What things?
“You fell in love at first sight with Arkane.”
No no no no no no no no no no no no no nooooo!
Chapter Four
I’VE BEEN PRETENDINGto sleep for the last twenty minutes.
Eyes mostly closed, head turned toward the window, breathing like a person who’s really committed to her nap. Total lie. I’m hyper-aware of every single molecule of air on the opposite side of the cabin, and I’ve got no idea how long he’s been sitting there.
I don’t know if he’s been looking at me.
I don’t know if he’s been working or reading or doing whatever it is that a man named Arkane Young does at 35,000 feet.
I don’t know anything, because I refuse to turn my head to check. Turning my head would be looking, and looking would be admitting I’m interested, and I, Tiara Sauller, amnotinterested.
I’m not.
I’m just...cautiously neutral. Like Switzerland. Switzerland with a headache.
The seatbelt sign dings off. I hear Icelle’s buckle click open across from me, and I figure that’s my cue to stop pretending. I sit up and reach for my own seatbelt like a person who’s just woken up naturally and not like a person who’s been faking unconsciousness for the emotional equivalent of a full-length movie.
And here’s where it gets embarrassing.
The buckle doesn’t cooperate.
Which is ridiculous, because I’ve been wearing seatbelts in cars since I was three, and I’ve got exactly two other plane trips under my belt, both economy, both middle seats, both buckles I handled without any drama. Same mechanism. Same little metal tab. Same banana, as my mom would say when she’s trying to sound relatable to people younger than her.
And yet here I am, fingers slipping off the tab like it’s been greased, and my face is starting to heat because ofcourseI’d pick this moment to turn into a sitcom character.
“Allow me.”
I don’t even get the chance to protest. One moment, he’s not close enough to be a threat. Another moment, he’s right in front of me, the direct cause of my respiratory difficulties as he leans over me, his hand brushing over mine, and then...
Click.
