Page 68 of Teach Me to Fly

Angelique recoils slightly, a flicker of panic in her eyes. “You’re delusional,” she breathes.

I huff a laugh, nodding. “Probably.”

She turns away, but I don’t let her get too far. I reach up and tuck a loose curl behind her ear, knuckles grazing her cheek.

“But I think you’re scared.”

She whips her gaze back to mine. “Scared of what?”

“Of how I make you feel.”

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, so I keep going.

“Because you don’t want to feel anything,” I murmur, my hand lingering near her face. “Because if you let yourself feel, you might not survive it.”

Chapter 24

Angelique

The aisles of Turn the Page, Marlow’s well-worn second-hand bookstore, still smells like old books and cracked leather. Lando and I used to come here on Friday nights—his excuse to sneak off to the back of the historical fiction aisle with whichever boyfriend he was seeing, while I wandered toward the poetry section, pretending not to hear their muffled laughter between the shelves.

I run my fingers over the cracked leather spines, not really reading the titles. I’m too aware of Reign behind me. He used to pick us up from here after he got his license, and it was always something I’d look forward to. Those stolen minutes with him in the car, steeped in my teenage longing and the impossible crush I never quite shook.

But today, I’m not looking forward to the drive back to the estate. Not after what he said.

I’m in love with you, Angel.

His words echo through my mind, looping over and over, and I don’t know how to stop. I hadn’t expected him to say it. Not now, not ever. We made an agreement yearsago that whatever was happening between us was physical and temporary. We were just two people using each other to feel a little less alone.

So, when did it stop being just that? When did loving each other become the truth?

“This was always your favourite, wasn’t it?”

I turn to the sound of Reign’s voice and find him holding up a worn, thin copy of Love Poems by Pablo Neruda. The cover is faded, and the pages are yellowed with time—just like I remember. He flips through it slowly, fingers lingering on each page as if he’s searching for something. Then he stops, clears his throat, and reads out loud.

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride…” He trails off, eyes fixed on the words for a moment too long.

When he finally looks up, the intensity in his gaze steals the air from my lungs and my heart kicks into a faster rhythm, my skin tingling with awareness. He wants me to continue.

“So I love you because I know no other way…” I finish softly, unable to look away from him.

His eyes darken with desire before he snaps the book shut and tucks it under his arm.

“Are you buying that?” I ask, arching a brow while I try to steady myself.

He nods, lips lifting into a faint smirk. “I think it’s about time I figured out why this Pablo Neruda guy had your heart when you were a freshman.”

I roll my eyes and turn away quickly, hiding the flush that creeps up my neck. I hadn’t expected him to remember the poet I used to obsess over—especially not my favourite poem. Back then,he barely noticed me. He always had adifferent girl on his arm, someone effortlessly beautiful, while I was just Lando’s quiet best friend. But maybe he was paying attention all along.

I drift through the aisles for a few more minutes, pretending to browse, but the air between us feels different now, charged and buzzing, like something unspoken is pushing to the surface. Finally, I glance over my shoulder.

“Can you play for me?”

Reign stops mid-step, brows lifting in quiet surprise. “The piano?”

I nod, my voice hesitant. “Yeah.”

He studies me for a beat, as if trying to decide whether or not I’m serious. I hold his gaze, swallowing the nerves rising in my throat. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that melody Lando and I overheard him playing. It was beautiful in the way only sadness can be, and I want more.

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