He doesn’t respond, just ignores me and lifts twice as many chopped logs as I do, then follows me down the steep stone stairs. I place the logs in the growing pile, and he tosses the ones he’s holding. I brush my hands against my dress and turn back to the cellar opening. Or Stefan’s chest as he steps into my path.
He slips his arms around my waist and lifts me off my feet, just enough to bring my lips closer to his. He smells of sweat and firewood, his arms and chest are warm and wet against my dress. “You’re going to exhaust yourself,” I mutter against his lips.
“That’s all right,” he croaks.
He pulls me around the corner, behind a brick beam, and kisses me harder, his fingertips pressing into the flesh of my lower back. His body is flush to mine, every part of his body. Even the part he’s unashamed to have lost control over…
Everything inside of me aches with desire, wishing we had privacy and time, but that seems impossible. These moments are our blackouts—our way of forgetting that the evil is closing in on us more each day. Forgetting we don’t have a plan for what we’ll do when…when that day comes. Stefan’s lips are on my neck, trailing over my collarbone—stealing my every breath.
“Stefan?” Philip calls into the cellar as footsteps clap over the stone.
Stefan peels himself off me, adjusts his pants and shirt, takes a short walk to the farthest wall then runs his fingers through his damp hair. “Yes?”
“Are you all right?
“No,” he whispers in my ear before rushing back to the stairs.
“A pile started to fall. I was cleaning up the stack.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Rosalie?” Philip calls out next.
I didn’t think this through. “Yes? I’m helping Stefan.” I quietly tiptoe over to the farthest stack of firewood, hoping he can’t see me from the angle of the steps.
“Uh-huh,” he says again. “Don’t be late for dinner with your papa. It’s almost five.”
“They know,” I tell Stefan as we scuff our feet along the dirt path, sticking to the outskirts of town to avoid any Nazi sightings.
“Know what?” Stefan asks, a smirk poking at his cheek.
“About us.” I nudge my elbow into his.
“Huh,” he says.
“What does that mean?” I grab his hand and hold it between mine. “Huh?”
“They’ve known about us for months.”
“No, they most certainly have not. I’ve made sure of that.”
“How have you done that?” He toys with me.
“I’ve told them how rude and despicable you are, and obnoxious, and petty, and?—”
“That’s why they know. You say that with this adorable little smile on your face. Everyone can see it.”
My cheeks burn, not because of the truth but because I thought I was being more inconspicuous.
“Well, my father doesn’t know. And he doesn’t need to know. It’ll just cause him unnecessary stress. So, don’t do anything to make me blush tonight. Promise me.”
And with an incomplete promise, Stefan opens the side door to the village hall and ushers me inside.
I smooth my hands down the pleats of my dress and straighten my shoulders before walking into the cathedral framed space I still call home. “I’m home, Papa,” I say closing the door behind Stefan.
Peering around to see why he isn’t responding, I find him asleep at his desk. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, gently, to avoid startling him awake. “Humf uh,” he grumbles.
“Papa, it’s me.”
