“Your lunch,” he said, offering me the paper bag again. “I should go.”
“No, wait—” I caught his hand as he turned to leave. “We need to talk about this.”
He hesitated, glancing at Mrs. Wilson, who had the grace to look uncomfortable.
“I’ll leave you two to discuss this privately,” she said, straightening her cardigan. “Clara, take your lunch break now. We can continue the inventory afterward.”
She walked away with measured steps, her back straight as a ruler.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Once Mrs. Wilson was out of earshot, I tugged Rion deeper into the stacks where we were less likely to be overheard.
“You can’t seriously be okay with this,” I hissed.
“I’m not okay with it,” he replied, his voice low. “But I’m not surprised by it either.”
“It’s wrong!”
“It is,” he agreed. “But it’s also the way things have always been for people like me.”
The resignation in his voice gutted me. I stepped closer, placing my hand on his chest where I could feel his heart beating steadily beneath my palm. “It doesn’t have to be that way. We could change things.”
His expression softened as he looked down at me. “You’re remarkable, you know that? Most people would be running for the hills after finding out their boyfriend isn’t human, let alone contemplating social revolution on his behalf.”
Boyfriend. The casual label made something warm unfurl in my chest despite the circumstances. “I’m not most people.”
“No,” he agreed, covering my hand with his much larger one. “You’re not.”
We stood like that for a moment, connected and quiet in the hushed library stacks. Then Rion sighed, a rumbling sound that I felt as much as heard.
“Mrs. Wilson isn’t wrong about the risks,” he said finally. “There are people who wouldn’t take kindly to seeing us together.”
“I don’t care what people think.”
“You say that now,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “But it’s different when you’re living it. The stares. The whispers. Sometimes worse.”
A chill ran through me at the implication. “Has someone hurt you before? Because of what you are?”
His hesitation was answer enough.
“Rion,” I whispered, horrified.
“It was a long time ago,” he said, dismissing it with a small shake of his head. “But I learned to be careful. To stay out of sight when possible.”
“That’s no way to live,” I protested.
“It’s the way I’ve survived,” he countered. “And it’s not so bad. I have my work. My home.” His thumb traced a gentle circle on the back of my hand. “And now, I have you.”
My eyes stung with unshed tears. “So what are you saying? We can only see each other in private? I have to pretend you don’t exist when we’re in public?”
“No,” he said firmly. “I would never ask you to deny us. But perhaps… we could be more discreet. No more drop-offs at work. No unnecessary public outings.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, but even as I protested, I knew he was being pragmatic.
“Is it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather risk confrontation every time we’re seen together? Would you rather deal with people’s judgment and fear?”
“I’d rather fight for what’s right,” I insisted.
