Page 44 of The Dandelion Princess
I release the tight grip on myself and pull him into me, tracing the scar in his hairline, down to his earlobe. When I brush it, a shiver travels across his shoulders and he holds onto me like I’m the only thing keeping him upright. For a few moments, I think it’s true.
He pauses to breathe, the drag of air coming with a shudder, and I smile against his lips. Marc is being very uncool.
I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was going to be this good. It was supposed to be an adolescent crush, as dead as a felled oak, hauled out of the woods. Now that same ground is sprouting fairy rings—new magic growing from the roots of the old. What am I going to do?
Before I can hazard an answer, a crash breaks us apart. I stumble against the tree just as a pair of bright flashlights pierce the dark sanctuary.
14
Ove! Ove!
ELLA
I squint away from the harsh points of light and hastily scrub my mouth.
“The game is up,” Alix laughs, hauling me out of the cleft, unaware of the terrain. I twist my ankle on a thick root and bite back a cry as I join her on the path.
“Didn’t you hear my ‘Ove! Ove! Pen up the cows’?” She sends Marc a scathing look as we go. “I found Mikkel right away.”
At the campfire, Alix pushes me into an empty chair next to the actor. For the rest of the night, I catch Marc gazing at me from across the fire, his face grave.
It’s not that serious, I want to say. It was one kiss and we satisfied our curiosity.
My throat vibrates with a rueful laugh. That wasn’t one kiss. It was a nine-part miniseries with subtitles, musical numbers, and a dramatic cliffhanger setting up season two. It’s all I can do toanswer questions and nod along to conversations while that kiss plays and replays in my head.
The party begins to break up. Some guests head to their tents and others to smaller fire circles, filling the night with low voices, interspersed with apologetic bursts of laughter. As the maid of honor, I do my part to keep the party going, hampered by Mikkel who won’t shut up. The pain in my ankle turns into a dull throb and I listen with half an ear, wishing I could go to Marc. I want to reassure him that nothing can change our friendship, but a worm of anxiety chews away at the soft flesh of certainty.
“I would have said no to the prosthetic ears but the money was insane,” Mikkel says, speaking of his role in an American blockbuster, firelight flickering over his chiseled features.
I tip my head back, following the smoke into the night sky. “There’s Ulek the Bear,” I cut in, pointing to Ursa Minor. Marc taught me to identify him andKarlswagon, The Woodsman and The Herring Net.
Across the fire, Marc stills.
“I read a script about a nuclear physicist on a doomed mission who falls in love with a nebula he imagines as Audrey Hepburn. We’re getting AI to recreate her role,” Mikkel persists. Pressing his palms together, he closes his eyes briefly. “Such an honor to work with her.”
Eventually, I give up any thought of outlasting Mikkel. I retreat to my tent, gritting my teeth against the twinge in my ankle. When the flap drops closed, I collapse onto the bed, finally allowing the enormity of the night to crash into me. I kissed Marc. It wasn’t some delusional, self-insert fanfiction vomited into a Notes app by a fevered adolescent mind. I peel off my shoes and go over it again a few more times just to be sure. He knows I was into it. I flop back and cover my face with a thick pillow.Dominanstid, he could see how much I liked it froma mile away. It was as obvious as a monster destroying whole cities, burning everything in its path with fiery breath.
No matter how soft the Turkish rugs or how smooth the Egyptian cotton, sleep eludes me. At the break of dawn, I shrug on a flannel layer and stumble from the tent, my hair a fury of curls.
I follow the smell of woodsmoke and have a tiny, Girl Trackers freak out about leaving fires unattended all night next to historically significant stately homes. I break into an awkward run, skidding to a stop when I see Marc add another log into the blaze. He lifts his eyes and drops the piece of wood. Sparks kick up, flying skyward in a whorl of smoke until they flame out.
“I thought—” I stumble into a low-slung chair, watching him.
“There’s water. There’s a rake. There’s a four meter perimeter,” he answers.
I nod. My heart won’t settle. He takes the chair next to mine, leans forward, running a finger along my uninjured ankle, and hooks the slim gold chain. “Ella—”
“Ove! Ove! The cows are out,” Alix shouts, hopping from her tent, hair wrapped in a pink plush headband with a bow in the front. “Breakfast!”
Marc’s fingers slip away and I scramble to my feet. “Where does she get the energy?” I mutter.
Marc grunts a laugh.
“You look like you’ve gotten a telegram that all the young men of your village have been wiped out in the Great War,” Alix says, greeting her brother. “What happened?”
He gives her a great hug and me a look.Don’t you dare.
Doesn’t he know me at all?
