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His flat gray-green eyes find mine. When he doesn’t immediately say anything, I think, This is it.
This is the moment it all comes crumbling down.
The moment I lose everything.
“Do they know where you come from?” he says, tilting his head to the side, those full, pouty lips of his for once not stretched taut with a smile.
Jesus. When did I start noticing his lips?
“Do they know the truth about you, Cinderella? Does your Prince Charming know?”
I feel my jaw ticking, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.
He makes a small noise of acknowledgment in the back of his throat. Nodding, he says, “That’s what I thought.”
And with that, he steps away from the wall, making his way past me, and back toward his spot by the windows.
Turning, I watch as he climbs back up on the radiator, resuming the position I found him in. Legs hanging over the ledge. Metal tin in his lap. A soft glow surrounding his head like a halo.
Taking that as a sign our talk is over, I let the breath out I didn’t realize I was holding.
The bell rings suddenly and I realize I’ve been gone far too long. Mrs. Cheshire is probably wondering where I am, and it’s only a matter of time before someone gets sent to hunt me down. If they aren’t already looking for me, that is.
Without another word, I pick up the bathroom pass from the floor. I must’ve dropped it earlier when my anger took over. It’s been so damn long since I lost control like that.
Behind me, I hear Aston humming a familiar tune, “One, Two, Buckle My Shoe,” and I freeze. Something tells me the lyrics playing out in his head are not the ones belonging to that stupid nursery rhyme.
Does he…remember?
Bile surges up my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut, quickly forcing it back down along with the memory of his misplaced laughter and high-pitched voice—
“Five, six…Stick! Stick! Stick!”
I shake my head.
Don’t think about it.
A pipe creaks loudly, followed by the whine of the door as I push it open.
“Hey, Vale,” Aston says quietly from behind me.
I pause, keeping my gaze trained forward.
“Bury it down all you want. But the truth always comes out. Midnight will strike, and the glass slipper will fall off.” He pauses, then with a stifled giggle, he says, “It is written.”
Sucking in my cheek, I bite down the urge to slam the door shut, and let my rage take the reins once more.
“Are you threatening me?” I grit out tightly.
“No,” he says, serious once more, in that misleadingly soft voice. “I have nothing to gain from spilling your secrets. I’m far too curious to see how this all plays out.”
And for whatever reason, be it delusion or sheer desperation, or some combination of the two, I find that I believe him.
“It is odd, don’t you think?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I find him with his head cocked. “What?” I say, though I’m not so sure I want to know.
Liar, a voice objects. I ignore it.
