Epilogue
For the Sake of Us.
Azalea
Flag Day
Blue. I’m wearing blue. Ice blue. Not white. And I’ve driven myself to the younger Swallow brother’s estate. And I haven’t yet died.
I’ve spent weeks not dying, though, so maybe not dying now isn’t such an anomaly either.
Maybe the heart in my throat is just a coincidence. Maybe everything’s super duper fine.
Besides, I’m not just here to attend a ball in this flowing gown. I’m here to work. Help a wedding run smoothly. Make sure the most romantic day of the year gets another romantic occasion added to it.
Unfortunately, something about nighttime has worked its way into my blood and bones, leaving me frightened and chilled.
At some point tonight, I’m supposed to have my first kiss. I’ve spent weeks working up to it—while not dying—but now that it’s here, I’m terrified.
Terrified that I’ll mess up. Terrified that I’ll freak out.
Terrified that I won’t do it well. Terrified that it’ll be a disappointment.
Terrified that I’ll contract an illness.
Terrified that kissing me will have been so awful that Malcolm will leave me alone to die.
Terrified, terrified, terrified, terrified…
A figure bangs on my car window, and I jolt, whipping my attention up toward a shadow in the space beyond the glass.
Malcolm.
My Malcolm.
My Malcolm who knows I’m drowning in here and has zero qualms about breaking in if I don’t drag myself out first.
Smiling, he has the sense to try the handle before smashing the glass. Finding my door unlocked, he frees me from the confines.
Tense, I sit there, tracing the jet black of his suit, dress shirt, and cufflinks. Everything except for his ice-blue tie blends into the night around him, but I can’t shake the feeling that he is mine and he is perfect and whatever happens…will happen.
And it will be okay.
Because there’s not a thing in this world that would dare to keep him from me.
Because nothing could ever be strong enough to stand between me…and my monster.
Calm and confident, he offers me a silk-gloved hand. “You look beautiful,” he says. “Come. Let me see you in the moonlight.”
Blinking, I glance toward the heavens as my white gloves meet his black ones. “What…moonlight?”
He doesn’t tear his eyes off me. “Is there no moonlight?” He draws me effortlessly out of my car. “Pity.” His face shows nothing of pity. “I suppose I’ll have to see you in the shadows.” His grasp on my hand solidifies. “Woe…is…me.”
Moments pass, stretching out between us while my heart thunders in my skull and he drinks me in.
Choking on the words, I say, “Should we head inside and make sure everything’s ready before people start arriving?”
“We still have time.”
Right. That’s good. I was worried I’d be late.
It took me a few tries to get this dress on in a way that didn’t feel like I was flirting with death.
And by that I mean I literally started putting it on, had to take it off, tried to put it on again, and had to take it off again.
Seven times. Because seven is a decent enough number, according to most gamblers, so I figured there had to be something to it.
I am exceedingly grateful that my gloves are white. At least my hands feel okay. Correct. I don’t…know.
Malcolm startles, losing the daze in his eyes.
“I almost forgot.” He reaches into his pocket.
“Here.” His palm opens, and I stare down at a small crystal star.
Ice blue. Precisely the color of my eyes.
I have never seen anything that reminds me more of them.
I have never seen anything that looks this close to my very specific favorite color.
He says, “I found this while I was looking for examples of the aesthetic Ivy wanted for his ball. It made me think of you, so I got it.”
Fingers trembling, I reach for the tiny thing. “It’s beautiful.”
He closes his hand around it. “If you hate it, you don’t need to keep it.”
“I don’t hate it.”
“No, really. I can just chuck it in the yard. Right now.”
I catch his wrist before he can launch the tiny star across the manicured front lawn of Iverson Swallow’s mansion home. Panic resonates through me as I dig my grasp into Malcolm’s veins.
He eyes me, then his expression melts into a smile. My eyes fixate on his lips as he settles the crystal in my palm. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I…” My fingers tremble around it. Ice blue. Like my dress. Holding it to my heart, I peer up at him, hopelessly. A million things swarm in my head, but I can’t catch them at all. I really like it. It’s sweet. It’s perfect. It’s me. It’s color in my bleached world. He is color in my bleached world.
I wish I weren’t so…scared…to embrace it.
“Poor thing,” he murmurs, stepping in to cage me against the side of my car. His hand lifts, skating through my hair, and my stomach churns. “Shall I kill the anticipation for you so you might have a chance at peace the rest of the night?”
A cold spike pierces my chest. “You mean… Now?”
“If you’d like.” He cups my chin, tilts my face. “A stolen kiss on a summer night. A brief touch that you can begin surviving for the rest of the evening. Then, when we return home, maybe you can survive another before we go to bed. And in the morning—”
“With morning breath?” I croak.
“After we brush our teeth, surely, you can survive a third.”
“Three is an awfully large number, don’t you think?”
“Depends on what we’re talking about.” He dips, closer. “Kisses? No. Murder attempts?” He chuckles. “Perhaps.”
I flush.
“I love you, Azalea. I will always love you.” His breath skims my mouth, and I…
Panic.
