29. Evangeline #2
She wore a dress underneath, but it could have been nothing for the tortured way he looked at her. She didn’t want to breathe. Didn’t want to move, for fear that his hands would stop there, that he would leave her in the damp dress, that he wouldn’t reach for the ties at her breasts.
He took a deep, ragged breath and then his hands were on her waist, gently guiding her onto the bed, pressing until she was lying on top of the quilt. She could feel the flower petals clinging to her damp skin as Jacks hovered over her, his knees on either side of her legs.
His eyes lowered.
Her stomach dipped as he reached for the straps of her gown and slowly slid them over her shoulders.
She felt even more light-headed as his hand moved to the velvet bodice of her gown.
He carefully undid the hidden clasps that held it together, and eased it down over her hips, leaving her in nothing but a silky chemise.
It should have made it easier to breathe, but instead she forgot how.
What was breathing? What were words? The only thing Evangeline knew was Jacks’s hands were on her, hot and curious as they slid up her hips to her waist. She might have sighed when they grazed her breasts.
His hands were so hot, she could feel them through her slip.
Then she could feel them on her skin as he slid one hand under her chemise and rested it on her heart.
The room spun faster, and this time it had nothing to do with golden dust.
The only magic in the room was that of touch and heartbeats and Jacks. And for a moment it was perfect. He felt like hers and she felt as if she was his.
Evangeline didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to speak for fear of breaking whatever enchantment was on them now. But she also wanted to touch him, she wanted to be closer. If this was all the time she was going to have with him, if in the morning he said goodbye again, she wanted more.
She reached up for his shoulders. “My turn again.”
She pressed her hands against him, guiding him to lie down, to let her be the one to touch him as she started with his doublet, which he still hadn’t taken off.
She slid her hand under the damp fabric, ready to take it off of him. And that’s when she felt it. Her fingers brushed against a slip of paper.
Jacks murmured something that sounded like don’t.
Or maybe she only heard the word in her head.
His eyes were shut, dusted in a perfect layer of gold. And he was suddenly still, save for the rise and fall of his chest.
He’d finally fallen under the sleeping spell of the gold dust.
Her hand was still inside his doublet touching the edge of the paper. Was this why he’d stopped her before?
She felt a little guilty as she tugged the edge of the page, but not nearly enough to stop her from pulling it out of the doublet.
It was miraculously dry, although it looked rather worn, like something he’d folded and unfolded in order to read over and over.
And immediately she recognized the faded handwriting.
It was hers.
In case you forget what the Prince of Hearts has done, and you’re tempted to trust him again.
She quickly reread the words, hoping she might have a memory of writing them. But there was nothing. She opened the note, careful not to tear it, as the paper was so worn and thin.
It must have been important if it was something Jacks carried with him and reread again and again.
The page was covered in more of her handwriting—but it wasn’t a letter to Jacks, it was a letter to her. A note she’d written to herself.
Why would Jacks be carrying this around?
Like the outside of the note, the writing was so faded, she almost couldn’t make it all out.
Dear Evangeline,
Eventually you will see him again, and when you do, do not be fooled by him. Do not be tricked by his charming dimples, his unearthly blue eyes, or the way your stomach might tumble when he calls you Little Fox—it’s not a term of endearment, it’s another form of manipulation.
Jacks’s heart might beat, but it does not feel. If you are tempted to trust him again, remember all that he’s done.
Remember that he was the one to poison Apollo so that he could frame you for murder in order to make a long-lost prophecy come true—one that would turn you into a key capable of opening the Valory Arch.
That is all that he wants, to open the Valory Arch.
He will probably be kind to you at some point in the future, to try and influence you into unlocking the arch. Do not do it.
Remember what he told you that day in the carriage—that he is a Fate and you are nothing but a tool to him. Do not let yourself forget what Jacks is or feel sympathy for him again.
If you need someone to trust, trust Apollo when he wakes. Because he will awake. You will find a way to cure him, and when you do, trust that the two of you will find your happily ever after and that Jacks will get what he deserves.
Good luck,
Evangeline
It might have been the magic of the letter, of past Evangeline telling herself to remember over and over, as if she’d known that someday she’d forget.
Or it might have been another type of magic that arose inside Evangeline as she wondered why Jacks would have carried around this letter.
It wasn’t a letter of love. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
And yet he’d read it again and again. He’d carried it with him, close to his heart.
Her words—or rather, the words of the girl she’d been.
And she wanted to be that girl again. She wanted to remember!
And at long last … she did.
She remembered.