Page 23 of Dark Night Golden Dawn
I saw who took you home. Update me on everything tomorrow.
Thea said she’d be home in a few hours, that Alaric was taking her out for a late dinner, but that she planned to spend the night at home, rather than her own place. Before she could text back, Larkin plucked her phone from her fingers.
“Watch the movie, please,” the little tyrant commanded, tossing her phone aside. Eventually, Larkin moved to the couch and covered up with a blanket, but Harlow was glued in place.
She was acutely aware of both the moment Larkin fell asleep and Finn’s warm body next to hers. He was sitting close enough to touch. The film got scarier. It wasn’t a gory slasher film, but a tense ghost story, a thriller. Harlow knew the jump scare was coming, felt her body go taut and then startle as the ghost appeared for the first time. Her fingers brushed Finn’s involuntarily and he took her hand.
“I forgot that you hate scary movies,” he whispered.
She tried to even her breathing, but he ran his thumb down the center of her palm in a way that was far from innocent. Warmth flooded her belly as his eyes grazed over her bare shoulder, at the bustier that was practically exposed by the sweater’s wide neck.
Every nerve in her body screamed for his touch, betraying her heart. Harlow closed her eyes and she felt the whisper of his breath on her face. Then nothing. He let go of her fingers and moved ever so slightly away from her. Her heart dropped with disappointment, traitorous disappointment.
Then she heard it: Larkin’s breathing was irregular. She was awake, but pretending to sleep. She glanced at Finn and saw his lips curl into a smile, a real one, not that smug one he’d worn at the party. He’d known before she had, that preternatural Illuminated sense of hearing telling him Larkin had woken.
When the movie ended, Larkin was awake and she said goodnight quickly. Harlow knew she wasn’t going to bed. Her littlest silly was going to get the talking to of her life when Finn left. He helped to take the leftover pizza boxes into the kitchen. When Harlow turned away from the huge fridge he was smiling wistfully, leaning against the island, arms crossed.
“This is almost how I imagined it would be.”
“Almost?” she asked, as though in a dream. Only the little lamp on the counter was on, making the kitchen cozy and dark.
Finn pushed away from the island, the muscles in his chest flexing. Sometime during the movie he’d taken his jacket off, and the t-shirt he wore was practically sinful, it looked so good on him. He moved slowly, deliberately, giving her a chance to move away. She told herself she stayed in one spot because this was better than one of her sisters being the object of his attention, or worse,his parents’attention. But the deeper voice inside her spoke the truth: she knew he’d never make a single move on any of her sisters.
The ferocity of his attention spoke volumes. He was nearly touching her now. Her breath quickened when one long arm snaked around her waist as he pulled her to him. She didn’t think, didn’t allow herself to think, but raised her chin to be kissed as she leaned into him, pressing her palms into the solid, warm bulk of his chest.
He tugged on her gently, bringing her closer and she responded, wrapping her arms around his neck. He smelled so good, and the way his body warmed hers was decadent, indulgent, and oh so dangerous.
Finn’s mouth was soft against her skin as he bent to kiss her cheekbones. “I wanted this so much when we were in school. To come here, to watch a movie with your sisters and hold your hand. To kiss you in the kitchen. To be a normal couple.”
“Then why did you ruin it all?” she asked, the words slipping out, even as she leaned into the heat of his chest.
“Godsdamn it, Harls,” he growled, letting her go. The cold air that filled the space between them shocked her system.
Before she could ask him again, he was gone, using that supernatural speed to leave her standing alone in the kitchen, her chest feeling flayed open as though she were seventeen again, heart freshly broken. She slid to the floor, shaking with the sobs she’d shoved down for seven years.
ChapterTwelve
“Harlow?” Larkin’s voice was gentle. How long had she been sitting here? “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Now her sister was panicked.
“No, pal. He didn’t hurt me. Well, maybe my feelings, but that was a long time ago.”
Larkin pulled her up off the marble floor. “Come on. Come to my room.”
Harlow nodded, wiping her face with the tissue Larkin handed her and following her sister to her room. Larkin’s room was lit by a host of floating witchlights, and her bed had a canopy with dark grey linen curtains. Her walls were papered with old sheets of music and her violin was out, as though she might play at any moment.
Harlow let her little sister tuck her into bed and then crawl in next to her, curling up against her shoulder. “Thought I was supposed to be comforting you,” she muttered.
“You can, if you want… I had fun until he made you cry. I didn’t think that’s what would happen, not from the way you were looking at each other.”
Harlow didn’t reply. She just let the tears slip down her face.
Larkin tucked her cold feet under Harlow’s legs. “What’s the story between you?”
It was a simple question, but there were no easy answers. Mostly because Harlow didn’t really know what happened. “We were good friends from the time we were ten. His family moved here that year, and Finn, Enzo and I became inseparable.”
“How old was I?” Larkin asked.
Harlow smiled faintly as she counted back. Larkin always asked how old she was whenever Thea or Harlow told a story about their past. She seemed fascinated with the idea that there was so much history she’d missed, being the baby. “About three, I guess?”
