My brother raises a brow before narrowing his hazel eyes, leaning forward slightly from where he sits.
“Why are you so calm?” he asks. “You’re normally more depressed when we talk about this.”
My face flushes, our eyes connecting through the mirror. I feel as if he’s ripping me open, reading me like a children’s book. I want to tell him to leave but fear it’ll make me appear more suspicious.
“Atticus,” I begin, but can’t find the right words.
“When was the last time you prayed?” he continues, and I turn away from his gaze.
I refuse to outright lie to his face, but as I consider my answer, I realize I haven’t directly prayed for forgiveness since Julian and I started our adventure. I just… didn’t feel that desperate need like I normally do.
I can’t very well say all of that, so instead, I shrug once more and head for my bathroom to fix my hair.
“You worry too much, Atticus. I have it handled,” I call.
I hear no response, and by the time I’m done fidgeting with my curls and head back into my room, I see my brother staring at me with a new kind of sadness. One I’ve never seen before.
As if he’s just caught me lying to him. As if he feels betrayed, like he can see I’m keeping secrets. And maybe he can—Atticus has always been very in tune with me.
“Darling,” he starts, moving to stand in front of me. “You know I love you, right? That I would die for you.”
I nod, my gaze falling to stare at his loafers. I can’t look at him when he watches me like this, like I’m hurting him.
“I know,” I agree.
“And you also know that I would never judge you or be mad at you? That no one will ever love you as deeply and as strongly as I do?” His voice wavers slightly, as if this fact overwhelms him.
Atticus has always been doting on both Abigail and me. But now, it appears that that love is crushing him. The weight of it is suffocating my brother one moment at a time. I feel awful.
“You don’t need to die for me,” I tell him. “I’m a grown-up who can figure life out on my own.”
His warm palm rests on the side of my face, but I shove him away. I can’t handle the physical contact, not when I’m this hot.
He winces. “Sorry. I just… I don’t care if you’re grown. You’re still my baby.”
“Atticus.” I crack a smile. “You sound like Mother.”
Atticus does not return my humor, nor does he retreat. Instead, he sighs heavily as he looks around the room.
“Just promise to come to me if things get bad. Okay?”
“I promise,” I assure him.
And with that, Atticus leaves me be.
As I step off the steep staircase that leads into the altar room, I spot Julian standing by the altar, holding theBlack Book. He has it flipped open to a specific page about a third of the way through, his phone in his other hand as he translates.
Dark hair falls onto his forehead, his brown eyes tracing over the lines of the page. He’s wearing his pajamas again, his arms thick in the plain grey t-shirt. Julian, as always, looks so delicious that I can’t help but recall the way he felt in my mouth,insideof me, or whispering in my ear.
Will I ever be able to look at him again and not see or feel it?
Will he look atmeand see the longing, the affection I wrongfully hold?
As if sensing the question, Julian peers over the pages, his eyes connecting with mine. Almost immediately, his pupils dilate, and his back straightens as he takes me in.
The slow drag of his gaze over my body has me shivering, fiddling with my fingers to keep from reaching out.
I want him so badly. Especially now, with this building heat torching my insides. There is an itch buried so deeply inside of myself that I cannot reach it.
