“At the Blue Moon?”
He bit his lip. “Yes.”
“Ever—”
“I can handle myself, okay? I’m not like him.”
The mist was finally clearing, right in time to watch Ever lean in and tuck something soft as satin above my ear. I felt for it and pulled out a flower, marveling at it in the moonlight. Small and pale and star-shaped, with a dark-purple heart. A water hyacinth. I’d learned their name from Ever years ago.
I looked at him in question. He opened his palm to reveal a handful.
“How?”
He pointed to the water. I peered over the boat and gasped. While in the mist, we must’ve drifted into a floating garden. All around us, delicate hyacinths sat on thick webbed leaves like teacups on saucers.
Fast, clever Everett. He must’ve plucked them so swiftly in the fog I hadn’t noticed.
I tucked the flower back into my hair, and he smiled. “Hold still.” He rose to his knees, leaning over me. The boat dipped.
“Careful,” I whispered, but I wasn’t really thinking anymore. Not with Ever so close, when I could breathe in the air he exhaled. He slid theflowers into my hair gently, one by one, then leaned back and surveyed me, an artist examining his work.
He grinned—and, without warning, touched my temple, pushing his fingers into my hair. The long strands slid like silk between his fingers, falling like a rose-red curtain. A small curl caught around his pinkie and stayed there. My breath caught.
“You look like that painting of Ophelia from your art history class,” he whispered. “The red-haired princess lying in the water, covered in flowers.”
“By John Everett Millais.” Three years ago, when I was still excited about following along with LSU courses and teaching myself since I couldn’t go to college, I’d “taken” LSU’s Western Art class. The painting had been one of my favorites. Millais had painted Ophelia, Hamlet’s would-be bride, singing in the river in the very last moment before she drowned.
“Show-off,” Ever teased.
My heart beat so hard I could feel my pulse in every limb. Ever’s eyes sank to my throat, lingering where my vein jumped, then he swallowed and looked away—to the floor of the boat, where something else caught his attention.
He seized the book and fell back into the canoe. The sudden loss of his closeness was like being released from a spell: I took a deep, fortifying breath, newly awake. What was I playing at? Everett may be innocently affectionate—he always was—but I was torturing myself. I’d made my choices. Made my deal with the Devil. And now I had to live with the consequences.
Ophelia, indeed. Singing in the water while it drowned me.
Everett held up the copy ofTwilightI’d been rereading. “After all this time?”
I folded my arms and looked away. “Not tonight, Ever.”
“No teasing,” he promised. Then: “Though I did hear it got nominated for a Pulitzer. Something about the high-quality writing.” He laughed. “Okay, no teasing afterthat. This is your replacement copy?”
I rolled my eyes but nodded. Thanks to my job, I’d been able to get my hands on it, plus the other books in the series. The original, I’d watched burn.
“Can I ask you a question?” His tone was serious enough to make me sit up. Pale hyacinths tumbled from my hair.
“Why have you always been so obsessed with it?”
I laughed—a low, tense sound. The irony of having this conversation now, after all these years and everything that happened. I decided, in a fit of pique, that if I was going to hurt tonight, I might as well go all the way. “Why do you think?” I fingered a fallen flower. “Because it’s the ultimate in romance. Edward and Bella love each other so much he’s willing to die for her, and she does die for him, in a way. She becomes a vampire so they can always be together.”
“And you’re sure that’s love?” His eyes darkened. “Giving up your life for someone?”
This was the part I was waiting for. The knife twisted deep.
“I think Bella was better off dead than the girl she was before. Becoming a vampire let her protect herself and the people she loved.” I was skirting too close to my own wound, but I couldn’t help it. “There are some things that just have to be done, even if they’re evil.” And Ever was the only person I’d ever say that to.
It was remarkable, the change on his face. His skin seemed to glow, his eyes two black holes, sucking me in. “Ruth,” he said, voice thick. “Are you saying you could love a monster?”
I looked at him. Really looked. At this friend I hadn’t expected, whose life had turned out to be worth more to me than anything, even my place in Heaven. And my heart swelled with the strangest mix of hope and fearto have the truth so close to the surface. It would be easy right now to confess thatIwas the monster. I wanted to freeze the moment and live in it, stay in the possibility.
