“She’s lying.” I whisper, dragging a hand down my face.
But the way she says it doesn’t sound like a lie.
I press my palms to my burning temples and force myself to keep listening.
“That’s good. We were so worried you’d hold onto those feelings and suffer.”
And then her answer: “I’m not holding onto anything. I don’t even like him, to be honest. It feels ridiculous to even think I once declared my love for that monster.”
The words tear through my ribs. I press a hand to my chest, to the place they’re shredding.
I squeeze my eyes shut, jaw clenching.
The boy is there. Smiling. Relishing every moment of my suffering.
“You always wanted this!” I shout at him. “You always wanted her to hate me!”
He laughs. For the first time, he laughs while I endure something worse than death.
I open my eyes. “She’s lying.” I mutter to myself, pulling up the system report my virus collected.
She can’t mean this. She’s lying. She has to be lying.
Still, my hands won’t stop trembling on the keyboard as I start rewriting the security codes.
I have to reach her. As soon as possible.
Chapter 42
Elowen
Hey love,
It’s been a week since I returned to Pa’s house. As I’ve said a thousand times before—I love this place. This house and its land were built to be cherished in every season, every part of the day. When we get married, we’ll build something like this for ourselves.
Tomorrow, Ma and Pa leave for their annual trip to Norway, for their favorite meteor shower. Grandpa Matthew and GrandmaFlora are going too.
I’m thinking of joining them. They won’t mind, I’m sure of it. And I could really use the fresh air.
I haven’t told them yet. I’ll just show up tomorrow morning with my bags packed, right in their faces.
And now I’m daydreaming about you meeting me there. We could secretly watch the meteor shower together. A lot of sneaky make-outs would definitely be the best part.
I miss you.
Your Elowen
I close the journal, slide it back into the drawer, and take out the golden box. Ma gave it to me when I told her I wanted somewhere safe to keep something precious. It’s made of some kind of strong metal, plated in thick, beautiful gold, with delicate floral carvings. I lift the small lid on its side and enter the code on the tiny lock. The box opens silently, smoothly, on its own.
Inside, nestled in blue velvet, are three dried roses.
I trace the petals with reverence and longing.
It feels like a lifetime since I last touched him. Since I last heard his voice. The longing has become an ache—I feel in every part of me, in every breath I take.
I close the box, rise, and step out onto the balcony. The night air is cool against my skin.
I look up at the sky, vast and filled with stars.
