She tried to follow me.
I turned, hands on my hips. “Absolutely not. Royalty does not cook their own breakfast on revolutionary mornings.”
She laughed, that bright and unrestrained warmth spilling into the room.
“Yes, ma’am.”
And God help me, I realised I would burn down every careful boundary I had ever built if it meant hearing that laugh again.
XII
“Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.”
— Mae West
Chapter Thirteen
Kelechi
I always hear people say that when you play with fire, you should be ready to get burned. What no one tells you is how addictive the heat feels before the flame catches.
Well, that was what Marley did to me.
One and a half month since we became closer than just coursemates and I was becoming different in ways I couldn’t fully explain, only feel.
Bolder, yes. Happier, obviously. But it was more than that.
It was in the way I stopped second-guessing myself mid-sentence, stopped putting a filter on everything I said. With her I could just be…open and unguarded in a way I hadn’t been with anyone else. Before her, my days were fine, just fine, nothing more. Now I was waking up with somewhere to be, someone to see, practically looking forward to being with her at all times.
And still something prowled in my chest like it was caged and starving, sounding a warning I didn’t want to hear. Fear and excitement had stopped taking turns, they lived side by side now, tangled up so tightly I couldn’t tell which one was pulling me forward and which one was trying to save me.
She had a way of pulling things out of me I didn’t even know existed. Reckless thoughts, wild impulses I had buried, were suddenly clawing their way to the surface whenever she was around.
Sometimes all she had to do was look at me. Just look at me, and I melted. It was ridiculous, honestly. Completely and embarrassingly ridiculous. My brain would short-circuit, words would vanish. It was as if logic packed its bags and fled.
My body had developed some kind of chemical reaction to her, and nobody warned me that was even possible.
It was exhilarating, infuriating, and terrifying all at once.
The memory of three Saturdays ago at the farmers’ market was still vivid in my mind, playing on repeat whenever I let my guard down. We had almost filled up a full cart with groceries, Marley introducing me to a few vendors she had come to know recently, letting me taste samples of honey, cheese and bread still warm from the oven. Everything had been new, overwhelming in the best possible way.
But it wasn’t the food I remembered most; it was the evening of that day that had really undone me.
The sun had been setting, casting everything in golden light plus the snow wasn’t that heavy, and there had been a small band playing folk music near the centre of the market. String lights had been hung between the vendor stalls, creating this magical, intimate atmosphere that felt like something straight out of a hallmark movie. People had been dancing on the snow-covered ground, couples swaying together, families with children spinning in circles.
I had been watching them with that familiar ache of wondering what it felt like to dance without feeling a hint of shame when Marley had appeared beside me, her hands full of the yellow-coloured carnation flowers we’d bought earlier.
“Dance with me,” she’d said, setting the bouquet down on a nearby table.
“Here?” I’d nearly choked on my saliva. “In front of all these people?”
“Why not?” She’d extended her hand to me, a smile playing at her lips. “You said you wanted to try new things.”
Everything I had been taught screamed don’t. Don’t draw attention. Don’t look foolish. Don’t be seen. But everything I wanted whispered, take it.
“I don’t really know how to dance, not like that.”
“Neither do most of these people,” she’d said with a laugh. “That’s not the point.”
