“So, is that the only reason you’re still living, then?”
“No. Before she passed, she made me promise to continueliving until life held no more novelty. Maybe that’s part of the reason I came back to this cabin and isolated myself so much. Novelty is difficult to find when you follow the same routine and never push past your comfort zone. But somehow, I managed to find something unexpected anyway.”
I want to ask what he means, but I’m scared I already know the answer. So instead, I ask, “So she knew about your… situation?” I ask.
“Yes. She knew what I was, and she loved me anyway.”
“She loved you because ofwhoyou are, not in spite ofwhatyou are.” I speak before I can consider the implications of the words, but even as we sit in the heavy silence, I don’t regret saying them.
I had thought he was a monster—and maybe he is—but there’s still a piece of him deep down that’s human. Someone who has experienced the depths of emotion in love and loss, joy and heartbreak.
His eyes never leave mine, but the corner of his lips twitch into an almost-smile when he says, “The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.” I’m not sure who he’s quoting despite the words sounding vaguely familiar, but with the way he says it, I can’t help but wonder if he’s saying multiple things at once.
I just wish I could figure out what they are.
The moment is so raw, so real, that we’re both frozen, and time slows.
The fire pops and crackles, punctuating the heavy silence between us. My hand still rests on his knee, and the warmth of his skin radiates through his pants. I should move it, should maintain the distance between us, but I can't bring myself to break this connection.
“This is dangerous,” he whispers, so low I wonder if I was meant to hear it.
I say nothing.
The firelight dances across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. Without thinking, I reach up and trace my fingers along his jaw, feeling the rough scratch of his stubble against my fingertips.
He catches my wrist, but doesn't pull my hand away. “Brielle,” he warns. “Don't start something you're not ready for.”
“I’m not starting anything,” I murmur. “I’m just… trying to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“You.”
His thumb slowly brushes against my wrist, and my breath stutters. My heart pounds hard and fast against my ribcage, and every logical thought that cautions me this is a terrible idea flies out of my head. His hand moves from my wrist to cup my face, and I lean into his touch instinctively.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers as he leans in, his face inches from mine.
But I don't want him to stop. For the first time in so long, I want something purely for myself, consequences be damned. I shake my head slightly, my eyes never leaving his.
When his lips finally meet mine, it's gentle at first, questioning. But then I press closer, and the kiss deepens. We’ve opened the floodgates, and now there’s no turning back. Ambrose reaches up to thread his fingers through my hair, and we’re overtaken by urgency, overwhelmed with desperation and desire.
I lose myself in his touch, and the seconds stretch into minutes as he claims me in a way I can’t explain. Every part of me is drawn to him despite how dangerous this is. I can’t bring myself to care. This is everything I’ve never allowed myself to dream of.
Time passes in slow motion before he finally pulls away. Our eyes lock, and something inside me shifts as he brushes a long strand of my messy hair behind my ear.
It only takes a few more seconds for the spell to be broken. As if just realizing what he did, Ambrose stands, and takes a step back.
“We shouldn’t have done that.”
“Probably not,” I answer.
He takes a deep breath and runs his hand through his hair. “I think we should both get some sleep. I’m sorry.”
And with that, he disappears into his bedroom, closing the door behind him and leaving me reeling in the silence of the living room and wondering what I did wrong.
CHAPTER 28
This is all a game to him. I need to remember that. The night we kissed, where he read poetry to me and opened up about his past, was too real, too intimate. It might’ve been real in the moment, but as quickly as it happened, it was over.
