He’s quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.
“I’m terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Of this. Of you. Of how much I care about the outcome.” His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. “The contracthas dominated my existence for three centuries. It’s been my purpose, my obsession, my reason for everything. And now...”
“Now?”
“Now I’m not sure I care whether I break it. Not if it means losing you.”
The admission hangs in the air, fragile and enormous.
“You won’t lose me.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I know I’m choosing to be here. Right now. That’s what I know.” I squeeze his hand. “The rest we’ll figure out.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he shifts closer, and I feel the heat of his body along my side, the gentle pressure of his head against my shoulder.
“I haven’t slept beside anyone in decades,” he murmurs. “I may have forgotten how.”
“It’s easy. You just... close your eyes. Stop thinking.”
“The stopping thinking part is challenging.”
“Tell me about it.”
A soft laugh vibrates against my skin. “We’re both terrible at this, aren’t we?”
“Completely terrible.”
“Good. I’d hate to be the only one.”
Silence settles over us, comfortable and warm. His breathing slows, evens out. I listen to it, letting the rhythm anchor me.Right now, all that matters is the demon in my bed, his hand in mine, his breath soft against my shoulder. Two people who have no business being together, choosing each other anyway.
I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“No, no—that’s okay, Maya. Let’s try again.”
Maya stares at her feet like they’ve personally betrayed her, her lower lip trembling dangerously. She’s tangled herself so thoroughly that her left foot is somehow behind her right ankle, a position that defies both anatomy and the basic box step I’ve been teaching for the past twenty minutes.
“I can’t do it.” Her voice wobbles. “I keep going the wrong way.”
“Everyone goes the wrong way at first.” I crouch down to her level, ignoring the protest from my knees. “Do you know how many times I stepped on my partner’s feet when I was learning?”
“How many?”
“About a million.” Slight exaggeration. Possibly. My mother kept count for a while, before she decided the numbers were too depressing to track. “The secret is that mistakes are just practice in disguise.”
Maya considers this philosophy with the gravity of a Supreme Court justice evaluating constitutional law.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It will someday. For now, let’s untangle your feet.”
