Once my hair is out of the way, Jude’s hands come to a sudden stop. He holds still for a moment before he traces a finger over the dagger tattoo nestled behind my ear.
“Do you like it?” I ask, my voice soft.
“Is this for me, Angel?”
A shiver tumbles over me at his featherlight touch, like the skin where he left his mark has a direct line to my heart.
I stare at the sheets on Eli’s bed, remembering the day I’d realized some of Jude’s ink remained. I’d gone to AJ that morning and asked them to tattoo over it. “I didn’t want you to just fade away.”
“It’s permanent?” Jude’s voice cracks.
I twist to look up at him. “Is that okay?”
Jude tugs me to standing, his good hand falling to my hip. “It’s perfect.Youare perfect.” He uses his body to guide me till my back is against the wall. He curls his hand around the nape of my neck and crashes his lips into mine.
The kiss is deep and powerful, each tangle of his tongue laced with everything he’s feeling. He pours his emotions into me andI let myself drown in them. His love, his obsession, his heart beating with mine.
When he finally draws back, the apology for how we got to this point is crystal clear in his eyes.
Chest still heaving, I rest my hand over his heart. I don’t know whether I’m ready to forgive River yet but almost losing Jude was enough for me to realize that what we have is real and it’s not something I can live without. My lips are swollen and wet as I murmur the words he needs to hear. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”
Jude’s nostrils flare as he tries to hold back everything he’s feeling. He tucks a loose curl behind my ear and cups my cheek. “Go. Bring River to his knees.”
28
RIVER
Irun through the checklist in my head, making sure for the hundredth time that everything is perfect. An hour ago, the kitchen island was covered in flour and scraps of dough but now it practically shines from how many times I wiped it clean. The only trace of cooking left is the sesame oil I used to deep fry, cooling in the pan.
I don’t get nervous, I never have, but my hands are clammy and a tight band wraps around my chest. Tonight has to work. I’ve kept my distance, I’ve given her space to be mad, but I’m done. I can’t lose Freya. I won’t.
Her soft gasp alerts me to her presence, and I spin around.
My hand clenches into a fist by my side and it takes every last shred of restraint I have not to stride over, pull her into my arms, and kiss the ever-loving life out of her.
What she’s wearing can hardly be called a dress, the black silk wrapping around her body doing nothing to conceal the sweet mounds of her breasts and endless naked skin. It’s not the dress I left for her, but I find myself reveling in her subtle fight. If she’s still fighting, she still cares.
Any other time I’d be struggling to take my eyes off her body but right now I’m transfixed by the awe on her face as she takes in the space.
The open plan kitchen living area is barely recognizable. I spent half the morning hanging fairy lights all around the corners of the ceilings. Lit candles flicker on every surface, on the TV console, the windowsills, the small end tables. And in the center, between the couches, the coffee table is set up for dinner, square cushions for sitting on either side. My grandmother and I would eat like that every day, sitting on the floor at thesang. She’d balk at me calling it a coffee table.
Freya’s lips part as she looks around. When she sees the plates ofmanduandkimchiher teeth sink into her lower lip as she holds back a smile.
“You got Oz to cook?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Uh, no. I cooked. Mandu. Korean dumplings. The only good thing my mother ever taught me.”
Another soft gasp that goes straight to my heart. The organ scrunches up behind my ribs, hope that I can repair the damage I caused a dangerous, desperate beat.
Slits in Freya’s dress open up as she walks towards me, her fingers trailing along the back of the couch. My gaze drops to her long slender legs and deadly pointed heels before coming back up to her face.
She stops in front of me and does a perusal of her own.
Unsurprisingly, I’m dressed in a suit, but I’ve never worn this one for work. The jacket is double breasted and so dark blue it’s almost black with tailored trousers to match. I’d forgone the tie tonight for a shirt with a banded collar, a single navy button securing it around my neck.
The swells of Freya’s breasts rise as she breathes in and looks up at me from hooded eyes. “There you go again, not playing fair.”
I catch the slit of her skirt under my fingers, careful not to touch her skin, and run my thumb over the silky dress. “Yes, well, it seems two can play at that game.”
