“You deserved to know.”
“I did. And now I do. And I’m still here.” She smiles—soft and certain and impossibly brave. “I’m still choosing you—even though there’s something pervy about a 257-year-old man going out with a 28-year-old.”
“At least you’re not in high school, and I don’t sparkle in the daylight.”
“You’ve seenTwilight!?!”
“Just out of curiosity. I had to go. My brothers keep comparing me to Edward.”
“I could see that... You can be pretty broody at times.”
“Really?”
“Don’t worry, you brood in a really cute way,” she says as she walks away. Then stops in the bedroom doorway and turns around. “I don’t know if this is a good thing or not, but you seeingTwilightis more shocking than everything else you’ve told me.”
She disappears into the bedroom. A moment later, I hear the shower start. Then her voice, muffled through the door, having what sounds like an animated conversation with Sage.
I stand in the suite and listen to her live.
Tomorrow, we face Damien. Tomorrow, everything changes.
But tonight, she knows everything. Every dark corner of my past, every death I’ve carried, every reason she should run.
And she’s still here.
She’s still choosing me.
CHAPTER 25
POPPY
The shower is hot—maybe too hot. I wince, then lean into the pain, standing under the spray and letting the water burn while my brain tries to process the last hour.
Margaret, committed to an asylum, burned alive. Corinne, walked into a river. Anya, arranged on a bed like a gift.
And I just told him I wasn’t running. Was that a mistake? I can’t imagine leaving. What does that make me? Brave? Stupid? In love? Maybe all three.
I work shampoo into a lather, scrubbing as if I could wash away the doubt along with the sunscreen.
Surprise, it didn’t work.
I rinse and reach for the soap, and the doubt is still lingering.
Here’s the thing: I believe in Julian’s love for me with a certainty that terrifies me. It’s too real. Something I’ve always wished for, but never had.
Right now, I’m more afraid of calling Sage than anything else. The last thing I need is her trying to convince me I’m makinga mistake—which will most likely be the case since she doesn’t believe in true love or soul mates.
Steam billows around me as I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my dripping body before reaching for the plush hotel robe. The glow of my phone screen catches my eye from beneath its protective towel on the counter. Sage’s name flashes in my mind—I promised to call her tonight. If I don’t, her imagination will run wild, conjuring scenarios that, considering recent revelations about Julian’s past, might not be far off.
I prop the phone against the mirror at an angle that shows only my face. My finger hesitates over Sage’s contact photo—her laughing at some forgotten joke. I tap it.
She answers on the first ring.
“You look like you’ve been crying,” Sage says.
“It’s the steam.”
“Poppy Rose Gable, I’ve known you for twelve years. I know the difference between steam-face and cry-face. Your nose does that thing.”
