Page 29 of House of Clowns

"See?" I teased, nudging him. "We fit right in."

He was slow in his rise, and his hand dived into the damp earth before it extended to me. I slid my hand into his, and together we rose, our shadows melting together in the thin moonlight. Then it was that I saw the fresh, white bandage on his arm, rimmed with a slow trickle of blood.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, reaching a hand instinctively toward it, but he caught my wrist before I could touch the wound.

"Like hell," he laughed, though there was a wince to his eyes. "But Vitto gave me something he uses on the horses, so I barely felt a thing… until now."

"Sorry," I whispered, fighting a grin as I turned and began gathering up the clothes, sliding each item on against the cool night air on my skin.

"It's just another scar," he shrugged, a thread of amusement lacing through his words. "Nothing to get worked up over."

"Good to know," I replied and leaned in to press a quick, featherlight kiss against his cheek.

For a moment, he watched me, his eyes softer, pensive.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah," I said, taking his hand again, letting his warmth fill those spaces between us.

"Were you in the main tent tonight, in the audience?" His eyes probed mine, keen and almost hopeful.

"No," I said, feeling his eyes linger on me. "I was with Dhalia."

"Ha," a soft hum left his lips as he took my hand, pulling me behind him into the woods, fingers warm and familiar in mine.

As we approached the house, a folded slip of paper fell from his jacket and fluttered to the ground. He stopped, bending to retrieve it, pausing just a moment with it open in his hand. His face went remote, his eyes unfocused as he took in whateverwas on the paper. Then, he looked up at me, his face closed and unreadable.

"What is it?" I asked, trying to decipher his expression, the lines that formed around his mouth.

For someone who read people so easily, I could never fully read him. It was part of what made him so intriguingly irresistible.

"Nothing," he said, folding the paper and drawing closer, his voice dismissing whatever question there had been, his eyes holding something unsaid.

I just smiled, not wanting to push this any further. Inside, all I wanted was to throw my arms around him, feel the warmth against me, and let the night stretch on and on before us.

We stopped before the house, and I started up the stairs. At the third step, I felt an urgent desire to wheel abruptly and look back at him. He was standing down there with the paper crushed again in his hand, looking at it in such a way as if whatever was on it mattered much more than this or us.

"You coming?" I asked, hovering on the step.

"You go in," he said in a hushed tone, never taking his eyes off the paper. "I'll be a while."

I stepped down until I was close enough to look up into his eyes and catch his attention. He lifted his gaze, his lips softening into a smile.

"What are you doing?" he laughed, mirth dancing in his eyes.

"Remembering," I breathed, my hand rising to his cheek. "I want to remember your eyes…for a lifetime."

He returned my gaze, his eyes surging into mine with that depth of emotion that was always lying just below the surface.

"Don't you ever forget me," he whispered, his voice low, almost a beg.

"Promise," I replied, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Goodnight."

I turned and ran up the stairs, his eyes on me until I reached the door.

"Goodnight, my Ace of Hearts," he called, lighting a bow with a sparkle in his eye.

I looked back once more, my eyes caught him as he watched me, then turned and walked back toward the woods, disappearing. A pang in my chest—I knew tonight his arms wouldn't be wrapped around me. My fingers brushed my lips, holding onto the warmth of his kiss.

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