“I understand.” My reply sounded lame, even to myself, my tone of voice not quite right. Without Milo to practice withregularly, it was becoming harder and harder to maintain the voice I had trained for twenty-five years.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, suddenly much closer than he had been a moment before. In a panic, I took a step back, only to trip over something and fall flat on my butt.
I couldn’t help the squeak that escaped me as I tried to catch myself.
“Did you . . . did you just squeak?” His voice was breathy.
“Maybe?” I grimaced as I rubbed my hip, which was sure to be sore come tomorrow. “Is that a problem?” I prodded, hoping he would admit if he suspected me of lying about my identity.
“No, it was cute. I just . . . I’ve never heard anyone squeak before.”
I understood what he wasn’t saying. He had never heard amalesqueak before.
I kept silent though, as I moved myself into a sitting position, desperately searching my brain for an excuse as to why I would squeak without having to give away my secret.
“It’s okay, though. Maybe I squeak when I fall too,” he added before I could come to any conclusion.
“Maybe,” I replied, staying silent as I watched his figure move through the dark storeroom until he was sitting next to me on the wooden floor.
“Sorry if I scared you again,” he apologized. “I’m just not used to . . . this.”
Now that he was close, I felt the same energy flowing between us that had been there before. I bit my lip. “Used to what? Having to ask people before touching them?”
“Sort of . . . yeah.” His voice was sheepish.
The way he said it made me think of something, but before I could fully evaluate the thought, it was gone, leaving me wondering what it was. I curled my arms tighter around myself.
“You’re just not like anyone I have ever met.”
The words had butterflies fluttering in my stomach. In all my conversations with Roger, the butcher’s son who was once mycrush, he had never said anything close to that to me. But for as warm as it made me feel, I didn’t really know how to respond. “Um . . . thanks?”
He slapped a hand over his face. “This is . . . embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing how?” My grip on my upper arms loosened slightly.
“I just . . . I feel so drawn to you. I know you just met me, but I feel like I’ve known you forever. And I keep saying the wrong things.” He groaned. “I’m just making this worse on myself, aren’t I?”
I shook my head, thinking back to the energy I always felt flowing between us. “I feel strangely attracted to you too?—”
“Really?” A wide grin filled his face. “I knew it. I knew I couldn’t be the only one feeling the energy. Ever since I came and talked to you during the last reading?—”
Since he had interrupted me, I didn’t feel bad about interrupting him back. “But there can never be anything between us.”
The words hung heavy in the too-thin air of the storage room.
“. . . What makes you say that?” He breathed at last. I didn’t even need the empathy power I had read to know I just crushed his budding dreams.
I rolled my thoughts through my mind, trying to figure out how to turn him down as nicely as possible. I motioned to myself, even though he probably couldn’t see it in the dark room. “People like me, we don’t get happy endings.” It was easy, resolute, and hopefully not painful for him.
“What do you meanlike you?”
I swallowed. I hoped he would leave it at that, but I had thought of a backup plan, just in case. I rolled up my sleeve, displaying the brand.
He let out a gasp. “What is that?”
I shrugged. “Viscount Adis’s initials, I suppose. I belong to him now. I will never leave here. At least, not alive. There is no way for me to have a happy ending.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his eyes narrowing and widening as he tried to see the details of the brand in the low light. Finally, I rolled my sleeve down.
