Page 120 of Losing Wendy

“There wouldn’t have been any witnesses,” I laugh.

“Wendy, Wendy. Always so beholden to everyone else’s rules.”

I bite my lip and try to focus on how nice it feels to have him close, on the way I’m utterly astounded every time Peter kisses me, every time he tells me he wants me.

“We could have had the Lost Boys be witnesses, you know.”

“They will,” I say. “Just not yet.”

Peter pulls away, though he’s gentle. “Why wait?”

“Because,” I say, searching for the words. When I find them, I discover they’re not something I want to admit to myself, so instead I appeal to Peter’s nature. “Don’t you think anticipation is half the fun? The dreaming and planning and hoping? I just need a little time.”

Peter cocks his head to the side. “To convince yourself you’re excited?”

“No.” My heart turns over, and I grasp at his hand. “No, I don’t have to convince myself. I’m already plenty convinced. I’d just like some time to savor our engagement, that’s all.”

Peter’s eyes betray him, glancing over to the shimmering freckles on my left jawline.

My breath catches, guilt plaguing me, though I can’t seem to pinpoint why. “Peter.” And because I don’t know that I’ll have the strength to deny him if he keeps looking at me like that, I ask, “Would you tell me more about Tink?”

The desire in Peter’s eyes runs cold, his shoulders tensing. “What would you like to know about her?”

I shrug, running my hand over the sheets. I can’t exactly tellPeter about the attack last night, not without him asking questions about why I was out so late to begin with. “We’re betrothed,” I settle on, twisting my emerald ring around my finger like it’s a costume ring and I’m a leading lady putting on my best performance. “It’s natural for me to be curious about your history. And it’s okay. I know you have parts of your past you don’t want to talk about. If this is one of them, I’ll drop it. But I figure if this is a topic you’re more indifferent to than the others…”

The tension in his shoulders releases. “You’rejealous.” He says the word like it’s honey on his tongue.

“I am sharing an island with my fiancé’s previous lover.”

He scratches behind his ear. “I’m just not sure what there is to tell you other than what we’ve already discussed. We came here together. It didn’t work out. Now, she won’t leave.”

I crinkle my brow. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s the question of how you met. Was it at the orphanage? Was she from your hometown? I’m also curious as to why it didn’t work out between the two of you. Or why you let her stay here terrorizing your guests.”

A sly grin quirks on his mouth. “When you put it like that, Wendy Darling, it’s like you’re trying to make me sound suspicious.”

I flick him on the shoulder and he laughs. “Tink and I didn’t meet at the orphanage, but I was employed there when I met her. I was out on an errand. She was traveling with a merchant’s caravan. We did what foolish youths tend to do and fancied we were in love. When the merchant’s caravan went ahead, she stayed behind, working as a tavern maid in town. After I met the Sister, I asked Tink to accompany us to Neverland. She said yes.”

“And the Sister allowed that?”

“The Sister thought a female touch would do the Lost Boys good.”

I frown. “But the Lost Boys acted like they’d never met a woman until me.”

A shadow overcomes Peter’s face. “When Tink awoke in Neverland—well, it was too much for her. The boys were ill for a timewhen they first arrived. By the time they came to, Tink’s mind had already fled her.”

The blood drains from my cheeks. “Because she’s a shadow-soother? Because the shadows drove her mad?”

“I tried to help her,” says Peter. “She wouldn’t let me. It was clear she couldn’t be trusted around the boys. Not without lashing out.”

My mind flashes back to attacking Michael in the night, and my spirit wilts.

Peter must notice my reaction, because he interlocks his fingers with mine. “You’re not like her, Wendy Darling. You let me help you.”

The illusory taste of faerie dust buds on my tongue, cloyingly sweet. I think of the entire day I lost to the dust, floating in the rafters of the storehouse while Joel was being stalked and brutally murdered.

Tink’s choice isn’t the one I would have made, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t understand it. Still, I’d take the daily doses of faerie dust over Tink’s crazed violence any day.

“What’s that? A love letter for your fiancé?” asks Peter, the cheerful disposition returning to his face as he snatches the parchment out of my hand. Lost in thoughts of Tink, I’d forgotten I was holding it. Immediately, his eyes widen, then his face softens. “I haven’t seen one of his sketches like this since—” He flicks his blue eyes up at me. “Where did you get this?”

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