Page 71 of The Kiss of Deception

He doesn’t try to stop my tears with words that would make them feel inadequate. He doesn’t tell me to stop crying because everything will be okay. And for someone who grew up being told salty drops of water are shameful and unnecessary, this simple acceptance is freeing. It makes me cry harder.

Miles picks all my broken pieces, and keeps them safe in his pocket until I’m strong enough to start putting them back together.

With each sob, he grips me tighter against him, rocking me back and forth to the steady beat of his heart. He rubs his cheek against the crown of my head and murmurs sweet words that make me feel less alone.

My head hurts with each guttural sob that wrecks me, body shaking like it would fall apart. Tucking myself into the crook of his neck, into that nook that’s purely untainted Miles, I settle, for minutes or hours, soaking his shirt with my sobs and my fears until they subside and my skull throbs.

Until his heart, a hasty thump in my ear, becomes a slow thud, a soothing melody. It seems to have a voice of its own, and so many words it whispers in my ear that I can’t grasp them all.

I look up, the outline of his lips under the moonlight all I see in the flickering dark.

Miles is poison ivy, slow, slow, slowly wrapping himself around each inch I willingly give, and stealing all the others, until he burrows so deep inside, he’ll be part of my bones and my blood and my very soul.

How will I get rid of him without draining and losing myself?

“Careful, love,” he says with a soft smile. “I might think you don’t hate me so much after all.”

I sniff, tucking myself back into him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Chapter Seventeen

Zoe

“Zoe Beatrice!”

Rosario cries in joy, pulling me inside her hug. She once was a few inches taller than me, but age has leveled her to my height. The fierceness of her arms hasn’t wavered, though.

I rang the bell, not necessarily because I feel like the key I still own no longer belongs to me, but for the surprise effect. To be fair, I always rang, yet it never failed to surprise her. Perhaps evidence of the rarity of my visits.

“Mi niña. You don’t come here often enough,” she echoes my thoughts.

“I’ve survived great dangers, Rosie, but I might succumb to your hugs.”

“Ay.” She squeezes me harder. “Don’t say those things.”

She pulls away to hold me at arms-length and scrutinize me. I’m kind enough to reciprocate. Under white attire, her swarthy skin glows the same golden hue that reminds me of the warmth of a sunset in the late afternoon. Wrinkles paint her face, but the seasons would never cover the spark of care in her chocolate irises.

Inspection concluded, she clucks her tongue. “Come in, come in. Let’s get you something to eat. You’re too thin.” My mouth opens with a retort, and immediately clamps shut. I know better than to interrupt when her hands come to her waist. “Before you start lecturing me on my commentary about other people’s bodies and your blah-blah-blah, I’m worried about your health. I know how careless you are about your meals.”

After clicking the door closed, she whirls and laces her arm with mine, guiding me through carpeted corridors to her domain. Her step hasn’t suffered as she approaches six decades, as swift and steady as twenty years before.

“Actually, I was going to say I’ve gained a couple pounds since—” Since I (practically) moved in with Miles, I was about to say. “The incident.”

“Well, they must be skilled at hide and seek. I don’t see them.”

My cheeks hitch with the beginnings of a smile, but for the sake of our mock argument, I don’t let it unfold.

“Sit.” As soon as we arrive at her kitchen, Rosario ushers me towards a stool. “How is that handsome man of yours? You don’t bring him around enough, either.”

“I’m not sure he’s a dog I can just bring around at my will, Rosie.”

The lid of the serving stand clunks against the countertop, a large slice of her delight of the day in front of me in no time.

Her fingers don’t relent their grip on the plate until she finishes her statement. “A man in love is the closest thing to a puppy.”

I can’t contain the undignified snort that escapes me. I glance over my shoulder, making sure Mom isn’t around. “Wouldn’t want you questioning his intentions.”

“I don’t have to question him to know all his intentions, mi niña.” The tilt of my head implies a question she answers with a pat on my arm, like I’m a clueless child. “Eat.”

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