Page 43 of Fate's Sweetest Curse
“You shouldn’t,” he’d said. “You can’t.”
I remember looking out across the city, laid out on the banks of the river far below. I remember staring down at the frothing spray of the water just beyond the marble balustrade of the bridge, transfixed by the mist that obscured the bottom of the deadly cascade. Noble’s rejection hadn’t made me want to jump, but ithadmade me consider pain; howphysicalit felt to have my heart broken. How breaking it on the sharp rocks below probably would have hurt less than those simple words.
Please don’t. You shouldn’t. You can’t.
What I wouldn’t give to relive the years leading up to that moment, though. Not carefree, per-se, but easier, because of what remained unsaid.
Perhaps it was his gift of heightened vision, but Noble had always been incredibly observant, attentive, thoughtful. He knew when I was happy, knew when I was sad, knew when I was faking calm. Even after he rejected me on Fate’s Landing, I’d still feltappreciatedin his presence. Cherished. Like hesawme and respected me, even if he didn’t feel the same way. Even if it hurt sometimes.
Standing in Phina’s empty lab, folded into Noble’s unexpected embrace, I felt the unfurling of time like the ruthlessness of the falls. From laughter to heartbreak, each moment we’d shared was like a single droplet, their sum an elemental force. Nestled against his solid chest, I allowed remembrance to pummel me like water, cleansing me with the fluid pleasure of memory. Of buoyant surrender.
It wasn’t like him to hold me like this. Had he spotted the sorrow I’d tried to hide on my face? Had hesensedmy desperate need for comfort? Secrets were lonely things—but they could also bind people together. Was that what this was? An acknowledgement of our terrible shared predicament?
The moment we let go, our agreement would start, and there would be no more speaking, touching, or reminiscing. The thought had me fisting the fabric of his shirt, pressing the soft curves of my body against the hard planes of his, seekingmore. In answer, one of his arms tightened around my waist. His other hand slid up my spine to cup the back of my head, fingers sliding into my hair, holding my face against his sternum.
Seconds passed, my limbs going boneless in his brutally strong embrace. Never in my life had I been held so reverently, protectively; it mademe wonder how I’deverstood up on my own. As I rocked with the tidal rhythm of his breaths, I wanted to weep from sheer relief.
But the hug couldn’t last forever.
And it wasjusta hug, after all.
Soaked with longing and self-consciousness, I stirred against him. His arm slackened, and his hand slid from my nape, and we broke apart. I felt like I’d been tumbled by river rapids, battered against stone, half-drowned and disoriented.
Rule number four: no nostalgia. Rule number five: no touching.
This was why.
Stepping back, I regarded Noble in the dim light of the library, searching for a clue as to why he’d initiated the contact. His face was mottled with a deep blush, cheekbones tinged purple; his mouth—which usually defaulted in a confident slant—was parted, breathless; but his eyes were hard. Unyielding.
What the expression meant, I couldn’t say. He always knew how to obscure his true feelings, and this was the perfect example.
Noble wiped a hand over his jaw and cleared his throat. “We should go.”
“I’ll ring for someone to escort me.”
“I can do it,” he said.
Me, blindfolded? Him, guiding me down unknown halls? “I’d rather you not.”
A nod. “Right.”
I brushed past him out of the alcove and yanked the cord by the entrance door. We waited in silence, him leaning against the wall and me standing with my arms folded, facing the moonlit lab. A cool breeze slithered through the gaps in the windows; as it ruffled the stems of the herbs, it took on a fragrant perfume. I filled my lungs with the herbaceous air, tasting its sweetness, trying to find my emotional footing.
When steps echoed in the hall, I turned back to Noble. He was watching me, green eyes keen and catlike in the dim foyer.
“I’ll…see you around?” I said.
He dipped his chin. “Hopefully not much, right?”
“Rule two. Right.”
He pushed off the wall. “Iamhappy for you, you know.”
“Thank you.”
“I know you’ll make the most of it.”
I thought of those long afternoons in the library when we were young, eating snacks and reading in mostly companionable silence. “I will,” I said, “so long as you don’t distract me by pelting me with chunks of bread.”
