Chapter 33 #2
“At the masquerade event we attended in the mountains, when I killed that man… I had a reason for doing so. But the way you looked at me that night, as if I was a heartless, evil monster, has been weighing on me since then. I just wanted to let you know that he wasn’t as innocent as he seemed to be. ”
“What did he do?”
“Someone has been watching me recently, and he was working for them. I’m not sure why I’m being watched, though I have my suspicions, and I doubt their intentions are wholesome. When I left you alone with him, it was a test to see if he’d try to gather information about me through you, and he did.”
I attempt to keep my expression neutral, because I know exactly who is watching him.
The angels. But if he killed a man simply because he was acting as a spy for someone whose intentions he doesn’t fully know, would he do the same to them?
The last thing I want to do is put myself in the middle of some celestial war because Ambrose killed an angel after I told him their business.
I don’t believe Ambrose is as evil as they say, but I also don’t believe their intentions are entirely selfless.
“So you killed him because he was spying on you on behalf of someone else?”
“Technically, I killed him because he refused to tell me who he was working for or why. I also didn’t particularly like watching him flirt with you.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
Ambrose shrugs. A few moments later, he stands, places the book back on the shelf, and pins me with a look I can’t quite decipher.
“Well, if we’re not planning on sleeping for a while, would you care to join me in the kitchen?”
“Uh, sure.”
Taking his outstretched hand, I stand, then quickly drop it once I’m on my feet. Even if it was just a friendly offer to help me up, every touch with him feels too intimate now, and I’m not sure if it’s all just in my head or if he feels it too.
Honestly, I’m not sure if I even want to know. It might be better to pretend none of this is affecting me. It would be easier that way.
I follow Ambrose to the kitchen, resting in one of the chairs at the dining room table and watching as he brews a pot of coffee and moves about the kitchen with ease. The sky outside is still dark, but the blackness has lightened almost imperceptibly. Sunrise will be here soon.
“You doing okay?” he asks when he notices me staring at him.
I give him a genuine smile. “Yes.”
Maybe it’s just my post-adrenaline, sleep-deprived brain, or maybe it’s the heavy emotion from the poetry and our conversation, but I’m overwhelmed with a profound sense of comfort and rightness in this moment. Like I belong here in some twisted, fateful sort of way.
Ambrose returns my smile before crossing the kitchen to the record player in the living room.
He flips through the stack of records before finding the one he’s searching for, and he places it on the turntable.
Meanwhile, the coffee pot gurgles, and he returns to the kitchen to pour us both cups just as the music begins to play.
The first song starts, relaxed and slow, before the second one picks up pace with a stronger beat and heavier guitars. I tap my foot to the music and sip my coffee, reveling in the tranquility of the moment.
Fleeting looks and soft smiles are the only things that pass between us as the music plays. I’m halfway curled up in the kitchen chair, one leg folded vertically against my torso and my hands wrapped around my steaming mug. Outside, the watery gray light of dawn seeps into the sky.
Everything is calm, slow, right. The whirlwind of constant fear and anxiety that’s been plaguing my mind for years has slowed to something strangely resembling peace.
One song fades into another, a mellow beat making way for slow acoustic guitar. Ambrose flashes me an unreadable look, rises from his seat, steps around the table, and offers me his hand.
“May I have this dance?” That familiar half-smile lifts his lips, but it’s not a sarcastic expression this time; it’s an earnest, almost vulnerable one.
I lower my half-empty coffee mug to the table and take his hand, smiling as I stand. “You may.”
The hardwood floor is cold beneath my bare feet, and my heart skips a beat when Ambrose’s eyes stay locked on my face. All the intensity from earlier has shifted into something softer but no less significant.
He pulls me in with a gentle touch. One hand settles at the small of my back, and the other cradles mine. We’re only inches apart, yet it still feels like too much space between us.
We sway to the music, and Ambrose spins me once before pulling me back into him.
This time, he rests his hands on my hips, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders.
Unable to resist, I lean my head against his chest and close my eyes, losing myself in his warmth and the comfort of his touch.
His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, and something in my heart cracks open.
I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t love the feel of his arms wrapped around my waist and his heart beating against my ear, but I do.
Ambrose’s chest vibrates as he hums along to the tune about pale blue eyes, and we sway together, lost in the music.
Time itself seems to hold its breath. This isn’t like when we danced at the masquerade.
There, the moment was belied with an undercurrent of tension from both of us, along with our awareness of being watched.
Here, it’s only us, pressed together in a moment of reverie, with the sunrise cresting the horizon outside and bathing us in beams of yellow-orange light that filters through the windows.
My heart swells in my chest, and tears prick at my eyes.
I don’t quite understand why. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel like I’m bracing for anything anymore, like I’m free to simply exist without fear of pain or retribution.
Or maybe it’s the way he holds me like I mean something to him.
Like I’m loved and cherished and important.
He’s still the same man, but tonight, it’s as if his final layers are peeling away and he’s allowing me to truly see him for who he is.
At the same time, I’m nothing like the version of me that he met—well, watched—all those months ago.
I was desperate and afraid, making myself small to fit into someone else’s idea of perfect, even though I knew deep down it would never be good enough.
Now, I’m embracing the unknown and pushing myself to become someone who makes a difference, who challenges her fears rather than embracing them.
A profound sense of belonging envelops me, and I tilt my head up to face Ambrose.
“Do you believe in fate?” I ask.
He thinks before answering. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“I don’t know… sometimes I just wonder. It’s hard to believe that life is just a chaotic sequence of random decisions, so sometimes it’s nice to think that things were meant to be.”
Ambrose’s dark eyes pierce straight to my soul before he pulls me tight against his body. “It’s a romantic idea, that fate brought us together in this twisted way. But does it not mean more that we chose this in spite of all the odds against us?”
My first instinct is to argue that I didn’t choose this, but I don’t want to lose this moment we’re suspended in.
He’s partly right, though. I may not have chosen to get stuck here, but I’m choosing to spend time with him, choosing to dance with him in the early morning light, choosing to let my defenses down with every day that passes.
I can’t pretend any longer that I’m not in awe of him, that I don’t care for him, that he’s not on my mind more often than I care to admit.
But regardless of the sheer terror that comes with lowering my defenses, I can’t resist his pull any longer.