I wonder if the times in which he gets to make a sassy comeback to his boyfriend are limited, and when the moment arrives, it pleases him. It sure looks like it.
Atticus stays calm and collected as he turns his attention to Cameron and says, “I’d watch yourself, sweetheart. Unless you want to dress yourself tomorrow.”
I’m sorry, but what? HedressesCameron? Or does Atticus pick out what he wears? God, I will never understand these two.
Cameron blushes, dropping his gaze back to the cards before him. “I’m good.”
“Say, Landon, why don’t you help Julian bring up the snacks?” Atlas suddenly suggests, and my attention snaps to him.
“What? You want me to go down there? Alone?” I sound startled, if not a bit afraid.
And listen, I’m not afraid of the dark or anything. But I’m in asling;how am I meant to help carry things? Plus, if I’m honest, wandering around this giant castle in the dark does sound difficult.
“You remember where the kitchen is, right?” Cameron asks me.
I’m about to respond with yes, of course I do, when I realize he’s totally outing me right now! As far as everyone but him and Nate knows, I wasnotat Atlas’s party.
“He showed it to you when you came over last time, right?” Atlas adds.
Oh. Right. I was given a tour—not thelasttime I was here—but they don’t know that. Well, Cameron does, but nobody else.
I release a relieved breath, nodding in acknowledgement. “Yes, I remember. I’ll… I’ll go help.”
It’s time to escape these prying eyes. Atlas is looking at me like an excitable child, and Cameron is watching me with weary, concerned eyes.
Atticus? Well, he’s not looking at me at all.
I can’t help but get the impression that I’m out of the loop. That there is a joke at play here, and I’m not in on it. But I’m self-conscious and finicky now, so it could very well be my own imagination.
The journey downstairs to the main foyer takes a bit longer than it should, but aside from the yellow lights flickering on the walls of the hallways, it’s so dark in here I swear I see shadows move.
I wonder where the Chastain parents are. Probably sleeping, right? It is night, after all.
My shoulder aches, a mild pain that’s enough to annoy me in quiet moments like these. The day this sling comes off is the day I can truly relax.
Pushing into the kitchen, I call out, “Julian? Need help carrying the snacks?”
But Julian isn’t here. In fact, there is onlyoneperson in the kitchen with me, and as his eyes lift from the cheese platter he’s arranging, I freeze.
Every ounce of my blood runs cold. My entire body begins to tremble at the sight of Nate, at the rush of memories that overcome me as soon as my eyes connect with the honey in his.
And you would think the memories would be those of torture, of that dumb council, or the face he made as coercion was ripped from my chest. But no. None of those things stay relevant ashe stands up straighter, running his gaze over the length of my body.
Suddenly, I’m in a hotel room in California. I’m in a little cottage just up the road. His hands are everywhere, his mouth is tracing patterns over my throat as he says such awful, sweet things to me.
For one blissful, agonizing moment, I am in Nate’s arms again.
But then Idoremember all of the bad moments, the ones in which I wanted death more than I wanted revenge. I’m tied to a metal chair as men I can’t truly see draw my blood from beneath my skin.
“Nate.” It leaves me as a punched-out whisper, a fearful acknowledgement.
I’m unsure why I’m calling out for him when I should be running. I should be racing right back up those stairs to demand answers from Julian. So, why am I still standing here?
And I guess the realization of what Ishouldbe doing is written all over my face, because Nate lifts his hands in surrender.
“Don’t run,” he says, and it’s not a request. It’s stern and authoritative, as if he still has the right to demand things from me.
“Why?” I sneer. “Afraid I’ll coerce you into making my tea again? Oh, wait, Ican’t.”
