“More like the resident pariah,” Delilah replies.
I lift her palm and brush a kiss over it. “I’m rather fond of pariahs,” I say.
When she looks at me, as if even the sweetest compliment has shattered her, I fall to pieces. “I don’t want to go,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Oliver—”
“No.” I put a finger against her lips. “Right now, I’m not leaving. Right now, I’m not gone forever. Right now, it’s just you and me, like it was the first time we met . . . when this was all I dreamed of.” I pull Delilah into my arms and kiss her, softly at first, and then more insistently. We lie back on the cool sand, and her arms close around me, a vise. I run my hands from her shoulders down her spine, tracing every inch, locking her hips against mine. I try to press into her skin a memory of what it feels like to be held by me.
How can one feel this much passion, pain, sorrow—emotion—without breaking apart? How do ordinary people fall in love every day?
The rest of my existence will consist of me rescuing a princess I care little about, kissing her, wishing for a life with her. But every time, I will be saving Delilah. I will be kissing Delilah. I will be dreaming of forever with Delilah.
By the time we return to Delilah’s house that afternoon, I can’t let go of her. I hold her free hand while she drives; I slip my armaround her waist as we walk inside and climb the stairs. I feel like a condemned prisoner, marching to his death.
Luckily Delilah’s mother is still at work, so she won’t ask what’s wrong when she sees us, red-eyed and grim. Delilah reaches for the knob of her bedroom door, hesitating. “Are you ready?” she asks.
“I’ll never be ready,” I tell her.
She wraps her arms around me, burying her face against my neck. “I heard it’s going to rain tomorrow,” Delilah whispers.
Puzzled, I draw back. “I beg your pardon?”
“I just want the last words I say to you here to be totally ordinary. Something I might say to you if I were going to see you tomorrow and the next day and the day after that.”
I nod gravely. “Perhaps it will be sunny on Wednesday,” I say, playing along.
She takes a deep breath and opens the door.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed is Seraphima. Her eyes are swollen; she is surrounded by a heap of plastic food wrappers. She takes a tissue from the box and blows her nose, loudly, in its center. “When can I go home?” she asks, sniffling.
I sit down beside her as Delilah takes the fairy tale from her backpack. “Now,” I tell her. “Edgar’s found a way. And you’re not alone.” I look up at Delilah, holding her gaze. “I’m going with you.”
Seraphima throws her arms around my neck, crying again. “I’m so glad,” she sobs. “I was afraid to go back by myself. What if something awful happens?”
Something awful already has,I think.
Delilah sets the book on the bed and threads her fingers through mine. “Here goes,” she says, and she opens to the last page.
Delight immediately breaks over Seraphima’s face as she sees the family she has missed. Edgar and Jules scramble to their feet. “Ready?” he asks.
I nod. “Are you?”
He takes a deep breath, reaching for Jules. “Yes,” he says, and he turns to Queen Maureen, who gives me an encouraging smile.
Edgar reaches into the pocket of his tunic—mytunic—and his face freezes. “Where did it go?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my heart starting to race. If he can’t find the biscuit, I can’t go back into the book.
“It was right here a minute ago.” He turns to Queen Maureen. “Did you take it?”
“Why would I take it, dear? You were guarding it like it was the crown jewel.”
He begins to turn in a circle, staring at the ground. “Nobody move,” he cautions. “I don’t want to crush it, if it fell. . . .”
Humphrey begins to sniff around, drooling a trail. “I can smell it. . . . I can smell it. . . . I can smell it. . . . No, wait, it’s a horse.”
He smacks into Socks’s considerable bottom. The pony turns around, half of a star biscuit dangling from his lips. He looks absolutely chagrined to be caught in the act. “I couldn’t help it,” he says, his teeth still clenched on the treat. “It was literally calling my name.So-o-ocks . . . I’m only a hundred calllllllories. . . .”
