I gulp. ‘“So is this goodbye? For how long? For ever? I can’t bear a single day without you.”’ I put down my script. ‘“But I’d never forgive myself if you stayed for my sake and they found you. Perhaps it is better if you get away for a while. Just until things have calmed down again here.”’
‘“Yes, perhaps.”’
‘“Look at me. You’re deathly pale.”’
Sinclair doesn’t move. He looks at me and, for a moment, I’m sure he doesn’t know what comes next. ‘“It’s just the light, my love.”’ My stomach drops, he leans forward a little. ‘“You know what? I don’t care. Let them catch me and put me to death. What would life be without you? Come, then, death and take me! If I cannot be at your side, I have nothing to lose.”’
‘“What are you saying?”’ I slide a little closer. I feel the fear in my belly. I’m Juliet and the love of my life is going to leave me because our story is star-crossed. There’s no way out. ‘“You can’t mean that. Don’t you believe in our love? That it’s stronger than hate? Than our families’ senseless feud? Run away and come back once the dust has settled. I must believe that and so you will too.”’
‘“Juliet, it’s no good,”’ he whispers. ‘“It’s getting light outside. I have to go.”’
‘“Promise me that we’ll meet again.”’
Sinclair nods without a second’s hesitation. ‘“This is not farewell for ever, I give you my word.”’
His eyes are full of pain and longing. I feel like I’m drowning in them.
‘And then you have to kiss her,’ I say, as I remember the script and hastily look away. ‘OK, fine. So, where shall we pick it up again?’
‘Right here.’ His voice is hoarse. He looks at me as I raise my head.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, and before I can blink, he’s beside me. His mouth is on mine and everything goes up in flames.
Years of my life in which I’ve tried not to want him, gone in a split second.
Sinclair’s lips are just the way I remember them. Warm and soft. Gentle and skilful, but demanding too this time. Just like his hands, holding me. He puts a hand on the back of my neck, I lean in. Heat burns through me as he pulls me between his legs and I’m suddenly half lying on him. I feel the hard stage beneath my knees and his erection against my thigh. I’m dizzy because it’s all so greedy, and at the same time it feels like the last piece of the puzzle in the whole universe is slipping into place.
I don’t know who I’m kissing. Romeo or Sinclair. Sinclair or Charlie. The boy I fell in love with in the juniors, or the man who’s been driving me insane for weeks. Either way, it’s better than anything. Better than I ever imagined.
He smells the same. Of milk and honey and something tangy that’s making me lose my mind. His hands run over my trembling body, and every single reason why this shouldn’t be happening disappears into thin air. It’s as though we’d kissed a thousand times before, yet everything is intense in a way thatonly a first kiss can be. Our lips, which open for each other, his hot tongue in my mouth. His face under my fingers, that warm, soft skin and his firm body. Muscles he developed while I was busy trying to kid myself that I wasn’t in love with him.
He stops and looks at me. ‘God . . . Tori.’
His gruff voice sends the heat between my legs. I kiss him again. He runs his fingers through my hair. I forget my own name. And where we are. On the stage in our school theatre. It’s only when the door opens at the back of the auditorium that I remember. Voices, laughter, Sinclair freezing as I startle and pull back, push away from him.
SINCLAIR
The love story of Romeo and Juliet is totally divorced from reality. For so many reasons.
One: getting married as soon as possible for reasons of social respectability is anything but a desirable life-goal (let alone the road to happiness).
Two: Romeo and Juliet set eyes on one another, want each other and have not the least doubt that they’re meant for each other (so simplistic!).
Three: you can’t just kiss somebody once and expect that to solve all your problems at a stroke.
Tori and I are living proof of that. I spend the whole rehearsal looking uncertainly in her direction and away again the moment she notices. We’re doing method-acting group work and, by now, I almost doubt that it actually happened.
I feel dizzy at the thought of the hard stage under my shoulder blades and Tori’s soft body on top of mine. Her lips: they fit mine as if they were made for each other.
‘Charles! Wake up!’ Mr Acevedo is waving his script in the air. I jump. Apparently, I missed his instructions for the next exercise. The others have already paired up.
‘Shall we?’ Eleanor asks, suddenly appearing at my side.
‘Yeah, sure.’ I watch the others. ‘What are we meant to be doing again?’
Eleanor frowns. ‘Eye contact, and we’re not allowed to break it.’
‘Oh.’ I look at her. ‘OK.’
