In the blink of an eye, he takes up my entire field of vision, placing a finger over my lips. My core warms traitorously at his nearness, remembering all too well the last time we were this close. His proximity, his touch—I can’t stand what it does to me.
He glances down at his finger and, seeing I’ve taken the hint, pulls away, gaze lingering.
“We cannot speak of this to another soul,” he murmurs. “Not even Cec. Promise me.”
Even though his finger no longer presses against my mouth, I don’t speak, merely nodding in understanding.
To my surprise, he doesn’t put any more distance between us. I’m transported back to last night—to his hand on my waist and beneath my chin, his lips against mine, his tongue insidemy mouth—wishing more than anything that Cec had never interrupted us in the first place.
When he grips the back of his neck, I know he wants to talk about what happened. But I’m not ready for that conversation. Not yet, anyway. It’s easier for me to pretend nothing happened than to face the fury and embarrassment I felt then. When I allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of Bes and he chose to call what we were doing “nothing important” and “peace and quiet for five bloody seconds”. It’s not the first time I’ve overreacted, and it won’t be the last. But here, now, is not the place to sift through those emotions.
I don’t have to choose anger, but I don’t have to choose forgiveness so quickly either. Not when my very existence is at stake.
I grip my two new weapons tightly in each hand, understanding the burden of them and the lives they might take at my command. “Is that all?”
Bes’s hand falls back to his side, his expression full of disappointment. “Yes, that’s all, Miss Hawkins.”
I nod once. “I’ll see you at dinner, then.”
Promptly, I turn on my heel, stemming the urge to look back. Even when I know he’s out of sight.
Dinner is a quick affair.
The cooks prepared a pappardelle pasta smothered in a Bolognese sauce I would give up my firstborn child for, with mountains of fresh parmesan.
As hungry as I was, I wasn’t allowed to take my first bite until Ansaldo finished another one of his long-winded speeches to his congregation about loyalty and secrecy and whatever else he’s always on about. I’ve been told I’m extremely rude when we’re at other people’s dinner tables and I start to eat before everyone’s gotten their plate, much less sat down and said grace, but my God the man tries my patience.
I sit all through dinner hating him. It’s one thing for him to force me to join the order; it’s another for him to be the sole reason I’m here in the first place. Maybe Egypt wasn’t as unsafe as Cec said—Cec, who was an unknowing pawn in his father’s plan—and I could’ve gone home from Cairo after all.
I refuse to think that way, though. The God Men proved well enough on their own that nowhere was safe.All I can do is move forward.
Despite what lies ahead tomorrow, I don’t leave a single morsel of food on my plate.
After dinner is over—and no dessert in sight—Bes clears out of there before I can approach him; disappointment aches inside me. Cec, on the other hand, asks if he can accompany me back to my room.
When I walk through the threshold, my shoulders slump, and I don’t stop the sigh that releases from my throat.I’m exhausted, always so goddamn exhausted these days.
“It’s going to be alright.” Cec stands in the doorway while I light a few of the oil lamps and the candle at my beside. “Bes and I will be with you the entire time. Besides, we’re only looking for an art dealer. And though they can be a tad uppish, they’re mostly harmless.”
I scoff. “An art dealer who’s friends with Hitler is enough of a threat for me.”
When he doesn’t reply, I slump down on the edge of my bed. “I know I should be thinking about our covert mission right now, but I’m not.”
Cec chuckles, crossing his arms. “You and Bes are so alike sometimes, it’s frightening.”
I narrow my gaze. “In what way are Bes and I anything alike?”
“First, you’re both sobloodystubborn. And second, you don’t always have your priorities sorted.”
I stiffen. “You mean like using me as a distraction so he doesn’t have to think about his hatred for this place.”
He takes a step forward. “Now, see here—can I come in?”
I gesture around the empty room. “Of course.”
He steps inside. “Grand. Look, Hawkins, I’m not entirely sure what happened last night. All I heard was a lot of yelling, and then you shooting Bes down when he called you by your first name.”
He finds his way to the bed, and I help him sit down beside me, the mattress shifting with the added weight. “Bes might be my cousin, but even to me, he’s a cocoon of mystery. I’m worried he’s going to stay wrapped up inside himself and never get the chance to fly.”
