Page 48 of Ruling Destiny

This time, when I focus on Braxton, it’s as though I’m seeing him through a new lens. There are so many secrets between us, but it’s time to blow this one out into the open.

I lean toward him. My voice lowered to a whisper, I say, “Did Arthur tell you why he wants theSalvator Mundi?”

Braxton squints in confusion. But is it real confusion or feigned? The way the flickering candles illuminate one half of his face while obscuring the other makes it impossible to tell.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says, fingers tracing the base of a wine goblet he’s long since drained.

I bite down on my lip, wishing I could just get it over with, tell him everything I know. And yet, there’s a good chance I’ve got this all wrong. I mean, just because Braxton and I both chose the Wheel of Fortune card—just because we both live at Gray Wolf, Tripping and thieving for Arthur—doesn’t mean our destinies are fated or even intertwined.

And if Arthur’s tracking our moves, then by suggesting we dine here, does that mean he’s found a way to listen in, too?

Or maybe he’s been listening all along, via our slabs?

I look at Braxton, filled with so much anxiety I can’t bring myself to explain. So, instead, I say, “I was just wondering if Arthur might’ve told you what kind of Gets he has in mind.”

Braxton shrugs. “The Renaissance era is ripe for the taking. There’s no telling what he wants. The important thing is, we’ll be there together.”

I gaze down at a splotch of red wine on the tablecloth, and I know I need to stop these paranoid thoughts, pull myself together, and return to the moment on offer.

I mean, here I am, in one of the most stunning spots in Gray Wolf, with this beautiful boy, and all I’ve done so far is shut down my heart so that my head can spin out conspiracies.

Once we’re safely in Italy, I’ll tell him everything. But for now, the bank of clouds overhead has shifted, revealing a sprinkling of stars and a sliver of moon. It’s a scene set for romance if there ever was one.

Returning to Braxton, I say, “So, what should we do between now and curfew?”

A slow smile spreads across his face. Like a person rearranging a room by moving a lamp from one corner to another, it effectively brightens the mood.

In one fluid move, he’s standing before me, offering his hand.

A moment later, I’m wrapped in his arms as Braxton sweeps me across the stone floor, our bodies swirling in perfect time with the concerto, until he twirls me into a darkened corner lit by a single flickering torch.

“I brought these back for you,” he says, slipping a hand into his jacket. He retrieves a pair of beautiful emerald-and-pearl earrings.

“How?” I gape at them. “And—I mean, where?”

“I didn’t steal them off a noble—if that’s what you’re thinking.” He laughs. “I thought you might like to wear something on your Trip that wasn’t borrowed from Wardrobe.”

“Other than my talisman, you mean?”

Braxton grins. “May I?” He gestures toward my ears.

I slip out my small golden hoops and insert the new earrings. “What do you think?” I ask, wishing there was a mirror nearby.

“I think I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he says.

My cheeks instantly flush, and the moment I’m back in his arms, his lips parting for mine, I can’t believe I wasted so much of this night hunting for lies and cooking up intrigue, when this—right here, secure in Braxton’s warmth—is the only place I want to be.

His lips find my neck, trailing a path of sweet, fevered kisses down to my collarbone. “What happened here?” he asks, tracing a finger along the scratch on my throat.

“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to silence him with a kiss. But unfortunately, he’s also noticed the finger-shaped bruises marking my arm.

“Natasha, did something happen today?”

The question almost makes me laugh—so many things happened. But Braxton’s gaze is brimming with worry, so I do what I can to ease his concern.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Better than fine, because I’m right here with you.” I burrow back into his arms, returning to where we left off.

“Your scent reminds me of springtime and sunshine and laughter and joy.” He kisses me with a wanting that matches my own. “And you taste like faith and hope and promises kept.” He groans low and deep as his hands trail down to my waist and his lips find their way back to mine. “What have I done to deserve a girl like you?” He kisses me until I’m dizzy with it, until I’m forced to pull away, drag in a breath, before I go back for more. “Tasha,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “I need you to know, I’ve never felt this way before.”

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