“I don’t give a fuck about what your sister’s like, Ben.” His words are quiet, firm. Ropes that tether me to him.
“You should.”
“I’ll let you know when she becomes a problem. Cheers.” He holds his glass out to mine and we knock them together, throwing the liquid back.
I feel the burn and the rush. The lights in the room seem brighter and then dim. It’s Isaac who’s now lighter, smiling at me.
“You have to give a fuck about Majken. She’s dangerous.” The words don’t sound right.
“Everyone’s dangerous. But what’s life without a little danger?” There are sparks in his eyes.
When I kiss him, I don’t taste the liquor. I feel the heat from his body, the roughness of his stubble on my face, the tightness of his hands as they grip my arms.
I feel his skin under my palms as I push his shirt away; I feel his breath on my neck while I bite his shoulder. I feel his hands grip and pull and strip.
I feel the stars and the fireworks go off in the lost room, the place where things come to fossilise. But we don’t.
It’s rough and hard and when I come it’s with pain and not just pleasure.
Hours later, when I wake up, he isn’t there. The sheets cover the statues and ornaments as if they’ve never been revealed. The quiet eyes of night saw nothing.
* * *
I see Isaac outside, watching the loch, the snow coming down on his shoulders. He doesn’t flinch when I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Absinthe…”
“Is the devil’s work.” He turns and smiles and then kisses me, softer than before. Softer than ever.
“You covered everything back up.”
“Because Blair’s not ready yet.”
“I don’t understand.”
He shakes his head. “She can change things. When she opens up the ballroom…”
“Or burns it down.”
He laughs. “She won’t. You know she won’t.”
He’s right. She won’t. She’ll dance there again.
Chapter Fourteen
Iwake with blue eyes looking at me.
Blair’s hair looks blonder, almost white, making her eyes stand out all the more. There are lines on her forehead that haven’t been there before and her eyes contain more worries than I’ve seen in them before.
“Paris is the place I want to die in.”
I laugh, my throat full of sleep. It’s been three nights since Isaac found the absinthe. Three nights where Blair was away and we just had the phone.
She knows. I told her.
“Can we not go to Paris then? I’d rather you didn’t die.”
She laughs and curls up on top of the bed, curving her body into mine. “How’s things here?”
