Page 57 of My Faire Lady

I unfold the box, where thousands of tiny metal hoops lie. Scarlet digs through the rucksacks and lifts out a pile of folded clothes, holding them out to me.

“You’ll be more comfortable,” she says, voice gravelly.

I wince at the cream dress hanging off my shoulders, the corset unlaced but still digging into my waist. Taking the shirt from the top of the pile, I let it fall open and smile at the plain, black tee shirt. “Your clothes, huh?”

She glances at me from the corner of her eyes, and a blush creeps down her neck. “Is that okay? I didn’t mean to insinuate that you had to wear them, if you don’t want to. You can sleep in whatever you⁠—”

“They’re perfect,” I say, accepting the pair of loose sweats. “But what about you? Your clothes are soaked.”

“I’ll be fine.” She pulls a quilt from the sack and lays it out beside the sleeping bag. “They’re pretty much already dry anyway.”

I furrow my brow and lean closer, scanning the hem of her shirt. The puddle of water that was there just minutes ago has dried. “How is that possible?”

She shrugs. “Magic.”

I stand and slip the sweats on under my chemise. “Right, and the ghosts are the ones who cut the electricity.”

“You said it, not me.”

A half-hearted laugh comes from between her lips, but it dies as I pull the chemise over my head and toss it to the floor. The sweats hang at the curve of my waist, and my bra covers my breasts, but her gaze climbs over every inch of my skin, her pupils widening in the dim glow.

My skin heats under her gaze, and the air thickens as she wets her lips. And while it would only take a single step to close the distance, the contest flashes through my mind, putting a mile between us.

I can’t get close, then up and leave.

But I didn’t miss the hurt on her face when I told her the crowd loved our kiss—as if that’s all it was. As if the feeling of her lips against mine didn’t make a home for her in my heart, clear out a corner for her in my mind. But that’s the problem. This is temporary. We are temporary.

It’s selfish, basking in the way her eyes roam over me, but I give into it. I print the image of her lips, slightly parted, into the depths of my mind, where I can retrieve it when I’m halfway across the world.

Her chest stops moving, and her hands flex against the wooden floor as I bend at the waist and grab the shirt. The cotton is soft beneath my touch, and I thread my arms through the hole, easing it over my head.

I scoop my hair out from the neckline.

Scarlet tears her attention away from me and returns to the rucksack. “Boden made baked potatoes for dinner, so I grabbed one for each of us.”

She settles on the quilt, and I sit across from her, accepting one of the potatoes wrapped in foil that glistens in the firelight. It warms my palms, and I unwrap it, taking a bite.

A groan comes from the back of my throat. “This is the best potato I’ve ever tasted.”

Scarlet scoffs. “Don’t let Boden hear you say that, or he’ll never let it go. But between you and me, he’s a great cook. Gets most of his ingredients from a garden he tends at the edge of our land.”

“How did you two meet, anyway?” I say, wiping the corners of my mouth. “Did you grow up together?”

She huffs. “Something like that.”

I lift a brow. “Were you two together? Romantically?”

Her mouth twists into a grimace. “No. Fates, no.” She opens a bottle of water and takes a long sip. “He’s not exactly my type, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

She lifts her eyes to mine, fire reflecting in her irises.

My tongue turns to cotton. “No. I mean⁠—”

“We’re friends,” she says, crumpling up the foil. “More like family, really. I can’t remember a time in my life when he wasn’t there.”

I swipe the pad of my thumb across my mouth, dragging away the crumbs left behind, and abandon the foil on the floor. Rain pelts the roof, but with Scarlet across from me, it’s a sort of calming noise—background music that eases my nerves.

I slide the box of rings in front of me and lift the pliers. “Tell me your favorite memory with him.”