Jules exhales a long sigh. “Mehercule. It doesn’t seem real, does it?”
“Well, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows,” I point out. “There’s still half a dozen Undying operatives unaccounted for, who clearly don’t like the idea of the peace accords. And as many countries who refuse to allow Undying to immigrate, out of fear. There’ve been anti-Undying protests all over the place, including London, and there are plenty of people who think we should’ve blown the ship out of orbit.”
Jules waves his empty hand in a dismissive gesture. “People are idiots,” he says simply. “Nothing’s going to change that. But I think as soon as the lights start coming on, thanks to the Undying tech they’re sharing with us, people are going to come around.”
“I hope so.”
Jules watches me for a few moments, head tilted, as if studying me. “So how do you like it here?”
“Oxford?” I blink, considering my answer. “It’s … very different. Wet, for one thing.”
“I meant here, this house.”
I blink again, and look down at him. “To be honest, I barely paid much attention. I was a bit focused on seeing you. But it’s nice. Big. Nice banisters on the stairs, seems like you could really get some speed up.”
Though I say the words lightly, Jules laughs regardless and mutters, “He’s such a tattletale.” His laughter fades in favor of a keen-eyed, penetrating look. “But you like it?”
“Yeah, I like it.”
“I was thinking once my dad lets me go up and down stairs, this could be your room.”
“My—” Voice cracking, words failing me, I splutter to a halt and stare at him. “My—?”
“Your room,” Jules echoes firmly. “Dad thinks it’s a great idea. We can’t afford to keep you in the hotel indefinitely, or get you your own place, but we’ve got more room than we need. Evie could stay here too, although my dad thinks he can get her into that school in London that we were talking about, and they’ve got housing. He’s got a lot of clout these days.”
Head spinning, I stagger to my feet, hand pulling away from Jules so that I can move—my legs feel like they’re full of bees. “You want me to live with you?”
“Well, yeah, if you want to. Look, it’s weird, I know it’s weird. It wouldn’t be like … it’s not like I’m asking you to moveinwith me.” Jules takes a long, careful breath, watching me as I pace back and forth. “But if you wanted to stay … there’s a place for you here.”
I glance back at him, and he holds my gaze for a long moment before I manage to look away again. “You kept saying that.”
“And I meant it.”
I keep moving, aware that I’m tangling my fingers together and fidgeting like a child, and not caring. “Jules—don’t you think you should wait? Think about it? You’re still recovering … You haven’t gotten back to your normal life yet. Oxford and classes and … and your dad, and everything. How do you know you’ll want me here when your real life starts up again?”
Jules doesn’t answer for a long, long time, not until I stop to look back at him and find his gaze waiting for mine, one eyebrow raised. “For one of the smartest people I know,” he says gently, “you can be unbelievably stupid.”
That startles a little huff of laughter from my lips. I don’t know which word surprised me more:smartestorstupid. I shake my head, my throat too tight to speak.
“Mia,” he says softly. “We’ve been to the other side of the universe and back. I told you we wouldn’t let an ocean defeat us. A few classes and some work with my dad won’t, either. Unless you’ve changed your mind”—and his voice is very careful now, very even and quiet—“and you’d rather go back.”
His eyes, even at this distance, halfway across the room, catch and hold mine. There’s a question there, an uncertainty that belies his firm words. For a moment I think maybe he’s not sure about this after all, that he does actually have doubts about whether I’d fit in here in his world.
And then he blinks, lips quivering, and I realize:He’s not sure if Iwantto stay. If I wanthim.
Abruptly I’m moving, my restlessness vanished, the tension in my body vanished. I drop down onto the edge of the bed and reach not for his hand, but for his cheek, leaning close until I can rest my forehead against his. “I want to stay with you,” I blurt, dimly aware of a tear clinging to my lashes. “Idiot.”
Jules laughs, but it’s quick, because in another instant he’s tipping his face toward mine and curling his hand around the back of my neck. Before I can protest on account of his injury, he’s kissing me, and for a moment I forget he was ever shot.
After a time, I lift my head reluctantly, gathering my wits with some difficulty. “Do you smell something?” I ask, blinking, my stomach stirring and reminding me that I was too nervous to eat this morning before I left to come here.
Jules looks up too, considering, one hand still resting at my waist. “That would be Dad making lunch,” he says. “Chicken and lime with porcini mushrooms, if I’m not mistaken.” I draw back enough to stare at him, and he grins. “Where do you think I learned to cook?”
30
DEX
SIX MONTHS LATER
