“It’s awful,” I groan. “And that liquor is coating my brain.”
He kisses my temple. “The questions. What’re you worried about, Celine?”
I take a beat to organize my thoughts. If I explain my worry, will he think I’m insane? There’s nowhere to run. No way to get space. It’s just Ciprian and me, locked in a birdcage with no distractions. But if I can’t be honest with him in here, there’s no hope for us outside these walls.
“Since we met, everything has been dialed up to eleven,” I say softly. “When we escape and everything settles, will there be enough between us to sustain this?”
I expect him to leave when he gets bored, but I’m not quite brave enough to admit it. I’m confident in what I bring to the table. We’re different, though. Ciprian grew up in a compound that’s more castle than house. I’m a stripper, and I like it.
Ciprian frowns, and his eyes dart away from mine. “I could give you a twenty-minute answer to that question, hot wings, but before I do, let me ask you something first: why did you pick me yesterday?”
“Everyone agreed,” I say. “They were all pointing at you, and?—”
“You always do what other people suggest, then?”
I freeze. “You know I don’t.”
“Okay, leave the pointing out for a second. In fact, leave the others out, too. If it was only me in that tube and you in the sand, and Riven told you to fight to the death or I’d be killed, would you?”
“Of course.”
My heart bashes against my ribs with each beat. I know I started this conversation, but it’s stressing me out. We don’t makesense; can’t he see that? Except, I don’t want him to see that.I want him to tell me I’m wrong. That he’ll never leave. I want him to pin me to this mattress and whisper dirty things in my ear until he drowns out the doubt.
Ciprian watches me quietly, then throws his head back. “Fuck it,” he groans. “I can’t do this in a healthy, mature way. I’m trying, I swear, Celine, but it’s pissing me off.”
He sits on the bed and tugs me down beside him, dragging my hands to his cheeks. “Look at me. Really look at me.”
“I’m looking,” I whisper.
“Do you like me?” he demands.
I nod.
“Why though? What do you like about me?”
“You’re smart and witty. I never know what you’re going to do, and that should drive me insane—I’ve never enjoyed surprises, but when you’re in the room, I don’t want to look away. I’m too scared to miss something.”
“Forever the entertainer,” Ciprian murmurs. He presses his right hand to my heart. “And how do I make you feel?”
My heart pounds against his palm. I blink at him, studying the angles of his face. I’m fucking terrified. Ciprian senses it even without his magic, and his face falls. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You’re not scaring me,” I whisper.
“Your face . . . Your heart is racing.”
“I am scared,” I admit. “Just not of you.”
“Why?”
Can I answer that question truthfully? Do I even know how?
My thumb grazes his bottom lip, and suddenly it doesn’t matter if I get this exactly right. I have to try for him, for us, but most importantly for me.
“You make me feel alive,” I tell him. “And that scares me because you could leave me. I didn’t pick you because everyonewas pointing at you, Ciprian, I picked you because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”
“Celine—”
“No, it’s okay. I’m fine. I’m sorry. Shit.”I drop my hands from his face and swipe at the tears running down my cheeks.When did I start crying?
