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She celebrated her twenty-second birthday with him.
She finished her accelerated Master’s, got on her Doctorate, and studied her ass off. She spoke to her mother every other day, kept in touch with Vin and Nerea, and went to Tristan’s penthouse occasionally.
He started spending a few days at a time with her, risking everything for one time.
He had to force himself to leave every damn time, saving everything for next time.
Chip, chip, chip.
Years became six.
With her professional evolution and personal therapy, t
wenty-five knocked on her door with blooming confidence. She finished her doctorate, started her business, got new clients, moved into an apartment she bought herself. She went out on dates, covered her scars, and wore her heels, and came home alone.
Some days, she felt she was weak for waiting for him. Other days, she felt she was strong for waiting for him. The coin kept flipping, the only constant her deepening love for him and his maddening love for her.
He rose in the ranks, became a true heir to the throne, and Amara felt proud.
He never touched another woman, his heart and body and soul all hers, and Amara felt loved.
He loved coming to her, holding her for long minutes like his arms had been famished.
He hated leaving her, pressing his forehead to hers as her eyes burned.
They hid in the shadows.
Chip, chip, chip.
Six years became seven.
They became the roots of a tree, buried deep underground, out of sight, twined together, entangled together, strengthening each other, weakening each other, taking all the love like nourishment, storing it in secret places, all the while waiting for the tree that had been violently cut to sprout leaves again.
It took time for forests to grow, kingdoms to build, and empires to exist. Where one was being broken, another was being molded to take its place.
They were lovers and friends, strangers and acquaintances, all those things, none of those things.
They just were.
Waiting.
Chip, chip, chip.
Her exile never ended.
They never truly began.
But empires took more time to break than people, and slowly it cracked.
(Present Day)
“I’ll follow you
and make a heaven out of hell,
and I’ll die by your hand, which I love so well.”
William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
