Page 108 of Juliet & Her Romeos

Before I can test it, however, the wind drives the snow harder against the high, domed windows that line the corridor. I jump, as they rattle.

The wind picks up even further, howling like a banshee.

Where’s Mom? Where’s Dad? I want them. When are they coming home?

The rising storm throws me back to the memory of another storm long ago, and to the aftermath when just like now, I’d tested doors. When I’d run from room to room throughout the ranch, throwing open every single one in the place, searching for a mom and dad who were gone and could never answer me again.

A pulse of fear makes me clasp my hands over my ears.

I tremble.

All of a sudden, I dread being alone.

I dread that I’ll find evidence that proves Nova isn’t hidden somewhere on this estate, in a secret room beneath the academy, or imprisoned in the Institute.

I dread finding that she’s been sent to the freezing cold of Siberia or somewhere that she’ll also never be able to answer me again.

But what I dread worse is forever not knowing.

I clasp the handle, glaring at it like it’s Olivia.

You’re going to turn, bitch.

I’m matched to your son, I’m here in your house, and I’m not going anywhere.

One, two, three.

On the count of three, I hold my breath and turn the handle.

To my surprise, the door opens.

I shove it fully open, as my shoulders slump in relief. Then I edge into the room.

My eyes widen.

It’s a library.

Except, that doesn’t do it justice. It’s more like some grand Roman library. Marble columns run between stacks of leatherbound books and murals on the wall of ballet dancers fromRomeo and Juliet,Swan Lake, andThe Nutcracker.

Above the room is a dome of glass. The blizzard rages against it. It makes me feel like I’m trapped inside a snow globe.

Despite my fear of the storm, excitement wells through me, as I edge into the library, between statues of male and female dancers.

They look like Ariana and Remington.

Perfect but cold.

Forever frozen in poses that suit the Romeos.

I scrunch up my nose at the whiff of vanilla, old paper, and ink.

I stare in awe up the spiral staircases that lead to a second level of the library. I haven’t seen so many books (or been able to read anything apart from ballet rulebooks and guides), since high school.

It’s better than stepping intoBeauty and the Beast.

My lips quirk.

Ambrose sort ofisa beast.

---