Shoving him, I flinch.
His brows rise as he holds his gaze to me.
“Wait,” I choke. “No.” Breath rakes through my burning lungs. “Sorry. I…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I can do this.”
He doesn’t move closer again. Because I ruined everything. Miles from me, he says, “You don’t have to do this, dove.”
“I do,” I blurt, tears pricking. “Please.”
His gloved hand slips against my face, and I brace while my eyes burn. It’s one moment. One small touch. Then I just survive. We’ve been doing this. For weeks now. Moment after survivable moment. Rule after broken rule.
Malcolm kisses my cheek and repeats, “You don’t have to do this tonight.”
Tears fall. “But I do,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“Because. I planned to. And if I don’t, then…what if it never happens?”
“So what if it never happens?”
“I don’t want that.” I clutch his wrist in my free hand, and turn, turn, turn the little star over in the other.
“I want to be normal and have a normal relationship and…just…not be like this forever. And it feels like if I don’t do this now, I never will.
And if I never do, then I will be like this forever. ”
He hums, and darkness settles deeply in his cruel gray eyes. Leaning near my ear, he whispers, “Shall I tell you a secret?”
“I’m not an idiot,” I bite. “I already know having a normal relationship with you when it started because I was trying to kill you is absolutely stupid. In case you didn’t know, almost everything about me is stupid.”
“That’s not true, and it also isn’t what I was going to say.” His lips skim my jaw. “I was going to say…I don’t like you because you’re normal. I like you because you’re you.”
“I want to be a better version of me, but…to get there, I need to follow the rules, and the rules say if we don’t do this now, then…” Maybe we never will.
“Then we’ll make a different rule.” His arms move around me, pull me in close.
“Come now, dove. Look at us. Look at how far you’ve already come.
There’s no race toward a finish line of what it means to grow or heal.
There’s no ending. There are just steps that we’ll take, hand-in-hand.
And wherever we end up in a month or a year—however many times we backslide or find ourselves frustrated by a seeming lack of progress—doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter because we will recover.
And we will recover because we’ll still be together.
And we’ll have movie nights without movies and touches without skin if that’s what being together means.
” He squeezes me, to the point of breaking, and whispers a coarse swear.
“I love you. I’d die for you. And I will be here for you while you learn what it means to live.
So. Tonight isn’t the night. Who cares? We’ll still fall asleep in one another’s arms. We’ll still wake up together.
I’ll still make you breakfast. And while we’re surrounded by all those things you couldn’t handle a month ago, we will create a new rule that leads you to where you want to be until the moment when you don’t need to follow rules at all. ”
Tears pour down my cheeks as I fight the lump tightening in my throat. “It’s not that easy.”
“What part of this has been, Azalea?”
I flinch. “I’m sorry.”
“Hush.” He kisses my neck, the bare skin that this dress reveals of my shoulder, my clavicle.
“What’s the point of doing easy things?” Hunched, he rests his forehead against my heart.
“I’d like to propose a new rule in lieu of the one we’re shirking tonight.
” His face lifts, and he spreads his thumbs beneath my watering eyes. “Christmas.”
“Christmas?” I echo.
“You will kiss me on Christmas.”
My heart trips on the very idea of that.
“That’s seven months away. A safe number, isn’t it?”
My shoulders fall, and tension escapes. “How did you…”
He smiles, like he knows me in a way I have never hoped to be known before. “What do you think?” His soft voice coaxes me, once again, toward an edge, a precipice, the beginning of something dangerous and deadly. “There’s really no reason at all not to agree.”
Broken, I whisper, “What if…I still can’t?”
“Then we’ll have New Years, and Valentines, and I’m pretty sure Flag Day—most romantic holiday of the year—comes around annually, so if you can’t this time, we’ll still have the next.
” Framing my damp cheeks, he kisses my forehead.
“See…that’s the cool thing about living, dove.
It’s full of opportunities. And if they’re not showing up in the way you want them to, sometimes you just have to possess the gall to make them yourself. ”
The tension within me eases. “Is that why you hired an actor to proposition my assistance in killing you? To create an opportunity?”
“Well now.” His hand meets and melds with mine as he points me toward the glittering home we’ve spent the past few months turning into a starlit world of Flag Day romance. “I am somewhat known for my gall.”
My lips tip into a shaky, fragile smile. “You are.”
“I love you.”
My heart skips a beat, and I stop us in the shadows—in the pitch. Malcolm looks back at me. I stare up at him.
Stomach swirling, I tip up on my toes, squeeze my eyes shut, and press my lips to his cheek. “I love you, too,” I whisper in his ear. “For everything you are. And everything you aren’t. Not in spite of, but because.”
Red blazes to life in his skin as he draws his hand to his face and trembles. “You’re going to do your best to make me suffer over these next seven months, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
His eyes spark—igniting a purifying fire that will never go out. “For my sake, be gentle.”
“For mine,” I hold his free hand to my heart and let the beat drown out my rampant thoughts, “I won’t.”
And, for ours, we’ll persist.
Surviving the horrors of this world…together.