Page 77

I look at this man. This arrogant, ridiculous, occasionally infuriating man. The man who complains about my singing. Who insists that his penis is not junk. Who thinks blue bananas are a crime against nature. Who told me I deserved better.

And who voluntarily turns himself back to stone because he doesn’t want to inconvenience me.

“I don’t like what you did,” I say.

He nods. “Nor do I.”

“But I don’t think you’re that man anymore.”

His eyes lift to mine. “April⁠—”

“No, listen. I’m not saying what happened was okay. It wasn’t. But you’ve had a hundred and forty-three years to think about it.”

“A considerable amount of time.”

“And I think you’ve learned a few things.”

He gives me a sad smile. “Perhaps.”

I move closer. “Besides, the man who did that wouldn’t have caught me when I fell.”

“Of course he would have.”

“Would he?” He opens his mouth. Then closes it.

I wait.

Finally, he looks away. “I don’t know.”

And that honesty does something to me. Something big and terrifying. Because I think I’m falling in love with him. Not the version of him who lived a hundred and forty-three years ago. Not the wealthy industrialist who thought he could buy anything.

This Gabriel. The one sitting beside me. The one who’s trying. The one who looks at me like I’m something precious.

I reach for his hand. “Come here.”

He looks at me. “April?”

“Come here, Gabriel.”

He sets his book aside.

I move into his lap. His hands settle at my waist.

For a moment, we simply look at each other.

Then I kiss him.

Slowly and gently. Not because I’m trying to break his curse. And not because I’m testing a theory.

Because I want to. And because I like him. I probably more than like him.

His arms tighten around me.

And he kisses me back, the way he always does. As if he’s been waiting a hundred and forty-three years for someone to kiss him. No, not just any someone. Me. As if he’s been waiting for me.

When I pull back, his eyes are dark.

“April.”