Stopping our progression, he cups my cheek and lowers his forehead to mine. “Please talk to me once we make it to the Mystic Forest.”
Unable to speak, I nod, and we keep plodding ahead as though more dread isn’t siphoning into my limbs with every step.
This is going to ruin something—everything. Samson won’t feel like he can trust me anymore, because, honestly, who knows when hisvery good friendwill be thinking about biting his shoulders?
I’m imposing the understanding that I am thinking about biting his shoulders on him.
You can’t just befriendlywith that kind of knowledge present. You can’t justshare a bedwith a feral shoulder-biter who is madly in love with you.
My stomach hurts.
A chilly breeze plucks the chords of the weeping limbs in the forest, sending a rustle of music around us as I—carefully and slowly—remove my quarry of homemade dishes and bought sweets from my void bag.
Bless the magic that stops time within the bag. The meal is as warm as the day I made it with Neptun and the pastries are as fluffy and fresh as the moment I bought them from Chrysa.
“This is…a lot,” Samson offers, gripping his own bag strap.
Nervous laughter spills. “I-is it?”
“Citrus…are you sure you’re okay?”
I’m terrified.
Rejection has been the only thing I’ve been able to count on for my entire life. It’s a pain I’ve never gotten used to.
I turn away from him, stare at my bag,knowhis circlet is inside, a slot in my inventory, taking up dark matter. “I…” My stomach swirls. “I’m fine. I just…” A bubble catches in my throat. “I care about you, a lot. You know that, right?”
“Yes. I feel the same way about you.”
“I don’t want to do anything that might ruin what we already have, so…please…if you don’t want anything to change, it doesn’t have to, okay?”
Silence.
It’s sharp.
He must know by now what’s going on.
I wasn’t delicate enough.
I feelsick.
This was a horrible idea.Horrible. What am I doing? What am I saying? Why did I think I couldproposeto himnow? According to my book, he’s still unromanceable. I have concrete proof of that. Icheckthat, obsessively, every day.What am I doing?
“Citrus,” Samson murmurs, moving. His clothes and bag shuffle as he adjusts his position behind me.
Tears bead in my eyes.
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
My heart cracks, but it’s best to rip the bandaid off now, so I reach into my bag, feel the cold metal of the circlet as my fingers wrap around it, and face him.
He…
Is kneeling on the picnic blanket, holding a floral circlet set with dozens of tiny orange and yellow gems mounted among curling vines.Dozens.They form dainty bunches of baby’s breath and glitter in Samson’s hands.
“You are everything to me,” he says. “Everything. I love you, in every possible way. I want you, badly. I didn’t know the name for what I’ve felt for you until recently, but the moment I found it, I knew I couldn’t ignore these feelings for long. I would like to marry you, Citrus. I would like to make you mine. I never want you to go home to anyone else. I never want to let you leave my arms. Even if you only move back to your farmhousenext door, my life would be empty. Nothing can ruin what we already have, so if you don’t want this, I’ll put it from my mind forever, but if you could consider it…for even a moment…” His eyes close, briefly, as he fortifies himself. “Through knowing you, I am convinced I’ve had it all wrong. It’s not that I’m unlovable or unable to love. I was not an option in your game, because you were not the only one playing it in your old world, and I, Citrus, was made solely for you.” He wets his lips. “You don’t have to answer me now. If…if there’s someone else…don’t feel obligated to cater to my feelings for you. I can love you under any circumstances, just, please, if you would grant me time to prove I can love you better than whoever else you’re considering, allow me that much.”
My muscles go limp. I can barely lift my attention to Samson’s pleading face. “Who…would I be considering?”
