Chapter 15
Aurelia
Present
The black-and-white glow of the screen dances across my face. His Girl Friday plays quietly, Rosalind Russell walking fast, talking faster, commanding attention without raising her voice. I love her. I love all of them.
“She talks too much,” a voice cuts in from behind me.
I don’t even turn. “You grunt too much.”
Elijah steps into the light. Dressed in black, obviously.
He looks like someone who’s never had a sweet thought in his life.
We haven’t really spoken since I basically coerced him into kissing me, and I can’t tell if he’s mad at me or not.
I wanted to apologize but I also wanted to tell him to get off his high horse and fuck me because I know he wants to.
Unless.
Fuck have I been reading him wrong?
I mean we almost kissed before, but then he kissed Gen and broke my heart into a million pieces. I assumed it was because of Enzo, but I don’t know, maybe it was just because I meant nothing to him.
Still, mean nothing to him.
“I’m not watching in black and white again,” he says, settling beside me.
I toss him an extra blanket from the couch to my left. “You’ll survive.”
He doesn’t take it, so I drape it over his lap myself. He scowls, but he doesn’t move it. “She’s brilliant,” I continue, gesturing toward the screen.
“She’s obnoxious.”
“She’s a woman speaking in a man’s world. That’s what you’re picking up on.”
He laughs, “No, she’s pretending she’s not in love with him. That’s what I’m picking up on.”
I glance over at him. He’s watching the screen, and I try to submerge the urge I feel to talk about the kiss he made clear he didn’t want to talk about again.
But, I feel like an insecure teenager right now and with Enzo’s training on top of that, I can’t help the overwhelming strain in my heart.
I think tears begin to pool in my eyes because I don’t even realize when Elijah turns to me, searching them.
“Are you okay?” He whispers.
I force a fake close-mouthed smile. “Yeah, just tired.”
He keeps his eyes on me but I turn, focusing my eyes on the screen in front of me.
“I know mental fortification is tough for you.”
I stay quiet for a moment before letting out the soft sound. “Do you think it’s worth it?”
“What?”
“Everything you all do to me.” I say, turning back to him now.
He stays quiet. Probably since we haven’t talked about this in six years, so I break the silence for him. “Do you think the Orlovs would really come for me just because of a stupid tradition to sacrifice a baby girl if it’s not a boy?”
“Yes,” he says quietly.
I look at him now, our eyes locking. But he breaks the tension. “You know that’s not the only reason they’d want you.”
“It’s minuscule information,” I retort, dropping my head.
“But you told Enzo.”
I huff and tilt my chin up, knowing he’s right. Even though it’s nothing to me, the Orlovs have two reasons to want me dead.
“Why don’t you like these movies?” I ask, changing the focus of this conversation that’s only reminding me that the Orlov family will try to kill me.
He shrugs. “They’re fantasy. Nobody talks like that. Nobody loves like that.”
I tuck my knees to my chest. Disappointed in his answer. “Maybe not now. But they used to.”
He doesn’t reply. He’s quiet for so long I almost think he’s falling asleep. Until— “Have you ever been in love?” he asks.
I look at him, stunned. His voice is unfamiliar, and I lie. “No.”
“Good.”
And we sit in silence, watching people in love pretend they aren’t.
* * *
There’s something deeply stupid about love and attachment.
It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself that, reminding myself that love is weakness, that Dante was right, that Enzo was right. It makes me do ridiculous things.
I’m wearing the same oversized T-shirt I’ve had since I was twelve—the one I only pull on when I’m sad—and eating chocolate chips straight from the bag.
That’s where I’m at right now. Emotionally drained.
I don’t know how much longer I can hold out without having a reason to live. But just as I shove another handful of chocolate into my mouth, I hear a knock on my bedroom door.
The sound stops me in place. For a heartbeat, I think I imagined it—that my hunger for attention summoned him, a desperate witch’s spell. But then it comes again, soft and restrained.
I toss the bag aside, wipe my hands on my shirt, then rush to the mirror. I smooth my hair and check my face. I don’t know what I’m expecting to check, but I want to look presentable.
When I open the door, Elijah’s standing there holding a DVD.
“You said you like romantic movies,” he says, awkward but steady. “I brought one.”
I take the case from his hand and laugh when I see the cover: The Matrix.
“You’re such a boy,” I tease.
He steps past me without waiting to be invited, brushing close enough that I feel the air shift.
“It has colour,” he says, setting it on the player. “And music. And explosions. All the things those women in hats are missing.”
“You have no soul.” I grin, sinking into the bed.
His mouth twitches—not quite a smile, not quite serious.
We settle on the mattress like we’ve done it a thousand times, though in reality it’s rare. Too risky. Too intimate. He takes the blanket this time, tugging it around his shoulders. I curl up on the other side, knees hugged to my chest, pretending my heart isn’t tripping over itself.
Halfway through the movie, I look over, and that’s when I realize he’s not watching the screen.
He’s watching me.
“What?” I whisper, barely above the hum of the TV.
His hand shifts. Just slightly. His fingers brush mine, the lightest touch, testing the idea of what it would mean to hold them.
“Are you still mad at me for what happened with them?” His gaze doesn’t waver.
For a second, I feel smaller, younger. The memory of my first kiss and Gen swarm into my mind.
“I try not to think about it,” I reply. And it’s the truth, I can’t think about it because I was in love with Elijah, and he wanted to take my happiness away from me.
Gen could have been a best friend, and the boy from the shadows was probably the only boy in the world who could have taken me out of this trance I can’t seem to shake.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and I actually think it’s the first time he’s ever apologized.
“You didn’t know.” I can’t say I forgive him, but I understand him.
Just then, he takes my hand in his, and I feel young again, the girl who wore dresses in the courtyard and dared him to chase me, the girl who thought forever was a promise people kept.
For a second, he’s the boy I remember too. Not the soldier. Not the shadow. Just Elijah.
And that’s the worst part about love.
It makes you believe in ghosts.