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“—and you have a tendency to interrupt me, for all your many, many flaws, both physical and otherwise, I find you to be a person of exceptional beauty.“ He paused. “In fact, I find you to be the greatest beauty I have ever beheld. I fear that I may spend the rest of my immortal life searching for a fraction of beauty I find in you in a sliver of something else.” He kissed her hand. “See? Works better than when you tell yourself, doesn’t it?”
Juliana paused, hanging onto his words. It was like a chasm had been opened up beneath her. Being with Hawthorn was often like that—like toeing the edge of a cliff, like one wrong move would be her downfall.
But maybe, just maybe, for a moment, for tonight, she wanted to fall, wanted to dive into that pit, to be consumed by him.
“Hawthorn,” she whispered, knowing what he uttered next would forever change the shape of things between the two of them. This wouldn’t be like how it was with Dillon, a friendship easy to fall back into. This would alter her irrevocably. “Do you like me?”
Hawthorn blinked at her. “Has it honestly taken you so long to figure that out?”
“You aren’t answering.”
His fingers dropped away from her. “Yes,” he said, “I like you. Immeasurably.”
Now it was Juliana’s turn to blink, as if the words were alien to her. “For… for my personality?”
“I know, I’m rather shocked too.”
“But I’m awful to you.”
“I happen to think you’re one of the kindest souls in my acquaintance… which admittedly says more about the rest of them.”
He stared at her as if waiting for a reply, but her words had vanished, half her mind with them. She’d suspected, deep down, but tohearthem, to know…
“I don’t expect you to share my affliction. Indeed, the whole business would be a lot simpler if you didn’t. But I… I should like, I think, to know your thoughts anyway. You’ve often spoken of hating me. I suspect that you do not, not really. But if you could…”
He turned to move away from her, as though he meant to disappear. The action alone was enough to jolt Juliana back to her senses, because she couldn’t,wouldn’tlet him leave. Not tonight.
She grabbed his wrist, making him half-turn towards her. He kept his gaze cast down, as if he couldn’t bear to face her.
You make me sound like a monster to be vanquished.
In some ways, you are.
“I don’t hate you,” she whispered. “I know at one point, I must have, but I don’t remember why. Or when. When that changed. When I stopped hating you. When I…” her words trailed off. “I don’t hate you,” she reiterated.
And then, when words failed her, she kissed him instead.
Hawthorn stood there for a moment, as shocked and numb as she had been that day he kissed her in the carriage, as if this were a dream inside a dream, one he expected to be yanked from. But suddenly he was kissing her back, crushing her against the wall, his weight hard against her, kisses desperate, like he was trying to win a battle.
“Tell me that you despise me,” he moaned into her. “That you detest everything about me—”
“But why?”
“I need you to hate me. I need you tocrushme. Convince me I am without hope. If you do not, I’m afraid…“ His fingers traced her neck. “Make me hate you.”
“I can’t.”I can’t hate you either.
“Make me stop wanting you.”
“I can’t do that, either.”
“Cruel, vicious creature…”
“It’s revenge.”
“What for?”
“For making me want you too.”
