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Ezra, as usual, has his cold mask in place, his thoughts and feelings well hidden.
Damon is a little easier to read, but only because I know him so well.
Neither of them are upset that William is dead, but Damon shifts his weight between his feet more than his brother, his expression darker as he struggles to rein in his chaos.
From what I know, William died in a car accident on the way home, most of his injuries attributed to the severity of the crash. It worked out in Damon’s favor since nobody questioned why William was bruised and cut.
But there is so much more to the story, so many secrets that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything.
Luckily, Ezra hasn’t brought up the fact that he saw me at William’s house in the past week, and when we’re together, he only mentions his concern for Damon.
It’s for the best. I’m not sure I can lie to him again. Unless you count my silence as a lie.
Several times through the funeral, Ezra looks up at me, our eyes meeting and dancing together, the impact so powerful that my skin tightens and heart swells to thinkthat man is all mine.
It’s hard not to walk over to him, hard to hold myself back while our families are watching.
But then Damon will look over at me, and my heart deflates and falls to my feet, so much pain and remorse in his expression that it stabs through me.
I know he said he’s fine with what Ezra and I are doing, but his amber stare doesn’t lie.
He still loves me, still wishes he could have been the one I chose, and there is nothing I can do to help him.
The entire funeral is a dance between the different ways I feel about the twins, a constant back and forth that makes it difficult to breathe.
Once the casket is lowered in the ground, I’m finally able to take a full breath, my steps slow and body weary as we make our way out of the cemetery to the waiting cars.
It sucks that I have to be in one with my family and Mason’s, everybody talking amongst themselves while Mason and I are noticeably silent.
It’s like all those damn dances when we were younger, all those awkward rides in the back of a limos.
Only this time, there’s an audience to the way we carefully avoid each other.
The only other difference iswhywe’re being careful to avoid each other.
Secrets.
Secrets.
And more secrets.
Lately it feels like I’m drowning in them.
“We should start discussing wedding plans,” my mother suggests, her tone of voice respectable. Not that the subject matter is. We just left a funeral, and she wants to discuss dresses, table dressings and venues. “Have you two met with the wedding planner yet?”
Mason and I lock eyes for only a brief second, his gaze sliding to where my mother sits next to his.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?” His father asks. “Are you going to drag your feet until the last second before you turn thirty?”
It’s a subtle hint as to why Mason has to marry me, a hidden warning.
Not that Mason needs the money that would come with his inheritance and trust fund, but like the rest of the Inferno, he continues to keep up appearances.
“We’ve been busy-“
“With Ava and the Cross twins, no doubt,” my father comments.
