My breath stills, forcefully, as though I might wake her if I dare breathe harder. She’s small in my arms. Perfect. Precious.
My heartbeat wakes up, stampeding through my chest, and I don’t know how we managed it, but the comforter barrier was kicked aside in the middle of the night. We lie curled in one another and the blanket I brought from the couch, just a horrible tangle of limbs and that fabric. She’s holding my t-shirt in her fists, her face pressed against her hands and tilted up so I can just barely see her lashes flutter.
Heck.
What am I doing?
I shiver, swallow, and can’t stop watching.
Are we at least friends now? Dang it. We have to at least be friends.
If I dare to think about things for more than five seconds, it’s all kinds of twisted upwrong, but if I forget about the fact I’m paying her to act in a play with me, and she’s run away from home, and we’re not romantically inclined… If I just look at her face… If I just feel her little breaths and imagine her calm smiles…
Nothing has ever been more right.
I don’t want to think this is obsession. It’s been two months. Most of my whims don’t survive that long, so shecan’tjust be a whim. I won’t accept that.
I’ve never wanted to fight for anything more.
A knock sounds on my door, and my heart skips, terror flushing through my veins. With my jump, Calypso’s eyes snap open, her legs—tied up with mine—jerk, and my whole body tenses as her full-bodied movement skims acrossmyfull body.
She doesn’t pull away, even after our eyes meet.
“Alexander?” Mrs. Yvon calls. “Are you up in there? Giorgio has breakfast ready, and your father’s already left.”
Good.
I exhale. “I’m up. I’ll be out in a minute.”
The sound of her footsteps leaving lets my attention fall back to Calypso.
She whispers, “People.”
My lips quirk up. They are people, sure, but seeing as they’ve not ratted me out with gossip concerning her last visit like I thought they would, I feel a little better about them. “Do you want me to try to sneak you out, or do you want me to handle things so you can come to breakfast?”
Her gaze wanders down our bodies, to our legs, but she still doesn’t make a move to escape. Pressing her lips together, she answers, “Breakfast sounds…nice.”
My heart does a tiny pitter-patter. “Okay. If you want to shower and change, I’ll take my things into a guest room and get you after it’s safe.” Reluctantly, I’m the one to pull away first, stand, gather a change of clothes, and force myself out of the room, out of the place where her spring-summer smell cloys.
If we were dating, I’d have rolled over her, pressed her into the blankets, and kissed her until we forgot we had to get ready for school.
If we were dating.
Instead, I let the idea of such things ping-pong around in my brain while I get dressed and go downstairs, finding Giorgio setting the long, long table in the dining room with a singular place.
He beams when he looks up, his bright smile contrasting against his deeply olive skin. “Ah, Master Alexander! So glad you could make it. Were you up late last night with some new fancy?”
Something like that?
I clear my throat and notice Mrs. Yvon come bustling out of the kitchen. “Could I talk to you both and have you pass something on to everyone else?”
Mrs. Yvon’s questioning gaze falls on me, and concern bends her brows as she draws nearer.
“Something amiss, Master Alexander?”
I take a breath and rip the band-aid off. “There’s a girl in my room, Calypso, if you remember.”
Giorgio’s mouth falls open. His eyes go large with simultaneous “how could I forget” and “what” reflecting in them.
