Page 42 of Angel Eyes

I approached the towering edifice that was Sainte-Chapelle, anxiety spilling over into my limbs like water sloshing over the rim of a cup. As soon as I hung up with Ember, I dropped the bravado act and let all the feelings I was holding inside trickle out. She was right, of course, as she so often was. But that didn’t mean I wanted her to be right.

My fingers tapped a nervous beat against my thigh as I waited for the light at the crosswalk to change, my eyes drifting up over the Gothic structure across the street, its central spire looming ominously over me. I should have picked a different spot to meet, somewhere across town, so I had more time to collect myself. As it was, the walk over had only taken minutes.

Just friends, just friends.

I mouthed the words to myself as I passed the chapel’s exterior wall and entered the main courtyard, trying to smother the memory of the last time Gabriel and I had been together. The feel of his eyes on me, his rough hands gripping my waist, his fingers finding their way into my hair …

I exhaled, shaking my hands to expel a fresh wave of nerves.

I was making a big deal out of nothing. My sister could hook up with a guy and forget his name before breakfast, but here I was, freaking out after one fully clothed evening with Gabriel.

Ridiculous.

I set my shoulders and marched beneath a stone archway.

Everything would be fine. I’d see him today and realize all was as it had been before, that nothing had changed—

“Hey.”

I swung around to find Gabriel leaning against the archway, his biceps bulging against a soft, gray Henley, an easy smile on his lips.

“Oh, hi.” I tried for a laugh that didn’t make it out of my windpipe, and I coughed instead, eyes watering.

“You okay?” He kicked off the wall, striding toward me with a look of concern.

“Fine,” I croaked, waving him away. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No, I just got here. Thanks for the invite, by the way. I haven’t been to Sainte-Chapelle in ages.”

He gazed up at it, and I studied his profile, tugging my lip between my teeth as a breeze moved through his hair. It had been so soft between my fingers, softer than I expected. I wished I could touch it again.

“Juliet?” My vision cleared as Gabriel lifted a brow. “Do you want to head inside?”

I blinked stupidly. “Oh, yes, of course. Um, I think it’s this way?” I darted past him without waiting for a response, taking care not to brush up against his body in the narrow archway.

Get it together, Juliet. I wouldn’t be able to convince him—or myself—we were only friends if I kept acting like this. From here on out, there would be no more lingering looks, no more touching, no more thinking about things I shouldn’t.

Should be easy enough.

The interior of Sainte-Chapelle was mesmerizing. Tucking my arms against my chest, I wandered through the nave of the lower chapel, gazing up at the trefoiled arches and the sweeping golden ribs that supported the vaulted ceiling. Tilting my head back, I squinted at the ceiling, cataloging its deep blue surface dotted with tiny pinpricks of gold that reminded me of stars in the night sky.

“They’re fleur-de-lis.” Gabriel drew up beside me, nodding in the direction of the ceiling. “This chapel was commissioned by King Louis IX, and the fleur-de-lis was the symbol of the French monarchy.”

I blinked at him. “How is it you know everything?”

His mouth curved as he lifted a hand, waving a pamphlet. “Why, Ms. Chandler, I would have thought you, of all people, could appreciate the power of reading.”

“Wise ass.” He chuckled as I returned my attention to the ceiling. “Well, in any case, it is quite beautiful.”

“It certainly is.”

Feeling the weight of his eyes, I looked over at him again, and my chest nearly collapsed in on itself at the intensity in his gaze.

Reaching for my hand, he locked his fingers around mine, steering me toward a spiral staircase. My pulse rioted.

Don’t read into it.

Friends can hold hands, right?

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