Jestin tilts my chin up. “Do you remember when you and Dante first began courting?”
I nod.
“It fucking wrecked me. I didn’t want to be near you, but you looked right at me and said, ‘Friends don’t get to disappear from each other’s lives. If you have a problem with me, we will talk it through.’”
He liked me? But he... he was alwaysonlyfriendly. Maybe not always…
“Why did it kill you? You were never interested?” I lean closer, eyes narrowing, watching for the flicker of guilt, fear, or anything.
“Tsk, Tsk. The problem of being a gentleman, too much space and you don’t recognise my affection.” He tilts his head, letting his fingers graze my arm, eyes dark with intent. “I will attend to my wrongdoings right now, My Lady.”
I shiver.
“You never touched me before, never told me. How can I be sure? Make it plain for me, say it so you can’t take it back, so I can’t either.” I plead, pathetically craving reassurance. Life will be so much better if he loves me. I can already see it. If he loves me, I can survive anything. He will be my lifebuoy. He will never let me drown. Everything will be better. I fucking need him to love me so I’m no longer alone. So I won’t be alone. So I will have an ally.
He raises a sardonic brow, his gaze locking onto mine as if daring me to doubt him. “Sels, I loved you before I even knew what it meant. You weren’t interested back then, and I didn’t want to pressure you. I didn’t want to lose you.” His fingers brush against mine, just barely, a silent claim that says more than words ever could.
My heart bursts with happiness, and I want to throw myself at him, to return every ounce of what he’s giving me, but my stupid mouth still fishes for confirmation, making sure he truly means it before I risk my heart. “You fucked me after Dante,” I blurt.
“Who am I to refuse you when you lie on my bed, begging me to comfort you?” His half-smile flickers, teasing yet unreadable. “I am only that strong.” A shadow crosses his face, the light in his eyes dimming. “Yet you ran away. The moment we connected, you ran away.”
“It was too much,” I say. I didn’t fucking know. I was only thinking about myself, about shielding my heart from rejection, never about how he felt. How could I have known that he loved me? “Why didn’t you tell me you loved me?” I could have told him too.
He raises an eyebrow, as if to say that I’m smarter than that.
I raise my hand to silence him. “Right, I understand. My head wasn’t in the right place.”
“Would that make you stay? Sels, I’d tear the clouds from the sky if you wanted me to, but you have to want it yourself. Say yes.”
“I don’t deserve it,” my voice comes out as a whisper.
“I want you thriving again,” he declares, his beautiful face shifts, sadness melting into anger.
If I thrived, it would feel like a reward for what I have done. But I don’t say it; allowing my body to take a defensive stance.
“You will never understand,” I accuse him and look away.
He tilts my chin back, forcing me to look at him. Yet his touch is gentle, even with his eyes coated by shadows.
“Don’t forget I know you. You loved politics, loved having opinions. You were always the first to decide in a crisis,” he presses. “And now you can’t choose between dresses.”
“All actions have consequences,” I say meekly. “I’ve changed.”
He releases my chin. “I shouldn’t have let go. It is my fault. I should have fought for you.”
“You should have.” I bark out the answer, surprised how rough it comes out.
“Is it too much now, us together?” Jestin asks, and I swear it is hope that lights his face.
I bite my lower lip, thinking. Am I ready for him? Can I settle? Shouldn’t I wait for my mate? I will find out about him at 250, I am at less than half of it. But Jestin… I cannot live in the world without him.
“You don’t want that,” he misunderstood my silence; his usual mask of amused indifference slips back onto his face.
Desperate to remove that mask, I lean in to kiss him, but the distance only widens when a half smile curves his lips. Now there is a gaping crevasse between us, and I almost choke on it. Panic whips through my heart and I desperately need to undo that stupid conversation and tell himyes, I am ready.
Yet, before me sits the Lord of Santorili, not the male who has just declared his love to me.
“Someone’s starving,” the Lord muses, brushing a light kiss over my lips. I shift closer, hoping to show my emotions with my tongue, with my body, since words fail me, but he holds my chin firmly in place.
