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“Are you happy, Theodora?”
Her eyes flash up to mine. She doesn’t move at all at first, but her pen stops moving. “In what sense?”
“In the general sense. In your life—your existence. Are you happy?”
She gives a soft exhalation of laughter. “What a question. Is anyone?”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
With a sigh, she places her pen down and crosses her arms on the desk, leaning forward and lowering her voice. “Are you sure you want an honest answer?”
“Why would I want anything else?”
“Because the truth, as we both know, can often be quite ugly.”
I shake my head. “No, Theo, I don’t believe that.”
She tilts her head, fixing me with a measuring look.
“No, Zach,” she says finally. “I’m not happy.”
Her words are like a knife to my chest. The pain is so sharp it feels like she’s inflicted a real wound. But she lets out a wistful laugh and says, “Do you think that means I’ve failed Mr Ambrose’s assignment?”
“I don’t think Mr Ambrose can penalise you for being sad,” I say, my throat a little too tight. “I don’t think he would.”
“Let’s hope so,” she says, straightening herself up and picking up her pen. “Areyouhappy, Zach?”
“Right now, no. In general—yes. I believe I am.”
“Well”—her lips quirk in a sad little half-smile—“we’ve finally found something you’re better at than me. Maybe you can teach me.”
I want to tell her that I would do anything to make her happy, that if I could scoop out every speck of happiness from my soul and pour it inside hers, I would. I want to tell her that her happiness might be the most important thing in my life becauseshe’s the most important thing in my life.
“I’ll do my best,” I say instead, giving her my most charming smile. “I hope you find me a worthy teacher.”
“I hope you find me a worthy student.”
Chapter 36
Sage Lace
Theodora
ForNewYear’sEve,Zach tells me to dress warm, and he drives us twenty minutes down dark, winding country roads. We park in the frosty mud at the side of a road, and Zach takes my hand to lead me down a poorly lit hiking path, then through a shadowy copse of evergreens, using a torch to light the way.
“Why does this look like the place people go to get murdered?” I ask in a hushed voice, pulling myself closer to Zach’s arm, which I’m holding in the crook of mine.
He turns his head and replies with his lips brushing my hair. “As if I would ever let anything happen to you on my watch.”
When we finally emerge from the trees, we find ourselves on the edge of what seems to be a sort of precipice. Below us, the lights of a city glow like a dense constellation of yellow stars. A sweeping, breathtaking sight.
We settle on the bench, our shoulders pressed together for warmth. Zach pulls out a bottle of champagne and two glasses. Drinks in hand, we sit back and watch the shining city stretching at our feet. Now and again, fireworks shoot up and explode into the sky with a sudden burst of light.
“I didn’t want you to miss out on the fireworks,” Zach says. “But I thought you might prefer to watch them in peace and quiet.”
My heart clenches in my chest. Part of me regrets having told him so much throughout this holiday—the part of me that feels exposed and vulnerable and afraid. But another part of me knows I couldn’t have trusted anyone better with all this precious, sad knowledge—the part of me that knows, deep down, that Zach loves me more and better than anybody else in the world.
I rest my head on his shoulder.
