Page 127 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
His hand lifts again, his thumb tracing the line of my cheek. The world outside falls away, the music, the laughter, the weight of everything I’m supposed to be.
There’s only him.
He leans in until our foreheads touch, his breath warm against my skin, and all I can think is that if he’s mad, then so am I.
Chapter 44
Ophelia
Twelve months earlier | Elaris Isle, St. Monarché Institute.
I wake with a smile tugging at my lips, my phone still in my hand. The screen glows faintly.
Arlo: Bonjour, mon amour.
Just three words, and somehow they’re enough to make my chest feel light.
It’s been six months since that night in Paris.
Six months of messages, late night calls, and stolen meetings whenever we get the chance.
To everyone else, I’m still Ophelia Bellanti, the obedient daughter who never argues, never steps out of line. But the truth is, every rule I was born under is slowly turning to ash, and Arlo’s the reason.
No one knows about us. For obvious reasons, they can’t. My father would destroy both of us if he ever found out.
Arlo hates keeping us a secret as much as I do, but I do it out of fear—fear of what my father might do to him.
His reasons are different, ones he doesn’t share.
Whenever I ask, he only tells me to be patient, that soon we won’t have to hide anymore.
But for now, we keep it buried, our own quiet world, fragile but sacred.
We don’t see each other as often as I wish, but somehow, he always finds a way. He always appears when I least expect it.
Thinking of him makes my chest ache in the best possible way.
Last night drifts back to me.
I’d told my father I was returning to the academy a day early, but instead, I met Arlo.
He’d rented a small villa in Tuscany, a few hours from my father’s territory, hidden among the vineyards.
We had dinner, walked through the quiet lanes hand in hand, kissed more times than I can count.
It was perfect.
When we finally went back to our room, we took a bath together, then dried off and sat by the open windows, the night air warm against our skin.
That’s when he reached for a small box beside him. “This is for you,” he said, his voice lower than usual, rougher somehow. He was sitting across from me, and for once, he looked almost shy.
I smiled, curious. “What is it?”
He nudged the velvet box toward me. “Open it.”
When I did, the light caught on the stone inside, a breathtaking emerald pendant, deep green, set in white gold. My mouth parted. “Arlo, this is… this is too much.”
He shook his head immediately. “I’d say it’s not enough.”
