And after the moon has long since risen and everyone has settled in for the night, I sneak back downstairs and sit at the bottom of the main staircase.
I know that if Atticus or my father spots me, I’ll get in trouble—there is always the chance that I'll fall asleep out here and something terrible will happen. But Ihaveto know.
I thought I’d manage going upstairs and falling into a fitful sleep, but I just couldn’t. So instead, here I sit in my purple pajama set and my black, sheer robe. My slippers tap anxiously against the wooden floorboards underneath my feet, and I fiddle with one of the strings wrapped securely around my waist.
As the large clock tower in the back of the foyer rings, announcing 2 a.m., I sigh, standing to head back to the west tower. It is clear that Julian will not be returning home.
I make it halfway up the first set of stairs before the front door creaks open, and I look over my shoulder as a dark figure slips inside.
He wobbles slightly, leaning against the large door to hold himself up. A small huff of air leaves him, almost as if he’s laughing.
“Julian?” I question in a soft, quiet voice. It is so eerily silent around us that I can hear every breath he takes.
Julian’s head snaps up, his brown eyes connecting with mine. Then, he grins.
“Oh no,” he says, a little too loudly. “I’ve been caught by the angel.”
“Shh,” I shush him, descending the stairs again to approach where he stands. He watches me with lazy, satiated eyes. “You’ll wake the whole castle at this rate.”
He laughs, but to his credit, he does it quietly. “Sorry, sorry. What are you doing by the front door, Atlas?”
Atlas.Oh, god. My name without the formality, leavinghislips, sounds like sex. I swear I could fall to my knees right here.
Suddenly, I’m all too aware of how hot my skin is and how desperately I want to be touched. I take a step back.
“Shouldn’tIbe the one stepping away from you, you temptress?” he asks me, hooded eyes narrowing slightly. He’s still sporting that seductive, lazy grin.
“And why’s that?” I ask. I know it’s cruel to myself to want the answer, considering I’m very sure what the response will be, but I want to hear it anyway.
I guess in some ways, I’m a masochist.
“Because,” he says with a huff, “I am constantly fighting my desire to be close to you, and you don’t even have to try at making it harder for me.”
When Julian is intoxicated, his words are free. He has no regard for professionalism or consequence, and I’m secretly happy for that.
“I’m sorry,” I lie. “I can try to be less tempting.”
Julian laughs once again. “You can try all you want, Atlas, but you will fail. It’s not in your nature to be less inviting.”
Something hot is swirling inside of me, and I pray with everything in me that he’s too drunk to notice that I’m half-erect beneath my robe.
“So, you’ll continue to avoid me then? To fight your desire?”
Julian’s brow furrows, his smile tilting downward until it settles into a deep frown.
“I…” he pauses, studying my face. Then, he takes one step toward me. He’s so close now that if I were to reach out, my fingers would graze his chest.
He’s sizing me up, the way one does when sorting out how to take down an opponent, or in which way they’ll devour their meal.
My breathing has grown laborious, and my hands are clammy and shaking at my sides. I want him to reach out; I want him to close these last few feet between us.
I am so terrified that he will.
He is drunk, and I am not in my right mind. This is a devastating mixture that can only lead to a catastrophe.
“Why are you down here at dark?” he suddenly asks. “Are you allowed to be?”
My eyes observe him as he looks around us, as if someone else is here.Somethingelse might just be. I whisper, “No, I’m not.”
