Page 18 of Fated

Instead I close the wooden box, shutting the gleaming watch away in the dark.

The sound of the box closing is loud between us.

“I think”—my mum tilts her head and stares at the last slice of the Victoria sponge sitting alone on the platter—“I’ll slip out before you and Mila wake. I don’t care for goodbyes.”

I scoot across the couch and give my mum a tight hug. “Thank you for the watch.”

She pats my back. “You’re welcome. Sleep well.”

7

My bedroom isdark and cool. Moonlight filters through the wavy glass, casting a soft glow over my bed. It’s nearing midnight and the longest day of the year is coming to a close.

Outside the winds kick through the trees, rattling the branches. They answer to the rumble of thunder, a far-off growl echoing down the mountains and across the lake.

I’m in bed. The cool sheets rub against my bare legs and the crumple of the light gold duvet catches the moonlight. Except for the wind and the far-off thunder my bedroom is silent.

Usually, the old stone tower room has a sleepy, walled-off-from-the-world feel. But tonight there’s a breath-held expectancy riding through the dark. It mirrors the air outside, where the trees and the grass and even the wind wait for the coming rain.

I shift, leaning back against my pillows, and the scent of lavender flows to me. Next to me, on my nightstand, the watch sits unopened in its wooden case.

I stare at the ceiling, the darkness pressing down on me. I’m wide-awake. An electricity curls through me, keeping me from sleep.

I tap my fingers against the bed.

I stretch my legs across the cool sheets.

I roll over.

I punch my pillow.

Thunder rumbles, grumbling over the lake.

I kick my blankets loose.

I roll onto my side.

The gold latch on the box catches the moonlight and winks at me.

Oh, for goodness’ sake.

It’s just a watch.

I mean, it’sthewatch. A historic piece of great significance. But all the same, it’s just a watch.

It isn’t as if it can make dreams come true.

Per se.

But what if it could?

I roll onto my back and let out a long sigh. Rumbling thunder responds.

If it could ...

What exactly would I dream?

There’s a whisper in my heart, almost too quiet to hear.

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