Page 52 of Mayflower

“The biggest changes take place here.” I tap my temple with my forefinger. “But the most extraordinary ones happen here.”

I press my palm to his chest, where his heart is.

“The scariest thing is to let people in there and let them see what you’re really made of. I’ve read your notes and letters, Rave.” His jaw tightens instantly. “I’m sorry. I wanted to know more about you, and I invaded your privacy. But I learned a lot. You don’t have to say the important words back to me. It’s all right. I have enough for both of us, and I’m not going to hide. Not this time. Not with you. I’m done playing games and holding back my feelings that I should’ve talked about long time ago. I love you, Rave.”

He pulls me tight against him, kisses my temple, and holds still like this.

“Please, don’t hide,” I say, trying to pull back again, but he won’t let me, and I give up. “I need you to know that I love you. I hope you do. I hope you understand that this is not an infatuation or a silly crush. I love you, with all my heart. All of you. And I wish that, one day, you deem me worthy of all your stories. I want you to share them all. One day.”

“I heard you,” he says almost in a whisper, kisses me on the cheek, and excuses himself.

He gets off the bed and pads to the bathroom.

Just like that.

I smile sadly to myself—I’m not surprised. I’m not offended that he just ditched me in bed. I know Raven by now. It will take time for him not to be weirded out by words like this. It’s okay. I’m patient. I have the patience of a thousand-year-old oak. And I have a lot of determination to make him and Little happy.

The shower starts again in the bathroom. Is Rave washing me off? Is he going to leave right now? Go to the Center?

That starts hurting just a little. He can be prickly like the Crown of Thorns flower, but there is no chance in hell he’s leaving right now. Not when I waited for him, crying my heart out.

Maybe I was too serious, and he was tired and not in the mood for this deep talk. But determined, I walk up to the bathroom door.

There is no movement behind it, just the shower running.

“Rave? Can I come in?”

There’s no answer. I try the handle, but the door is locked.

Guess whose turn it is to be a stalker, baby?

I don’t do this anymore, I tell myself as I walk to the nightstand, pick up one of my hairpins, then walk back to the door. I don’t break into rich places out of a sense of a thrill. I don’t party with gangsters during the quick trips to my Motherland. I don’t seduce a billionaire prince in Morocco just to mess with my dad. I don’t steal my dad’s rich friends’ luxury cars while intoxicated. I don’t sedate my bodyguard and fly to a party in Ibiza. I don’t shoplift out of a sense of rebellion because Dad blocked my credit cards.

I don’t pick the locks to places I’m not supposed to be anymore, except this one time.

It’s a matter of seconds until I open the door and walk in.

Raven stands naked, his palms and forehead pressed against the shower wall as the water cascades down his inked skin. He is a beautiful man. Scarred, etched with cuts and burns like a warrior. I know his quietness and stillness. No, he is not annoyed—he is hiding himself.

I don’t think twice when I step into the shower, wrap my arms around his waist, and press tightly against him, resting my head against his shoulder.

You all right?

I don’t ask that out loud. Something isn’t. His breathing is deep but uneven, as if he’s trying to hold his breath but fails. And then there is this occasional tremble of his body, a vibration in his chest, and I don’t need to be a psychic to know these little signs of a man trying to hold back the strongest emotions.

I’ve seen him being chained and stabbed. I’ve seen him angry and happy, bitter and tender.

But I’ve never seen him cry.

Until now.

17

RAVEN

My emotions gush out of me like water through a broken dam. I’ve been hating for too long. I’ve been feeling guilty for longer. I lived through regrets of what happened with Emily, burying myself alive, being an empty shell, and not letting anyone close.

For years, I’ve acted all fearless and tough as shit, trying to suppress the feeling that I might fuck up someone’s life like I did Emily’s because I didn’t do enough. And that fear snarled back at me whenever I felt a tiny movement in my heart.

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