Chapter 9
chapter
nine
Mitchell
White Sands looks more like the landscape from a Star Wars movie than anything in the United States.
Miles of snowy white dunes roll out in every direction, smooth and blinding. The sky is impossibly blue, the kind of color you only get far from cities. But today, that color reminds me of Evie’s eyes. So, so blue.
She steps out of the truck and just… stops.
“Oh, wow,” she breathes.
She turns slowly, taking it all in, eyes wide, lips parted, her pink flamingo flip-flops already dusted white.
“You didn’t tell me it would look like this,” she says.
“I figured it’d be better as a surprise.”
She looks at me then, smiling like I gave her something precious. “You were right. This unbelievable. Otherworldly. ”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and for a split second, I think it might be Mike.
It’s not.
I slide it away and refocus on her, telling myself I’ll try again later.
We start toward the dunes, her steps confident for about ten seconds.
Then the sand gives way beneath her feet.
She yelps, windmilling her arms as one flip-flop sinks halfway into the dune. I’m on her instantly, hand closing around hers.
“Whoa, I got you.”
Her fingers curl into my palm like they were waiting for it.
She laughs, breathless. “This is harder than it looks.”
“That’s the sand,” I say. “Has a mind of its own.”
She tries again, lifting her foot exaggeratedly, only for it to slide back down. “I think my shoes are betraying me.”
I glance down at the flamingos. “They look good against the sand, but obviously would work better with packed sand. They’re not exactly dune-approved.”
She tilts her head, feigning seriousness. “Perhaps. But now they’re symbolic.”
“Of what?”
“My freedom,” she says. Then grins.
I huff a laugh before I can stop myself. “Is it too hot to walk on without them?”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s okay.”
I bend and retrieve her shoes, then grab her hand again. “Come on.”
I tighten my grip and lead her up the slope, taking it slow. Every step is deliberate, my knee reminding me why this isn’t my favorite terrain. Still, I don’t let go.
She doesn’t ask me to.
The sand slips around our ankles, whispering as it moves. Evie’s quiet now, focused, trusting me to guide her without making a thing of it.
We reach the crest, and the view opens up—dunes on dunes, the horizon melting into sky.
She squeezes my hand. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Neither had I, the first time,” I admit.
She looks out again, wind tugging loose strands of her hair. “It feels untouched.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Like the earth’s keeping a secret.”
She smiles at that, then takes a careful step forward—and immediately slips again.
This time she laughs harder, leaning into me. “Okay, I concede. I don’t think I could handle this adventure on my own.”
“Hey,” I say, steadying her. I turn her to face me, holding both of her biceps.
“Don’t discredit yourself. It took courage to come to America all alone.
Courage to do it, knowing you are going to blatantly disobey your parents’ wishes.
Courage to—” emotion gets clogged in my throat and I feign a cough.
“To come and marry a stranger. You wanted a life outside of your palace, and you’re doing it. Every little step counts.”
She looks up at my face, her eyes brimming with tears. She visibly swallows and then nods.
I loosen my grip, ready to give her space.
Instead, she pulls me into a hug. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “This entire experience could have been horrible, but you’ve been kind and decent. A true friend.”
Friend.
Right, because she’s going to marry my brother.
“Can we walk a little more?” she asks softly.
“Of course. We just need to get out of the park before the sun sets. The dunes move around, and if you’re not careful, you can get lost back here.”
She nods.
We move together across the dune, slow and careful. For a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.
I hate how much I love this. Showing her new things. I hate how I’ve spent time mentally trying to plan how many items we can check off her bucket list before we reach Las Vegas.
I’d be a fucking liar if I said I wouldn’t sign on to a lifetime of showing her new things.
Even if I’m not supposed to want to.