Mikolas had tried to envision the inside of Gabi’s house many times in his life, but never in his dreams would he think it looked like this.
The room was white, but the pictures on the mantle were cased in glittery pink frames. The center picture caught his eye first. In the photo, Mikolas stood with her, both fifteen years old. He’d wanted to put his arm around her so bad that day but didn’t have the balls so she had put her hand on his shoulder. He looked as though he would run away from her at any second while she wore a look of innocence. Mikolas remembered the party as if it had been yesterday.
The other pictures were of her over the years. Some were in Italy, some Paris, and one of the pictures was of her in an evening gown standing beside someone famous. He knew the face, but couldn’t remember the movie star’s name. They were standing in front of the Picasso Museum in Spain. What a life she’s had for just being twenty-five. Could he provide her with anything close even if she chooses to go with him? He doubted it.
“Mikolas?” Her voice sounded like an angel’s.
“I missed out on a big part of your life, Gabi. You look absolutely beautiful in this picture. I have to tell you something before I lose my nerve.” He turned. “I’ve loved-”
The .22 glistened underneath the florescent lighting.His heart caught in his chest. “What the hell is going on?” he asked as his hands rose in the air. He took a step back.
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