Chapter 9
9
Victoria
It happens in passing. The way most dangerous things do.
A hallway. A breath. A brush of fingers.
One second, I’m walking through the east wing with a book in one hand and an iced tea in the other, pretending I’m not already bored enough to consider flinging myself out a window, and the next, he’s there.
Moving through the corridor as if he belongs, even though we both know he doesn’t. Toolbox in hand, smelling faintly of cedar, sweat, and something else. Something warm and masculine. It should be criminal how good he always smells.
We pass each other like strangers. Except we’re not. Not anymore.
Our hands touch. Just barely.
His fingers graze the back of mine like a secret being slipped under a door. Like a signature he shouldn’t be leaving on me at all.
My breath stutters, and my heart races at a clip that can’t be healthy.
It’s not thumping in my chest because I’m surprised, but because I’m not. Because some traitorous part of me has been waiting for something to happen. Anything. Even this. It’s not a lot, but at this moment, when I’m so desperate to be with him, this is enough.
I look up. He’s already looking at me.
Eyes dark.
Intent. Like he’s reading the thoughts I pretend I don’t have.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to.
His lips move in silent words. “Meet me later p>
The iced tea nearly slips from my hand.
I nod, but barely. But he sees it. He sees everything.
He keeps walking. And so do I. Even though my pulse stays with him.
Hours later, I can’t stop thinking about him. I wish he were here with me right now.
He’s not, of course, and I swear because of that, the house feels heavier.
There are too many voices. Too much pretending.
My father talks about business like it’s a war strategy, and people are pawns he can afford to sacrifice. My mother smiles through casualties, as if she’s practicing for the next charity gala.
I eat half a peach. Taste nothing.
“I have a headache.” I touch my temple. No one acknowledges me. Perfect.
If no one is going to acknowledge me, then I don’t even need to be here. They won’t even notice if I leave.
So that’s what I do. While my mother drones on about something, I slip out of my seat and head toward the back door barefoot, heels dangling from my fingers, heart racing ahead of me like it knows exactly where I’m going.
It doesn’t take long to be far enough away from the house that the lights are no longer visible.
The garden path is slick with moonlight, silvering every leaf and making the hydrangeas glow. I don’t go to the boathouse this time. He isn’t there.
But I know where he is.
The beach on the far-right side of the estate isn’t really a beach. It’s not where my family or I would ever go swimming. No, this isn’t the glamorous kind of beach with striped umbrellas and cocktails garnished with fruit. That’s on the left side of the property where the beach forms a cove. This part is something altogether different.
It’s raw. The sand is coarse and full of broken shells that scratch your feet if you’re not careful.
It’s where I often see Lorenzo going when he thinks no one is watching. Which makes sense. This place has rough edges. All beauty you have to bleed for.
As I turn the corner, I spot him near the waterline.
Worn jeans. Shirt rolled at the sleeves; forearms inked with the moonlight.
His hands are shoved in his pockets as he stares at the ocean.
“You always this dramatic?” I call out, voice threading through the wind.
He doesn’t turn. Not right away. Just tilts his head. “Only when I know you’ll show up to witness it p>
Heat blooms under my ribs. I close the distance slowly, letting the wind whip my hair behind me, the hem of my dress brushing against salt-damp sand.
When I stop beside him, he finally looks at me.
His gaze sweeps over me. Slow and unhurried. It’s like he’s trying to memorize me.
“Took you long enough.” His smirk tugging on one side like he’s in on a joke I’m not privy to.
“I had to pretend to care about dessert,” I drawl, lifting my abandoned heels in a lazy gesture.
His brow arches. “Did you succeed p>
“Barely,” I confess with a shrug. “I almost believed myself p>
His smirk widens, but not for long.
The silence between us settles again. It’s heavy and charged. It’s full of things that vibrate under the skin. It’s never empty with him. Never simple.
We start walking along the shore. Not touching. But not apart either. Close enough that the space between us feels like temptation. A forbidden fruit. One I want to taste.
Too bad it might be catastrophic…
But something tells me it would be so in the best possible way.
The waves crash against the shore as we walk. He stays quiet. While I try unsuccessfully to keep the wind from tangling my hair. I probably look like a mess. Mother would be horrified. I’m always a disappointment. My stomach bottoms out at the thought, shoulders tensing.
“Do you ever feel like you’re… in a cage?” I ask, toes sinking into cold sand.
His brow lifts as he glances sidelong at me. “That sounds like a metaphor. Is this because I call you Little Bird p>
“No.” I let my fingers trail through the salty air. “I know I have everything. I know I’m lucky. I know people would kill for this life. But sometimes I wake up, and it feels like the walls are closing in. Like I’m this perfectly bred little creature on a silk perch, and if I sing too loudly, someone will cover the cage and tell me to shut up p>
He’s silent. Long enough that I think maybe I scared him off.
“What happens if you fly?” he asks, jaw flexing.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I think the cage follows p>
No laugh. No teasing. Just a quiet storm building in his eyes.
He keeps walking beside me, fists now buried in his pockets like he’s holding back the urge to reach for something he shouldn’t want.
“You’re not soft.” His voice is low and rough, like gravel under tires.
“Who said I was?” I counter, chin lifting.
“Everyone who sees your name before they see you p>
I stop breathing for a second because he’s right. Yet no one has ever said it out loud. Not like that. Not with that kind of knowing.
We drift toward the rocks. Jagged silhouettes jutting toward the sky.
The waves crash hard enough to send mist onto our skin.
It’s almost cinematic. Too perfect. Too doomed.
He turns to me, and I turn to him.
The air shifts. Tightens. Draws us close, like magnets.
He looks at me like I’m something he’s not supposed to want. Something forbidden. I like it more than I should.
I look back like I don’t care about rules, like I don’t care about anything but this.
Then his hand brushes mine, and there is a whisper of heat.
I don’t move.
“Do you ever stop thinking?” he asks, voice dropping to something that curls low in my stomach.
“No,” I whisper, my breath catching in my chest.
“Do you want to?” He steps just close enough that I feel his warmth.
I nod, but it comes off shaky.
I’m already undone.
He leans in.
Slow. Careful.
He’s giving me time to run.
I won’t.
I don’t.
Instead, I lean in too. Heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he hears it.
Our lips hover. Close enough that we are a single breath away…
“Victoria p>
My mother’s shrill voice slices through the night like a crack.
We stop, but we don’t jerk apart. Instead, we both move slowly, neither of us happy that we have to.
I want to cry out.
Curse the fates and my mother.
It physically hurts to create distance.
He steps back a single pace. I exhale; the moment now lost.
“Another time.” His eyes linger.
“Maybe,” I whisper, even though it’s a lie. We both know it. It’s not maybe at all.
It’s already happening…
The cage. The door.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid to fly.