Page 73 of The Alchemists

There it was—under that perfect hair and athletic accomplishments and fast cars—the Sebastian that she’d only gotten glimpses of. An unmitigated nerd.

“I have not. But I just need to clarify that your idea of a sexy time is learning about French Huguenots?”

“I didn’t say anything about sexy, but we can make it sexy, if that’s what you want.” He pulled out his phone. “Look, they have period costumes. Maybe we can roleplay.”

Lily choked on her water. “I can’t think of anything less sexy than wearing whatever that is.” Seb thumped her on the back. “But yes, I will go to this weird museum with you.”

SEB

He tugged Lily’s collar up around her chin as he helped her into her coat. It was a habit already forming, born out of an impulse that he couldn’t—didn’t—want to stifle. There was something about the way she looked from that angle, with her sharp chin tilted up and her deep brown eyes meeting his, the feeling of her breath on his hands, that turned his insides into nectar. It filled him with an ache so acute that he almost wanted to die. She hadn’t objected, and so he let himself, again, again, again.

He stuffed their entwined fingers in his pocket. It was impossibly nice, being out here with her, walking around not caring about who could see them because they didn’t know anyone. On campus she was flighty, acting as if everything was the same between them as it had been weeks ago. He’d told her he didn’t care who saw, but she did.

He didn’t understand why, couldn’t pretend it didn’t sting, especially since she knew about Conrad, but Lily Perkins was a terribly complex being, with many secrets yet to learn. She was a book he wanted to read every page of and commit to memory with perfect recall. He trusted her, and if she wasn’t ready, he could be patient.

They stopped outside a row of crooked stone houses, older than the country they lived in, and turned in a slow circle, taking it in.

“This is crazy,” Seb said. “All this history, just…sitting here in the middle of town.”

Lily grinned. “You’re such a dork.”

“Sorry.”

She tugged him closer by the elbow. “I like it.”

“Good. I’ll take you on more nerdy dates. We’ve been together over a week already and we haven’t even…” Next to him, Lily stiffened at the word “together.”

“Are we?” she asked. “Together?”

His heart entered free fall. This was the moment where he exposed himself as a lunatic.

“Oh.” His face burned. “I mean. It can…we…this can be whatever you want. If you’d prefer casual⁠—”

Blessedly, she cut him off. “You don’t? Want casual?”

“I…” He stared at her, trying to figure out how to explain himself without scaring her away. God, she looked perfect here—a stroke of warmth against a gray day; her eyes could melt the world. “No. I don’t. I suck at casual,” he admitted, looking heavenward, pulling on his Words for strength. “I pretty much just want to spend all my time with you. I’m sorry if that sounds insane.”

“Oh, it does.”

Fuck.

When he summoned the courage to look at her, though, she wore a coy smile that touched only the corner of her mouth.

“It makes literally no sense why you, of all people, would want to spend all your time with me.” She bit her lip, looking up at him through her lashes. “I wake up every morning and I think I’m dreaming. So…if you want to spend all your time together, I’m not going to object.”

He exhaled the sigh he’d been keeping in for days and dragged her into him, lowering his forehead to touch hers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life,” he whispered into her hair.

She huffed a silent laugh. “I know I’ve never been this happy in my life. Come on.” She tugged his hand. “Let’s check out this museum.”

“Lily,” he whispered, leaning closer to the glass as his heart beat a tattoo in his chest. She wasn’t there.

He turned. She’d wandered across the room to frown at an exhibit on women’s roles in the home.

“Lily,” he hissed, even though there was no one else there. She looked up and he waved her over. “Look.” He pointed at the parchment beneath the glass, his finger shaking.

Lily leaned in to peer at the page from the ledger. It was a bill of sale to one Cornelius Windermere from a Jean Bevoire. She glanced sideways at him, not comprehending his manic look, then followed his finger to the explanatory panel. Her eyes bugged and she clutched his elbow.