Page 141 of The Lies We Conjure
I’ve scared him—he thinks I’m about to scamper away. Instead, I’m literally stuck on what Wren said days ago about how these people trade cleverness like currency and instead of only worrying about what would happen if things took a turn, I should’ve considered what would happen if the best possibilities were waiting for us.
Possibilities such as this boy, standing here, looking at me—the real me—like this.
I press my hands to my face and squint at him through the slits between my fingers. “That I can’t greet you with some sort of cute and clever callback to our first meeting because the whole thing was absolutely atrocious.”
Auden jogs down the rest of the steps until he stands right in front of me, sturdy and solid and smelling of sandalwood and smoke. Like he’d been hiding the summer away in the reading room with a candle and books, not doing whatever has him so suntanned.
“To be fair, I would’ve laughed if you’d told me we’d gotten off on the wrong foot and reintroduced yourself as Ruby”—God, he’s right, that totally would’ve been the sort of thing I would’ve read in a book—“but considering how it all went after that, let’s not touch anything from that night with a ten-foot pole.”
He peels my hands off my face, one by one, and holds them tight between us, peering down at me with the beginnings of a new, wry grin tucked into the corners of his full bottom lip. It’s so beautiful, my first instinct is to look down at his hands holding mine to confirm that this is real. That he’s actually touching me, that his grin and his words, and everything else are for me.
“Ruby, I don’t need you to be full of pithy callbacks to the worst three days of my life, and probably yours.” It might be purposeful, or it might be pure coincidence, but his thumb rubs a loop over the curve of the index and middle fingers he’d healed that terrible night. “I’m just glad you’re here.”
It’s not what he said to me when he thought I was Lavinia. But it’s close enough to flash my memory to what happened after—to our kiss.
Swallowing, I raise my eyes to look at Auden, my heart picking up a steady rhythm sure to flush more than just my cheeks. He’s so beautiful. He’s holding my hands. All of this is real.
“I am too,” I say, and I realize I mean it. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, to be honest.”
He arches a brow. “You think we’d just let you walk away?”
My pounding heart goes silent and drops like a stone into my gut. Wren is inside, with Evander—where is she?Shit.I let this boy’ssuit and smile lull me into a safety net that was actually a trapper’s snare—
“Oh no, not—I didn’t mean that to sound ominous.” Auden stiffens, horrified. “Jesus. No. Ruby, I’m sorry.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and because it’s absolutely perfect, it falls back into place over a surprisingly harried expression that looks all wrong composed of his patrician features. Auden collects both my hands again, this time with the fervor of someone hoping to be both heard and understood.
“I just meant—after what we went through together, of course I’d want to see you again.” He squeezes both my hands, and dips down a couple of inches to plant himself at my eye level. “We all do.”
I blink. My heart slowly rises. I believe him. I believe them. I swallow again, aiming to center myself. To stave off the parts of me that are terrified of the good I purposefully tried not to expect.
“Is everyone—did they come back?”
His face lights up anew like the western horizon in that selfsame moment. “Let me show you.”
Then, just as he did that night, Auden offers his elbow. Like the gentleman he is. He was raised to be this way, and still is and always will be, despite no longer being under strict instructions from his grandmother.
This time, I don’t hesitate, but instead of taking his elbow like the lady I pretended to be, I slip my hand into his and tug it to hang between us. Stepping into the rhythm we held before Wren and I left the grounds six weeks ago.
Inside, the chandelier glows merrily in the foyer, Shadrack’s beautiful wilderness in watercolor striking against the hard-as-nails shine of the marble floor and walnut staircase. Auden keeps us on the first floor, winding us down the hall, through the tearoom, and, rather than out onto the garden, we turn a hard corner, and there’s a door to the courtyard, open wide to the falling night.
Magical fairy lights circle the space, a dinner table newly set in the exact center, round, and fully surrounded by faces I know well now, no cheat sheet needed.
The Cerises stand tall and together, their tattoos visible, opalescent black as they ladder their arms. Hex’s sleeves rolled up, and Ada in a sleeveless dress as red as the blood they both wield.
Next to them is Winter, striking in a cerulean blue the same shade as her eyes, as warm as tropical waters.
At her shoulder is Infinity, their hair now a raven black, as shiny as polished onyx, smoothed into slick, short waves.
The Blackgates are not here. Not the sisters. Not their mother.
I set eyes on Wren, who’s clearly just finished a round of hugs, one hand smoothing down the fall of Winter’s mane as she latches back onto Evander’s side.
Auden and I arrive at the table, and he surprises me by placing me beside Wren, and then stepping away. Evander does too, until the pair of them are bracketing Winter—and everyone is facing us.
Evander folds his hands in front of his body, massive shoulders rolling forward. “Before we start this reunion, we have family business to touch upon.”
Family business. As in the three of them, or…?
