Page 40 of Veiled Yearning

At least I was, until the reality of it sank in. As I lurked in the hallway, listening to Larkin nearly plead with Gavril to just ask me one more time, hearing him talk about how terrible Nicolas was when he was free…

I had a terrible realization. Gavril might be defending me, but that doesn’t mean he thinks what I’m doing is right. Just because he made me a promise and isn’t going back on it… all that means is that Gavril is honorable. That he cares about making me happy.

When the voices started moving closer, l fled, sprinting back to my room.

Not the solarium; it was too bright, too exposed, and all I wanted to do was hide. Again.

I’m so disappointed in myself.

For the last hour I’ve been sitting in the chair by the window, staring out at the mountains in the distance, imagining what it would be like to be out there instead of in here. Would I feel like less of a coward? Would I feel less guilty?

Probably not. There are things even the peace of the forest can’t cure.

Conflicted thoughts keep spinning around in my head, knocking me off-balance.

I should be willing to do anything to help. If Gavril had this ability, or Frederick, they wouldn’t hesitate to use it. But it still feels so wrong. I’m scared of what could happen. Why am I such a coward?

My heart feels like there’s a vise around it, squeezing tighter and tighter.

Dread chokes my lungs.

My stomach is a weight, sunk down to my feet.

I know what I should do. For my friends. For Gavril. But the fear is paralyzing.

I wish I was home with all my things; my shells on the fireplace and my books to arrange. Anything to distract me from this angry buzzing in my head. But there’s nothing; just me, alone with my thoughts.

Or I was alone. A knock sounds on the door; too heavy to be Cait, too slow to be Frederick.

“Chiara.” No hint of the anger from earlier, Gavril says my name gently. “I looked in the solarium, and you weren’t there. Is everything okay?”

I pitch my voice loud enough for him to hear me through the door. “Yes.”

There’s a pause, and then, “I don’t think so. Can I come in?”

Part of me doesn’t want him to see me this way; the weak Chiara, hiding in the bedroom again. Gavril’s so intense, so brave—nothing scares him. A niggle of worry works deep. Is that why he didn’t kiss me? Because I’m weak? Or is he disappointed in me?

Then again, when I’m with Gavril, I always feel better. Stronger. He holds my fractured pieces together, so they’re not loose and stabbing at me.

So get up and head to the door, pausing before I open it to fuss at my hair, as if that’s somehow going to make everything better.

Yes. I’m a coward and I could be responsible for countless people being hurt, but at least my hair is smooth and shiny. As if Gavril cares about that.

Or maybe he does.

As I open the door, his expression shifts from concerned to appreciative, as his gaze moves up my body to my face, taking everything in. And for a second, all I can think about is the flutter of my heart, the tingles sweeping over me, and the warmth filling my chest.

Another silly thing I did this morning, before everything was ruined—I actually tried to look pretty. It makes my cheeks heat to even think about; I don’t remember the last time I made an effort to look nice for a man. Or when I cared what he thought.

Usually I’m in baggy jeans and a loose sweater or shirt—nothing form-fitting or attention-grabbing. In my experience, I’ve found it better to be someone easily looked past than someone that is constantly noticed. But today… I wanted to look different.

So I found my tightest jeans and this V-neck sweater I ordered a few years ago on a whim, but immediately dismissed as being too revealing. I put on some perfume and lip gloss Cait left conveniently on my dresser when she stopped by the other day. It’s nothing dramatic, but when I checked myself out in the mirror this morning, I thought I looked pretty good. Better than usual, at least.

Gavril goes still as he stares down at me, his jaw rigid, eyes darkening to a molten silver. He’s like one of those stone statues, tall and imposing, rough-hewn, but beautiful. “Chiara. You look—” After a moment of silence, he continues, all his features softening. “Stunning.”

A hint of pink touches his cheeks, and there’s something so endearing about Gavril looking embarrassed; this part of him no one else sees. “Thanks,” I whisper, my own face heating.

It’s crazy, this feeling. I’ve read about it; women infatuated, blushing, describing how their heart would beat faster, but it was always an abstract idea to me. It’s like reading about a place I’ve never been, like Alaska or Japan. The author can describe it beautifully, but until I actually go there, I can’t truly appreciate what it’s like.

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