Page 115 of My Lovely Tragedy
“Yes.”
“You seem far too pretentious to ever want to be totally solo from society.”
I blink.Rude little thing.“I am not saying forever. But perhaps for long periods at a time. That would be nice.”
“We’ve already been doing that. And not one person has come here.”
My lips twist with my frown. “Well, I suppose you are correct.”
“Obviously.”
“Hush, brat. It’s still my fantasy. I can do whatever I want—according toyourrules. And I shall stick with my answer, no matter how ridiculous. Thank you.” I take a drink.
He barks out a laugh, head thrown back as it echoes off the trees. “You sound so snotty.” My lips part to protest, but he shakes his head, cutting me off. “But yeah, it does sound nice. I do like how ours are opposites though. That’s kinda cool.”
“They are also very similar as well,” I point out as I scoop up a handful of almonds and pop one into my mouth.
“Yeah.” He watches my mouth. “They are.”
I hum softly, leaning back with my eyes closed against the slow, disappearing sun. The heat is still enough to warm my face, sending streams of vibrant red behind my lids. I hear the rustle of the blanket as Brooklyn brings himself closer. He presses against me, his right arm against my left, chains splayed across my lap.
He drops his head onto my shoulder and releases a heavy breath. My lips twitch to ask him what is on his mind, but I hold back. I don’t think I want to know—not now. Not in this moment when all is still and quiet and wonderful. With him pressed against me, seeking out comfort through my touch alone.
I finish my almonds and slide my hand along the top of his thigh, just above his knee to squeeze the muscle there. He sighs softly and melts a little more. With his left hand, he takes a sip of his wine—which is nearly gone—so I copy the movement, wanting to taste what he does at the same moment. Drawing us as close as we can be.
“I really like this, Tobias. It’s nice. Thank you.”
My heart skips, a heavy drop in my chest cavity. I turn to nuzzle into his hair, which is still slightly damp and smelling of vanilla.
“It is nice, isn’t it,” I murmur. “Thank you for indulging me.”For giving me absolutely everything.
His response comes after a long bout of silence. Of listening to the wind rustle through the trees, the screeches of birds. Of homing in on our matched, even breaths.
It’s nothing I expected to ever come from his lips. Something ruinous and shattering. Impossible and hideous.
It fucking eviscerates me.
“I think I love you, Tobias.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY
TOBIAS
I cannot gethis words out of my head. All six—each syllable in his rough cadence—play on a loop. Torturous and malignant.
I hear them even through the notes flowing into the air between us. His fingers move elegantly over the ivories, playing my song from memory alone. And I wish I could focus solely on his expression. Eyes staring down at the keys with devotion and focus. Fingers, thick and strong, hitting each note with a delicacy that betrays him. His shoulders, broad and tensed. Back curved over the keyboard, feet moving below us against the pedals.
But it’s all blurred by his admission. Ugly and impossible.
I have never hated myself quite like I do right now.
“Did you hear that?” Brooklyn gasps, chest heaving as he turns toward me, eyes alight with joy.
I blink, forcing myself back into this moment with him. Where Ineedto be. “Yes, darling. It was perfect.”
“I think I finally got it. The ending to your song. Do you like it? I think it’s brilliant.” His mouth is moving faster with each word, excitement spilling out of him through every movement, every noise. A peaceful joy.
“It seems you have.”
