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“I’m so sorry, excuse me, I’ll be right back!” I call out to the woman at the desk and set off running down the hall.
Once I reach the door, I go to open it, but it’s locked. I slam both fists on the door, my head a frenzy of thoughts in a blizzard of hope and fear. “Zaro, open up! It’s me!”
The door opens, and I stand face to face with Zaro, who stands with a hand on her hip and a disapproving look on her face. “I knew you were following me! You’re such a—”
I push past her and into the room. It’s small and provincially pretty: a bed with a patchwork eiderdown, a small blue rug on rustic wooden floorboards, a little stand with a coffee machine, tea cups and ceramic pots of sugar and tea bags next to a narrow armoire, plants and vases of wildflowers. At the other end of the room is a small window seat upholstered in blue felt.
On that seat, hugging her legs to her, is Theodora.
“Shall I ask him to leave?” Zaro asks in a tone of concern, turning to look at Theodora.
Theodora shakes her head, and I let out a burst of laughter. A sound of mingled shock, relief, and amusement—amusement at the mere idea that Zaro could make me leave when no force on earth could make me leave right now.
“Zahara.” Iakov’s voice is calm and grave behind me. I don’t turn to look at him. “Come.”
“I’m… I’m going to go now.” Zaro goes to Theodora and squeezes her hand. “I’m going to wait outside with that big goon.” She casts a glare over my shoulder, where Iakov must be standing. “Is that alright?”
Theodora nods.
Zaro casts a worried look from Theodora to me, but our gazes remain on each other. She sidles past me with a little awkward grimace, and then the door closes, leaving Theodora and me alone to face one another in raw, painful silence.
ShelooksexactlyasI remember, and yet completely different.
Exactly as I remember because her forget-me-not eyes still have that odd quality to them, a gentle dreaminess undercut by a sharp intelligence. Her features are the same, those ethereally beautiful features, that raspberry mouth where all my kisses wish to live and die, that creamy skin. She’s wearing loose, high-waisted jeans and a white satin camisole under a soft blue cardigan with enormous sleeves.
Different because, despite the melancholy set deep into her eyes and features, she looks the healthiest I’ve seen her in a long time—the healthiest I’veeverseen her.
She’s gained a little weight, which has settled beautifully into her body, cushioning the protruding bones of her chest and softening her delicate features. There’s a faint flush in her cheeks, a rose tint within her skin that makes it look warm and kissable.
Different because of her hair: those long, heavy tresses of pale gold are gone. Her hair is cut right below her chin, and it hangs down in slight waves, as if freed of its weight, her hair has gained a new lightness to it.
My throat becomes tight at the sight of it, and I’m gripped with the sudden, horrible urge to weep. As if feeling the weight of my glance, Theodora raises a hand self-consciously to her hair, brushing the strands with her fingertips.
“How does it look?”
Her voice is an arrow straight to my heart. I almost crumple from it. I step forward. “Why did you cut it?”
“Because I’ve always wanted to cut it.” She tilts her head and gives me a strange smile, full of rue and tenderness. “And I realised nothing was stopping me from doing so. No walls, or locks, or guards.”
She stands and does a full turn, slowly and gracefully as a music-box ballerina, before stepping closer to me.
“I cut it myself. How does it look?”
“It’s your hair, Theodora. How could it be anything but beautiful?” My too-hoarse voice fades in my throat.
And then I do what saints do when they see their angels. I fall to my knees at her feet and weep.
Chapter 47
Arm’s Length
Theodora
Standinguptomyfather and running away from him was the most frightened I’ve ever been—but seeing Zachary Blackwood fall to his knees with tears streaming down his face is the saddest I’ve ever felt.
I’ve had plenty of time, the past weeks, to comb through my feelings for him.
Desire, affection, admiration, love, resentment, betrayal, hatred. The full spectrum of love and hate and all the emotions in between. It was my hatred that allowed me to stay away from him, to refrain from running to him for help and comfort when it was all I wanted to do.
