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“You wanna be with me?” she asks, whispered and unsure.
“I've always wanted to be with you.”
“But how? When we live on different sides of the country and I'm...me.”
“What do you mean you'reyou?”
She shrugs and takes another fistful of bath foam, passing it back and forth between her hands like a baseball. “I come with baggage. Shit, even this morning, a photographer found me at the cemetery. I can't expose you to that and expect you to be okay with having your whole life constantly scrutinized by the media. You'd never have privacy again, Cole. You'd never knowpeaceif you were with me.”
“I don't care.”
And I don't. I can't pretend that I'd welcome that part of her life with ease or even tolerance, but it's a small price to pay for being with her. Because I know what it's like to miss her. I know what it's like to wake up every morning with a cavernous vacancy in my soul that can't be filled by anything that isn't her. But now that I've touched her, made love to her and slept with her in my arms, I also know what it's like to be with her, if only for a short time. And I know that, no matter what, I can't go without her again.
“Then what happens now?” she asks, tears clinging to her eyelashes like snowflakes.
“Well, the world still thinks you're dating that Aiden asshole, so I guess we can start by putting that to rest.”
She smirks. “You really hate him, huh?”
“Sure do.”
“Why?”
“Because he got to touch you before I did.”
“So did four other men.”
“Yeah, but I didn't have to watch them do it on a film screen in 4K,” I say, referencing the chick-flick movie they starred in together.
“You saw that movie?”
I reach out and run my finger down the bridge of her nose. I don't know why I do it, maybe to memorize the edges of her face, or just to find an excuse to touch her—not that I ever need one—but there's something about doing it that brings me peace each and every time.
“I've seen every one of your movies, princess.”
She glows. There isn't a better way I can think to explain it. But it comes from within her, a pride that glimmers like a single firefly on a pitch-dark lake.
“Wow,” she breathes, fiddling with a long strand of wet hair. “I feel like I should apologize. I've done some real shitty movies.”
“I didn't notice.”
“You didn't?”
“Nah, I was only watching you.”
She takes my face in her hand, caressing it as she looks at me with wonderment. The green of her eyes shimmers, light dancing with a kind of awed bewilderment. I don't know what I've done for her to look at me this way, but if I did know, I'd make sure to do it every day just to see this expression from her again and again and again.
“You're really something,” she says finally, a smile in her voice. And for a long moment, I think she's going to finish the sentence, but she doesn't.
“I don't know what that means.”
“That's okay.” She leans forward to whisper against my lips, “You don't need to.”
Then, she's kissing me and her nails are digging half-moons into the back of my neck and our tongues are a tangled mess of unfettered desire and traumatized love.
We're twin flames, Thea and I. We burn like wildfire and constellate like stars. She is as much a part of me as my own heart and though I'm terrified of speaking the words out loud for fear of her leaving again, my kisses can't hide the truth.
“Tell me you're mine,” I plead into her mouth. “Be mine and we can deal with all the bullshit later. Just please, tell me that you're mine.”
