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Only two pages left.
At the penultimate page, her heart stuttered, and she was glad she’d sent Hawthorn away so that he couldn’t witness her reading it.
He’d never addressed any of the entries to her before, but this one shunted along her bones, warming and chilling to her heart in the same breath. How well she knew these thoughts, felt them too. Felt them for him.
The final page was somehow worse.
Over and over, in a scrawled hand, Hawthorn had written:
He’d almost torn through the paper.
Juliana found herself wondering which was the lie, which one he could speak, and once more what words she could utter if she too were banned from lies.
Silently, softly, Juliana closed the notebook and put it away, curling up on the hard ground, her thoughts louder than ever.
Finally, exhaustion overruled nerves, and she woke in Hawthorn’s arms.
“Good evening,” he said, with his same stupid, sinful smirk.
Juliana leapt up and kissed him, as if she hoped to wipe it away with her lips. It worked—for a few short seconds.
“Nice to see you too…” he responded, arms around her, still smiling. She really didn’t hate it as much as she pretended.
“Don’t speak,” Juliana insisted. “Just… not yet.”
Talking would break the spell, would unravel them both, would sacrifice this night to the morning. And she would have this night. She would havehim.
Just once more. Just once.
After, they lay together in the steady glow of the fire, golden and naked, no need of any coverings, staring at each other the way one gazed at paintings in a gallery.
No,she thought,better than that.
It ought to hurt to admit it, but she’d never stared at anything the way she stared at him. Puzzle, marvel, masterpiece—the sea she had craved most of her life and would die craving still.
Hawthorn’s fingers stroked the bare skin of her arm, the other in her hair. One of her hands was tucked against his chest, the other wrapped around his back. She adored this body, the smooth, perfect shape of it. For a moment it was slightly baffling he’d decided to share it with her.
“I have never liked your silence,” Hawthorn admitted. “I often find it very hard to know what you’re thinking.”
Juliana smirked. “You talk enough for the both of us.”
“I talk a lot when I’m nervous, which I have a habit of being around you. I talk to fill the silence.” He stroked her arm again. “I would have one of your thoughts, if I may. A truth from your mind.”
Juliana paused. “I finished reading your notebook.”
Hawthorn stilled, all traces of smiles vanishing. “I see.”
“I won’t waste time asking you if you meant it all, because…” She shook her head, sighing. “Why give it to me? Really?”
“I wasn’t going to,” he said. “I wanted to keep it. I wanted it close to me when I woke, so that even when you were gone, even if I lived for centuries… I’d remember.”
“Remember what?”
“You,” he said. “Every detail. Every time I cursed your name and cursed my feelings. I wanted to remember it all. I never wanted to forget.”
“And yet you gave it to me.”
He swallowed. “I couldn’t tell you how I felt. Not to your face. Even at the end, I was still too terrified. But… I wanted you to know.”
