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Her face was flushed, and her lips swollen from my kisses, her chin pink from my stubble.
That’s how she should be marked, I thought. With kisses she wants, not fucking black X’s.
My desire for her twined with a need to protect her and suddenly, getting out of Harmony felt like death.
Her dreamy expression faltered then, as if she saw the conflict on my face. “No,” she said, pulling me close to her again.
“No?”
“You have to go. It’s your dream.” She spread her hands wide on my chest, skimming over my shirt. “But I keep thinking about what Martin said when we first started rehearsals. He said Hamlet and Ophelia’s story begins before the play starts. Remember?”
“I remember,” I said.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen later. I know you need to leave Harmony and I’m not going to stop you. I would never try to stop you. So maybe it’s selfish of me to want you now. Or maybe…it’s just how the story goes.”
She slipped her hands around my neck. Her touch was brave and unabashed, though I felt her heart beat fast against my chest.
“Maybe we could have this time,” she said. “Before we take the stage and perform. Before you get discovered by big-time talent agents that take you away from here. Maybe we can live in the time before the play. Live where the story begins.” She looked up at me, her blue eyes clear and bright and unwavering. “The love was there first.”
I brushed a lock of her hair away from her face. “Yeah, it was.”
Willow smiled then, and my breath caught. No girl ever looked at me the way she did just then. As if I were valuable. I kissed her again and again, wanting nothing but to hold her and keep her safe.
“God, Isaac,” she breathed when we forced ourselves apart. “This is crazy.”
“It’s life,” I said. “Off the page. But how is this going to work? If anyone sees us…”
“We’ll use codes when we text in case my dad checks my phone.”
“Codes?”
“I’ll put you in my contacts as…Ham? Hammy? No, too obvious.”
“The Dane,” I said. “Or Dane.”
“Dane.” Her face lit up. “My new friend Dane. She’s in the play. She’s constantly forgetting which scene we’re rehearsing. If we want to meet, say, at three-thirty, we text Act Three, Scene Three.”
“Perfect.”
She gave me a playful, wry look. “And if we want to say something sweet to each other, because girls like that sort of thing, y’know…”
“You don’t say?”
“If you want to do that…” She bit her lip, thinking.
“Act Two, Scene Two. A2, S2.” I pulled her close. “Remember?”
Her lips parted, and her cheeks turned pink. “Of course I do. The letter. Never doubt…”
“Never do
ubt, Willow.”
I kissed her again. In that moment, it seemed so easy. So perfect, I could almost forget the words were written for a tragedy.
“I must be cruel only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind.”
