22. Kiaran #3
“I love you,” I blurted, not realizing what the fuck my mouth was about to say before I said it. Amelie’s body tensed in my arms. Fuck.
“I—” I cut myself off. I wasn’t going to take it back because I knew it was true, but surely my free-for-all mouth was about to fuck it up.
Amelie rested her chin on my chest, searching my eyes. Her golden rivers were ablaze, on the precipice of setting the world on fire.
She rolled her lips together to hide her pretty smile, which pissed me off more than the fact that she hadn’t said anything back to me, then rested her head back in the crook of my arm. Her dark hair threatening to suffocate me as it tangled up over my face.
I wasn’t sure if death by hair strangulation or word vomiting the L word would be more embarrassing.
“Thank you, baby, ” she teased.
Always bringing her light into my darkness.
Winter Solstice was one week away. I hadn’t told Amelie yet that the curse was secured during our first kiss and I was terrified I’d waited too long to beg for forgiveness when I did.
However, I knew she was hiding something from me too.
I’d been pressing for two days to learn what she spoke with Ethel about.
Amelie returned to the cottage that evening with tenacity, hunger, desire, fight, and submission.
Different from the girl who was a little unsteady in herself that I was familiar with.
Wasn’t a bad look on her in the slightest, but a little unnerving nonetheless.
Whatever answers she found sparked something in her.
Descending the stairs, I went straight for my girl who I knew would still be curled up in the nook of the library.
Lost in a book I’d never seen on these shelves before, I squeezed in beside her, wrapping her up in my arms as she leaned into my chest. Her layered cream skirt hung from the bench and her feet were tucked under her. She leaned into the embrace.
“Hi, pretty girl,” I said, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Hi,” she said, hiding her giddy tone horribly.
“Where did this book come from?” I asked, trying to flip the cover to see the title. She fought me, pressing it back against her legs.
“Ethel brought it by earlier.” Amelie painted a fake smile across her puffy lips.
“Oh? Well what is it?” I pressed harder.
“Just a lot of history about the Forest.” She closed the book and wriggled out of my arms to stand. From what I could see, the pages were filled with scribbles. It was a journal, not a book.
“And you’re being secretive about that, why?” My palms began to sweat under the strumming of my fingers on my thigh. It took everything I had not to tackle that fucking book out of her hands.
“I’m not, I just want to be careful with it. It’s not mine.” She lied through her teeth. Amelie was nothing if not the least careful person I’d ever met.
“If you say so,” I relented, studying the tiny white half circles on my nails. There was nothing interesting to learn there but it was that or cast a truth spell and deplete any trust I held between Amelie and me.
Deciding to push the anxiety to the side for now, I got to my feet and pursued the rest of my plans for the night.
“Can you put the very delicate, secret book down and come with me?” My tone had more bite than I intended.
Amelie nodded, setting the book inside one of the drawers on the desk. A drawer I was sure she’d never once used being that most of her active reads were lying wide open around the house at any given moment.
Setting that on a shelf in my mind along with her irritating behavior, I grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs to the attic. We walked awkwardly, hand in hand, as the secrets we were holding from each other weighed down the colorful bond that glowed between us.
“Kiaran, dinner will be ready soon.”
“Yeah, well Fern and I made other plans.”
She nodded and I regretted for a brief moment continuing my plan for our evening. That was until I helped her through the window of my room and onto the roof that faced the pond and saw Amelie’s beautiful face light up and her perfect lips curl into a watery smile.
Fern helped me with the food but I set out the warm blankets strewn about, the candles strategically placed at each corner and two canvases with at least fifty different colors of paint in front of them and a few brushes.
“What is all this?” she asked with awe in her voice .
“Your dad passed two years ago next week, right?” Praying I was right.
“Yeah,” she replied in a ragged breath.
A pool of tears filled her eyes and through the blur, the golden rivers were glowing.
“So I thought we could paint something together. To honor him.” Suddenly feeling bashful at the intimate gesture, I hoped I hadn’t brought up bad memories.
I knew she loved her father by the way she spoke of him, but I’d only ever lost my grandmother so I wasn’t sure how the human world celebrated life after death.
Witches memorialized their lost loved ones.
Usually placing something on their body when they died to remember the living in their afterlife.
Turning her gaze back to the supplies in front of us she trembled as she spoke, “This is…” She shook her head slowly, her eyes closed and fat tears spilled at the tension.
“I’m sorry, I–”
“No.” She locked our fingers together and leaned into me. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”
I let out a sigh of relief and felt a pang of despair split my heart open. With only a few days left together before the world turned upside down, I longed so desperately for more time.
For the ability to give her one million more kind gestures.