Chapter 43
I pass through the ballroom in a blur, a hundred pairs of judgmental eyes following me like a barrage of arrows.
I can’t believe my family is just . . . gone. Did they ever love me? Did they ever care?
Tears cloud my eyes, and I scrub at them as I march through the doors and into the hall. I’m weaving in and out, barely aware of my surroundings.
Suddenly, someone reaches for my hand and tugs me into a darkened alcove.
“What the—” I say, cutting off when I realize it’s Rook. He’s regarding me carefully, concern in his expression.
“What are you doing?” I ask, blinking up at him.
“I was by the door when you left,” he answers, releasing me from his hold. “That was . . .”
“Humiliating,” I finish, dropping my face in my hands. He shuffles back a step, giving me space.
“Only for your parents,” he says. “Fuck, your people are cold. You call us animals, but we’d never treat our own family like that.”
I exhale a shaky breath and lean on the wall, my head thunking against it as I blink back a round of fresh tears. “I can’t believe they just . . . dismissed me like that. I thought they loved me . . .”
My eyes squeeze closed as I picture the look on my mother’s face before I walked away. That distant pinch of worry I know so well. The relics of her specific brand of love that I’ll never know again.
“Of course you thought that,” Rook answers vehemently, as if he’s seething on my behalf. “They’re your mom and dad. They’re supposed to love you no matter what.”
I snort a derisive laugh.
“I kind of can’t believe I’m asking this,” Rook says, and the uncertainty in his voice makes me look over. He rubs the back of his head and stuffs a hand into his pocket. “Do you need a . . . hug? Or something?”
I bark out a laugh at the absurdity of Rook trying to comfort me.
What a pathetic sight I must be.
But I also find myself nodding. “I haven’t had a good hug in a while.”
He hesitates, like he regrets asking, and then suddenly, he’s in front of me, engulfing our tight corner with his scent and the distinct way he fills out his jacket so perfectly.
Slowly, he reaches out, and the air around me condenses as he gently takes me in his arms. We’re both a bit stiff and awkward at first, like we’re doing something illicit or have simply forgotten how to move inside the flesh of our own bodies.
A part of me, a big part, wants to fall against him, but I’m not sure he’d welcome that.
It’s just a hug between friends.
Sort of.
His arms tighten a little, bringing me closer.
Finally, I allow myself to relax into him. He’s warm and solid, and our planes and curves seem to line up with an intentional sort of harmony.
It’s nice, and it feels safe.
It shouldn’t feel safe to hug a Solitude, but for some reason, it does.
The longer we stand together, softening into the moment, the more I become aware of his physical presence.
He smells good. Fresh like Amery’s standard-issue soap, layered with something that speaks to the wildness of the Wastes. Wind and open skies and the stars he loves so much.
I find myself tipping forward, my nose burying in his throat, my eyes closing as I inhale a deep, forbidden breath. A pained sort of sigh escapes my mouth, and he hugs me closer. Our bodies are touching everywhere as his hand glides to my nape, and he tips my face up.
Suddenly, this doesn’t feel friendly anymore.
He licks his top lip, first one corner and then the other. A moment later, he’s reciprocating, head dipping so his nose buries into the spot behind my ear.
I exhale in soft, breathless pants as my heart rate accelerates and my temperature climbs.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You drive me to the edge.”
The words are ragged and frayed, brimming with frustration.
I don’t know if he means “to the edge,” suggesting that I annoy him, or if he means it with the same desire pounding in my blood.
The look he’s giving me tells me it’s maybe a bit of both.
Like he can’t believe what he’s doing, but he’s also powerless to stop himself.
“Rook?” What am I asking? I want to know what happens next. Why did he follow me? Why are we standing here with nothing but atoms vibrating between us?
Suddenly, my throat is dry, and I lick my lips, too. His gaze catches on the tip of my tongue, and I think he might be wondering all the same things.
I’ve only kissed a handful of boys other than Knox. Small pecks under shadows. A make-out session or two amid the blaring music and free-flowing alcohol of a Society party. Nothing that meant anything.
I haven’t been with anyone but Knox, and the fact that he’s the only real knowledge I have of the male body feels like a tragic hole in the foundations of my education.
Rook’s hazel eyes glitter in the dim light of the alcove, and I become vaguely aware of the distant sounds of the party. Maybe they’ve forgotten all about me already. Except they won’t.
What I want is to forget, even for a moment.
Maybe Rook senses it. Maybe he understands how much I need this connection.
“I don’t understand it,” he says.
“What?”
“You are not what I expected, Poet Graves. Spoiled Fiama royalty who has no idea just how good she has it. You and your smooth hair and your perfect skin and your rich-girl voice.”
“I don’t have a rich-girl voice,” I say, indignant.
“Yes, you do. And it pisses me off how fucking much I want to kiss you.”
My breath hitches as my hand fists in the lapel of his jacket, while boiling heat torches up the length of my spine.
“Then do it,” I say, trying to make it sound like a challenge. The words are barely out of my mouth when his lips slam into mine. I surge up onto my tiptoes as his hand slides to my lower back and he yanks me closer.
Our lips meet in a warm slide, and my soft gasp has him pulling back for the briefest second before he kisses me again.
It’s slow at first, unhurried, an exploration of textures and the softness of our lips.
His tongue finds me waiting, shifting the moment into something else.
I moan. This feels nothing like any kiss I’ve ever known.
He licks into my mouth as we grow more frantic.
His hands cup the sides of my face, and he tips my head back as he dives in to devour me.
We crush together, my body pinned between the wall and his strong arms and chest and legs. Warmth flutters in my stomach and behind my ribs as his hands slide over my shoulders and down my sides, where they settle on my hips.
“Fuck,” he breathes as he pulls away to catch his breath. “We shouldn’t do this.”
My hands grip his jacket again. “Why not?”
He doesn’t answer before he’s on me again, his mouth against mine, fingers digging into the soft flesh at my waist. I grip his arms, my hands curling around tensed biceps and then sliding up into the soft curls at his nape.
“Poet! Where are you?”
A voice blasts through the moment, tearing us apart. Rook steps away, his back hitting the opposite wall as he drags his hand along the corner of his mouth. Fire burns in his gaze as he stares at me. We both breathe heavily, our chests rising and falling.
“Poet?” comes the voice again as Domino appears around the corner. “I was worried about you. They’re about to start the ceremony.”
That’s when she notices Rook. Her gaze jumps between us before a knowing smile curves on her lips. I take in Rook’s mussed hair and the bright, wild look in his eyes. Only a fool couldn’t put two and two together.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she says with a smirk. “But they need you both.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything. We were just talking,” I say like a big, huge liar while I attempt to straighten myself out. “We’re coming.”
Domino places a hand on her cocked hip, clearly not buying my shit.
“Okay, but don’t dawdle. Scion Beaufort is almost ready, and she doesn’t look like a lady who waits for anyone.”
I exhale on a sharp, almost delirious laugh. “We’ll be right behind you.”
Domino gives me a careful look, ensuring that she’s read the situation correctly and that I don’t need her help.
“I’m good, I promise,” I assure her.
She nods and returns to the ballroom before I find the courage to meet Rook’s gaze.
“We should probably . . .” I point in the direction Domino went.
“Yeah. You go. I’m coming.”
There’s enough dismissal in his tone that I push myself from the wall, trying not to take it personally.
As I leave, I glance over my shoulder to find Rook with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, wearing a pained look that suggests he just made a very big mistake.