Chapter XI #2
I expected her to protest, but we stayed locked in our gaze as I berated myself for enjoying the warmth of her body against mine, the feel of her soft skin, and the way she smelled like sandalwood, earthy and sophisticated.
Familiar, in a way. Like it was something I’d once dreamed about but had forgotten.
The connection from the night before surged back, stronger. Thicker.
The powers within me unleashed and went straight for her heart, desperate to unlock whatever she’d buried deep inside. They prodded. Pressed. Pleaded. But nothing. Her heart was sealed tight. A vault with only one key. A key I didn’t possess. It belonged to her true love.
And still, I didn’t let go.
I told myself to release her. To step back.
To stop giving her access to the storm inside me—emotions I couldn’t name, or control, and probably couldn’t afford.
She was confusing the hell out of me and even the part of me that had never been unsure before.
That divine part of me always knew what direction we should go, but there was something about Demi that had both of us unable to see heads or tails.
Had me thinking there were two parts of me when I only used to ever see one.
“Why did you lock your heart?” I blurted out, hoping to sever her access to mine.
Demi shook her head as if dazed, making me wonder what she’d gleaned.
Had she felt how attracted I was to her at the moment?
Did she know I blamed her for the void I felt in my life?
Did she feel how torn I was about wanting to help her but fearing how the world would fare if she kept running the Bureau?
“Why does anyone lock their heart?” she whispered. “To protect it.”
“From what?” I asked, too eager.
She stared at me for several beats as if debating what to say. “More like who.” She shook her head, obviously regretting opening up to me. “It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.”
“Do you regret it?”
She nodded almost imperceptibly before squirming to get out of my arms. “I need to go. And you don’t need to be nice to me just because Zeus is making you.”
Of course she would think that. But I had to stop and consider whether it had been Zeus or me. It was me, right? It was the decent thing to do—help her. But I let her think what she wanted. Especially because I wasn’t sure.
I held her firmly but gently in place. “You’re not getting far on that leg.”
“I could hop on one leg.”
I chuckled.
“I have no doubt, but the way your bird is eyeing me, she might claw my eyes out if I let you do that. And though I’m sure that would thrill you, maybe you could take some mercy on me and let me carry you back to your cabin.”
She mulled it over for a second, grinning as if the thought of me being mauled brought her genuine joy.
“Hmm. My father probably wouldn’t like if I let Lady Goldy have her way. And you do have nice eyes—it would be a shame if they were gouged out,” she rushed to say.
It shouldn’t have given me any pleasure that she liked my eyes, but admittedly it did. I didn’t mention it.
“But this doesn’t mean that I’m a damsel in distress,” she added.
“I don’t think anyone would accuse you of being one.”
“Okay. Fine. You can help me. But quit trying to read my heart; it hurts.”
How odd. One wasn’t supposed to physically feel it. Or feel it on any level, for that matter.
It took everything I had in me to rein that part of me in. It was like he needed to know what was in her heart. For some reason it was of the utmost importance to him. Which made it feel consequential to me.
She rubbed her chest.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I turned and walked us back, careful when stepping over the tree.
Demi looked anywhere but at me, and she fidgeted in my arms, refusing to be comfortable in them.
I appreciated it—her discomfort, her refusal to settle—as I tried not to focus on how good she felt in my arms. Or how wrong it was for her to be there.
She was a cast member.
A thorn in my side.
But being this close to her had me seeing the rose more than feeling the prick. And what a rose she was. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen one so lovely. Or so guarded. But the longer I held her, the more I wondered—were the thorns her defense mechanism? And what had made her feel like she needed them?
After several minutes in silence pondering this, I couldn’t help but ask, “Why have you always hated me?”
She slowly turned her head, an unexpected sheen misting her eyes. “You were supposed to be different.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what I said.”
“Well, you were supposed to be different too.” That sounded triter and more immature than I’d meant for it to, but something about what she’d said sounded like an accusation.
One I didn’t feel I deserved. Yet it bothered me more than I wanted to admit.
How was I supposed to be different? Who did she think I was supposed to be?
“Believe me, I know,” she whispered.
Her contrition caught me off guard. There was no pretense in her voice. No deflection. Just a quiet raw devastation.
And suddenly, I wasn’t sure who had been more wrong about whom all these years.