Maya
Soren.
He’s here, his rugged, shadowed face only inches above mine.
It’s eleven o’clock at night. The only light comes from the radio on the dash of his truck. It’s warm, but the air feels hot with tension.
Finally.
He’s going to kiss me.
My lips hum with anticipation.
“You’re not as bad as you try to be,” I whisper, anything to get him to close the gap between us—the gap that has separated us for far too long. He thinks he’s not good enough for me, but all I want is him.This.
His eyebrows furrow, and then he pulls away.
No. This is my dream. He’s supposed to stay this time.
“Hi!”Arabella’s head pops into my vision, and I scream, realizing much too late two very important things.
One, this is not a dream; Soren is really here.
Two, which relates to the first, he’s trying to steal from me. Or the Hartwells. Same thing.
“Arabella!” I grab her arm and pull her protectively to my side. “Stay away from that man.”
“Oh, do you have a crush on him?” she whispers, but because she’s a child and fond of attention, her voice carries like a yell.
“No!” Why does this child hate me?
“That’s what Jenny said about Dean, but then she didn’t like it when I held his hand during recess.” Bella lifts a shoulder. “Snooze, you lose.”
Poor Jenny.
Soren watches with amusement from the foot of the couch.
My brain is still trying to process everything, which feels especially hard, but I don’t have time to discuss the etiquette of elementary school crushes.
“You need to leave.” I attempt to sit up, but my vision swims, and then Soren is above me, pushing my shoulders toward the couch with a confusing gentleness.
“You have a concussion. You need to lie down for a while.”
And let him walk off with a painting he needs to “save the orphans”? Not happening, even if Iwastempted to believe his sob story for a moment.
“I don’t have a concussion.” Once again trying, but to no avail, to sit up straight. Why does the room insist on spinning?
He delicately adjusts my head on the pillow with a tenderness that makes me ache.
“The chair fell; your head hit the floor.” Is he telling me what happened or trying to convince me of it?
I wasn’t sitting on a chair. Why is he acting so nice, and what is he talking abo… Wait. “You tied me up!”
He left that part out.
He has the decency to appear chagrined. He casts a glance at Arabella and backs away from me, finding a seat across the room. “It was a game.”
“It’s okay, Penny. I won’t tell Mom you invite friends over to play at night.” Arabella giggles, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. To be fair, it’s always there. Everything this child does is mischievous. There’s always another motive, which is how I know I’m going to pay dearly for this. Seems to be the story of my life, paying the price for other’s crimes. First my roommate, now Soren.
