“What did you have in mind?” I ask. “I’ll imagine it when I’m trying to fall asleep tonight.”
“I had specific plans for you,” she says, tracing a finger along my wrist. “Ones that involved keeping you up all night.”
I bite my lip, a flutter in my belly. “Don’t tease me.”
“Sorry.” She locks our fingers together. “I was also thinking we’d get dinner at an Italian restaurant downtown. Maybe go dancing after.”
I smile. “You dance?”
She lifts a shoulder. “Sometimes.”
“I look forward to seeing that once I’m out of here.”
It’s been so long since I saw her smile in person that I get lost in her for a second, watching her eyes crinkle and her cheeks lift. There’s something so impossibly gorgeous about her that our calls couldn’t capture, and it hurts how much I missed being with her.
A vision of how today should have gone flashes across my mind’s eye—walking hand in hand along the Seawall, getting dinner and watching her twirl pasta around her fork, listening to her updates about what’s been going on in her life. Exchanging the three words that have been on my mind.
Those words linger between us. But I sure as hell am not saying it under these shitty circumstances. It needs the right moment—one where we aren’t on opposite sides of a prison cell.
Does she feel it too? This thing that’s grown too big to ignore? Sometimes, like now, her lips part like she’s about to say something important, but then she stops herself. Is she also waiting for the right moment, or is she afraid of what loving me might mean for her position in the coven?
“Speaking of being held captive,” I whisper, breaking the silence, “any progress on finding your dad?”
She lets out a slow breath. “We think we know where he is.”
“But?” I trace my index finger over the lines of her palm. The life line. The heart line.
“Now that Sophia’s a witch, she’s gone berserk rigging the place with curses and magic. It’s like trying to navigate a minefield.” Her frown deepens as she watches me trace her palm. “We could’ve used your help.”
I pause. “Really?”
“It’d be useful to have someone who can sense magic to tell us where the danger is. It’s like feeling around in the dark otherwise.”
“Of course I’ll help. As soon as…” I look at the bars, unsure how to finish the sentence. The outcome of the trial will dictate whether I’ll actually be able to help her or not. My heart slams into my ribs as if trying to escape. The walls feel too close, the ceiling too low, the barrier too solid.
Natalie reaches through and touches my cheek. “We’ll sort this out, Katie. I promise.”
We stay still, her warmth seeping into me, the only thing holding me together when I feel like I could disintegrate into a thousand pieces.
The door above bangs open again, and we jump.
“Zacharias, time’s up,” Fiona calls.
Natalie holds both my hands in hers. “I’m not leaving.”
Heels click down the stairs, and panic rises in my throat. “Go,” I whisper. “You’re already in trouble.”
As Fiona’s silhouette appears on the steps, Natalie leans in, pressing a kiss to my lips through the bars. It’s awkward and partly blocked by cold metal, but the softness of her mouth against mine sends a cascade of warmth through my body. Her breath is minty, and there’s a desperate pressure in her lips as she tries to convey everything she can’t say. Her scent envelops me, herbal, woodsy, and the familiar comfort I need to make it through the night.
“Tomorrow,” she promises.
I nod, trying not to show how scared I am. If she knew how much I wish she could stay, it’d break her. “Natalie, I need you to do a couple things for me.”
“Anything.” She grips the bars, her arms flexing like she’s ready to rip iron from stone.
“Tell Hazel I’m okay, and see if she needs help. She’s probably having a meltdown.”
She nods firmly. “Promise.”
