking their way between the buttons to the expanse of warm chest beneath. “Did she have designs on you—as they say? And was this before or after Count Fersen split the scene?”

He laughs. “Before, during, and after. It was definitely the place to be—or at least for a while anyway.” He shakes his head. “And no, for your information, we were merely good friends, she had no designs on me, or none that I noticed at least. I was thinking more in terms of how some beautiful women aren’t always so pleased when another one enters the scene.”

I look at him, taking in the elegant planes of his face, the lock of glossy dark hair that falls over his eye, thinking how gallant he looks, how noble he is, how this look really suits him, really says who he is, far more than the faded jeans and black motorcycle boots ever did.

“So what’d Marie Antoinette think of Drina, then?” I ask, remembering her in all of her creamy-skinned, emerald-eyed, redheaded glory—a beauty so great it robbed me of breath. Realizing just after it’s out that I’m actually having a conversation about Damen’s evil ex-wife and not feeling even the slightest twinge of my usual jealousy. And it’s not just because of the magick of Summerland, but because I really, truly am at peace with it now.

Though, unfortunately, Damen’s not aware of my new outlook, which probably explains why his brow’s gone all slanted and his mouth grim. Wondering if I’m really going to start this up again, after he’s gone to all the trouble to make this for me.

But I just smile, inviting him to look inside my mind and see for himself. I asked only because I was curious, nothing more. There’s not a hint of jealousy to be found.

“Drina and Marie didn’t quite care for each other,” he says, visibly relieved with my change of heart. “I mostly came calling on my own.”

I look at him, imagining all of the beautiful single women who must’ve just swooned the second he walked in the room with no partner beside him—and again, just like before, I feel nothing.

Everyone has a past. Even, it seems, me. The only thing that really matters is that he loves me. Has always loved me. Spent the last four hundred years searching for me. And I think I finally get just how big a deal that really is.

“Let’s stay here forever,” I whisper, pulling him to me and covering his face with my kiss. “We’ll just take up residence in this amazing place, and when we get tired of it—if we get tired of it—we’ll just manifest somewhere else to live.”

“We can do that at home, you know.” He looks at me, gaze tender and deep, hand buried in my hair, smoothing the strands. “We can live anywhere we want—have anything we want—go anywhere we want—just as soon as we graduate high school and move away from Sabine.” He laughs.