Page 87 of Us in Ruins

He startled back in surprise only momentarily, and then, Van’s hand wound around the back of her head, threading his fingers through her curls. He leaned into her. Firm but patient. Like he’d been waiting for this, and he didn’t want to rush it.

The rest of the universe dimmed around them. Margot forgot to care about whether or not her lipstick had smudged. She pulled Van closer, and his hands grazed down her sides, landing at her hips. Stars spun behind Margot’s closed lids as Van toyed with the hem of her shirt, his fingers pressing against the smooth skin of her waist.

When she finally pulled away, out of breath and beaming, Margot cupped Van’s face with both hands. She whispered, “I love you, too. You didn’t let me say it back.”

His lips dipped against her forehead. A laugh filtered from them—the kind of sound Margot hoped she never had to miss again. “But Margot, what did you do?”

“Oh, I, um—” A rush of hot embarrassment flushed Margot’s cheeks. That familiar sting of leftover emotion prickled beneath her skin. Her head hung low. She couldn’t even look at him. “I smashed it.”

Van’s eyebrows raised so high, they nearly got lost beneath his hairline. “When I said you could have the Vase, that wasn’t exactly what I anticipated.”

“I didn’t want it anymore,” she said. “I just wanted you.”

Around them, the shards on the floor had dissolved into dust motes that sifted through the air. Every trace of the Vase of Venus Aurelia had vanished. She braced herself, but Van didn’t look at her like she’d overreacted. No chastising huff, no pinching the bridge of his nose.

He stretched his fingers behind his back and then his elbows over his head, testing his joints for stiffness. A slow smile overtook his face. “You got me.”

He wrapped his arms back around her, lifting her off her feet as his lips pressed to hers once more.

When her feet hit the ground again, she said, “I don’t understand.” Although if it meant he’d keep kissing her, she wasn’t going to complain.

“Don’t you see?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “Without the Vase, there’s no curse.”

It was as if, then, the glow from the shards radiated through her chest, lighting up the deepest parts of her. Her emotions hadn’t ruined anything—they had saved him.

There was only one problem. “I think no more Vase also means no more treasure. The minute I grabbed the Vase, the door closed. We’re super trapped.”

His eyes trailed toward the door. He considered this new input as he shook the dust out of his blond hair. “There has to be a way out. Think of it like another trial.”

Above them, the ceiling quaked again. If they didn’t find a way out soon, they might never have the chance.

Van paced the room, palms shifting over the stones in search of some kind of trapdoor, but Margot couldn’t bring herself to move. Whatever he was looking for, she was almost certain he wouldn’t find it. Venus hadn’t crafted the Vase for nothing—it was the key to the treasure, and it was gone. The inscription had said gold and a heart of stone. Not or. This wasn’t a choose-your-own-adventure.

She sagged against the altar. Her hand depressed the center of the stone pedestal, and she yipped in surprise. The farther her hand sank, the more the opposite wall shifted with the groan of an archway opening.

“Is that...?” Van trailed off with a question mark of disbelief tacked on the end.

The door to the treasure room—a stone plate that slid beneath a carved frieze of tides and moons and myrtle blooms—stood wide open. Margot raised her palm slowly, stopping halfway. The door followed, sinking low but refusing to close.

Again and again, she tested the door’s response. A thought percolated, bubbling closer to the surface with each rise and fall of the stone slab. Without the Vase, it was like whatever magic tie had protected the gold had severed. Now, it was a simple pulley system.

Van and Margot pivoted toward each other and, in unison, said, “The House of Olea!”

The door operated with a pressure plate—they didn’t have the Vase of Venus Aurelia, but all they needed was something to keep it triggered. Just like they had with the stones in the House of Olea, operating the pendulums.

She could practically see the light bulb go off in Van’s head. He said, “Wait right there!”

But when Van dashed toward the staircase, half-submerged beneath a thousand tons of soil, the door to the treasure slammed shut so forcefully, it kicked up a cloud of dust.

“Was that you?” he asked.

“Definitely not.” Even leaning all her body weight against the altar, the door wouldn’t budge. Margot slumped against the cool stone with a groan. They were never getting out of here alive.

Van backtracked toward her. Halfway, the door shifted again.

Margot propped herself up on her elbow. Her gaze sliced between Van and the door and back again. It didn’t make sense. Was he controlling the treasure room? One more step, and the doorway closed, leaving Van bobbing in the center of the temple, hands outstretched warily.

Then, Margot saw it. He’d stepped inside the ring of mosaic myrtles, the same place he’d turned to stone. Of course. It wasn’t enough to have the Vase of Venus Aurelia—just like the inscription said.

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