Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
No hesitation. No warning. Just fire and stars and every broken piece of us fitting together like this moment was carved into fate long ago.
It’s gentle. Then desperate. Then everything.
And I kiss him back like I finally found the part of me I’ve been missing all along.
12
Lorenzo
All I can think about all day long is when I can see her next.
I’m obsessed and not in a good way.
She occupies my every thought. I don’t even understand why.
Sure, she’s gorgeous, but I barely recognize the person I’ve become around her.
Fighting on street corners is a distant thought. In its place are images of her. Thoughts of her.
Take this moment. It’s two in the morning, and I’ve been waiting for one hour before she finally slips into the library.
The sound is soft. Her bare feet pad lightly on the polished hardwood.
I haven’t looked up to see if it’s her yet, but I don’t need to. I know it is.
I’ve been waiting long enough. Sitting on the floor between two shelves with a flashlight balanced on a stack of leather-bound history books, pretending to read something I can’t remember the title of.
The door clicks shut behind her, and that’s when I tilt my head up to look.
Her hair is a little messy, like she ran a hand through it too many times. Her robe is tied too loosely, slipping off one shoulder. She looks like perfection.
“You’re late.” I drag my thumb across the edge of the page.
“You’re early,” she counters, stepping closer, her tone light but her eyes still ring with exhaustion.
“I don’t sleep.” I lean back against the wall behind me.
She raises a brow, climbing over my leg to sit beside me. “Ever?” she teases, tapping my knee with her foot.
“Not well,” I admit, trying not to look at the slip of bare thigh peeking through her robe.
She steps over me fully, lowering herself into the space by my hip like the floor was built to fit the shape of her. She doesn’t ask permission. She never does. She just molds her body as close to me as possible.
She pulls the book from her robe pocket. Wuthering Heights. The damn thing again.
She opens it, flipping a page with the kind of reverence people reserve for hymns.
“Read me something.” I let my head fall back. “Even though I won’t admit I missed your voice more than I missed the words.”
She smirks. It's small and secretive, then she’s flipping through a few pages. “Okay. Listen to this,” she whispers, clearing her throat, soft but serious.
“‘He shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he’s handsome, Nelly, but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’”
Silence drops between us like a wall. Thick. Charged. Too heavy to breathe through.
I swallow hard. “That’s the part you picked?” My voice dips lower than I intend.
“It’s where I left off.”
“And what is this part about?”
“It’s the important part,” She drags her fingertip along the page. “It’s the part about how love can wreck things.”
I nod slowly, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Still sounds more like obsession than love.”
She tilts her head, eyes sharp. “What’s the difference?”
That stops me, my gaze taking her in.
Her knees are tucked beneath her, and her fingers rest lightly on the open pages. Her whole posture is calm, but her eyes? She’s wound tight. Something is sitting behind them tonight. Something she hasn’t said yet. Something that’s not the book.
“You ever wish you weren’t born into it?” I ask quietly. “The name. The family. The cage.”
She lets out a soft, bitter laugh. “Every day.”
“Then why not leave?”
She exhales.
I watch as she pulls her robe tighter around herself even though the room isn’t cold. “Because they trained me to stay,” she says, voice cracking like a glass under too much pressure. “Trained me to smile. Trained me to be perfect. Because they told me love is conditional, and legacy is not. Because if I run—”
“They lose a daughter.”
She laughs once. The sound through us is dry and humorless. “No, they lose an asset.”
My jaw clenches hard enough to ache. “That’s insane,” I bite out through my teeth.
“It’s normal here,” she whispers, staring down at the book like it's safer than looking at me.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
Her head snaps up, eyes flashing hot. “Then what does it have to be?” Her voice slices the air. “A runaway story? A scandal? A headline? You don’t get it, Lorenzo. You weren’t born with a chain around your ankle.”
Her words hit me. It feels like a knife under my ribs. I flinch. I don’t mean to, but I do.
My mouth opens. Closes. Nothing comes out.
She sees the damage. Regret flashes across her face.
“I didn’t mean that,” she breathes, rubbing her temples, pulling her knees closer up to her chest. “I just . . . ”