Page 81 of The Isles of the Gods
“Of course not,” I say automatically. “You’re far too spoiled. I’ll do it.”
“I—”
“I am going to wash my face,” Keegan announces, folding the newspaper and taking it with him as he practically vanishes through the door into our little washroom. There’s a strong but unspoken note ofsort yourselves out before I come backin his tone.
“Selly,” says Leander, trying for reasonable, and keeping his voice down in the faint hope of some privacy, though the washroom door is thin. “Let’s just go to bed. I’ll keep my hands to myself. You told me you want me to.”
I huff a breath, because I told him Ididn’twant him to, but I’m not going to say it out loud. Instead I just nod. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“I’m not sleeping in this dress. Turn around while I get changed.”
He pivots obediently on his heel, and a part of me is somehow disappointed he didn’t protest.Can’t have it both ways, girl.
I wriggle carefully out of my dress and my new shoes, folding them over the back of a chair. I check again for the little paper boat and arrange it so it won’t be crushed or crumpled.
Leander’s dutifully staring at the wall, but I know he’s as aware as I am of every little noise I make—every whisper of fabric, every shift of my balance from one foot to the other.
I pick up the pair of salt-encrusted trousers I wore off theLizabettaand turn them over in my hands. I can feel the weight of the glass stones in the pocket, a reminder of something I refuse to think about just now. I’ve done enough, faced enough, tonight. I can’t sleep in these anyway, they’re too stiff.
So instead I pull on my crumpled cream shirt and button it up, then slip in under the covers. I’ve never hidden my body before, but I’ve never had someone around me so interested in looking at it, either.
“You can turn around now.”
Leander turns back and eases down to sit on the edge of the bed, bending to unlace his boots. He doesn’t speak, and I can’t think of anything to say, and it’s not until he straightens up again that he looks back over his shoulder. “Over the covers or under?”
I soften. “Under,” I murmur, confident I’m blushing again. The crown of braids Hallie put my hair into is still there, so I get busy unpicking it, and that gives me something to do as he climbs in beside me and gets settled.
And then we lie there, both gazing up at the water-stained ceiling, listening to each other breathe, and noticing how incredibly close we are. At least that’s what I’m doing.
“Keegan’s really taking his time,” he observes after a couple of minutes.
I glance across, and his wry smile is waiting for me, and a little of the tension that’s been building in my chest comes undone. It’s just Leander. “Hard to blame him.”
We lapse into silence, but I’m still so completely aware of how close he is, of all the tiny movements he makes and the way they tug the sheets against my body. It would take just thesmallest shift to turn toward him, and he’d pick up that cue in an instant. I’d be in his arms a breath later. But I stay where I am, and he does too.
I thought I’d lie awake all night, knowing he was there, but tiredness begins to creep through me, as warm as the blanket we’re curled up beneath, and it doesn’t leave room for much else—not for the anger that heated my blood as I strode across the club toward him, not for the pain as I told him he couldn’t kiss me, mustn’t kiss me. It doesn’t numb the knowledge that he’ll be gone tomorrow, though, and I don’t want this to be the way we spend our last time together, in silence, with everything unspoken. So without thinking about what I’ll say, I speak—and a question shows up. A question to which I suddenly think I know the answer.
“Leander?”
“Mmm?”
“The day we met, at the docks. What were you doing, lurking behind a pile of crates?”
He’s quiet for a little. “Escaping,” he says eventually.
“Like you were tonight.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“I suppose so,” he agrees. “Sometimes…it’s a lot, is all.”
“What is?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” he murmurs. “There are people worse off than me, I understand that. But having every eye in the room on you, every moment of your life…it’s a cage. I have all the privileges of being a part of my family, but all the expectations as well. There’s very little freedom, and as the third child I have very little chance to do anything real with my life.”
I huff a soft, involuntary laugh. “Well, I bet you’re sorry you wished for something to do.”
“If only I’d known earlier I could make wishes come true,” he replies, and though he’s reaching for a joke, there’s something wistful in his voice.
