Page 63 of The Deadliest Game

For a second, his face clouded, then he sat up completely, his graceful and powerful legs hanging over the side of the bed. He looked at me with a softness that was difficult to turn away.

His intensity mesmerized me, and I could barely breathe or move an inch without feeling like I would break something incredibly fragile.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the note I had written him four years ago. It was featherlight, but it swallowed up both of our attentions.

“What is this?” I asked.

He inhaled sharply, and his face clouded. “You were in my office.”

I gritted my teeth. “Of course, I was in your office. A person who begs for my trust shouldn’t be upset when I look through their belongings.”

He clenched his jaw. “This is true.”

Something settled inside of me relieved that he wasn’t yelling. How far we’d come.

Taking a deep breath, I said, “I gave this note to my friend the day you came to Casas Grandes. I was supposed to meet you that day but stayed behind to watch the younger children.”

A fierce look crossed his face. “If you had come, you’d be dead.”

That brought up something ugly from the depths of my soul, which weighed on me for years. “I should have died that day, but I didn’t. The worst part is that I am glad I’m alive whenever you look at me. The story of my life is written in red ink. I bring pain to those closest to me. I-I don’t deserve to be happy.”

He stood up and crossed the space between us, placing his hand over mine and sliding the note out of my fingers.

I didn’t stop him.

I should’ve, but I trembled.

“I remember the face of the boy that gave this to me. All he said was that it wasn’t from him.” Antonio’s brows furrowed. “My bodyguards were supposed to take it from me, but I had to give my speech almost immediately after. It was in my pocket when the bombs went off. I didn’t read it until about a week later when one of my mother’s Trabajadores brought it to me.”

I wondered what it must’ve been like to be there in the square when the explosions shook the foundations of the isle.

He frowned. “When I read it, I wasn’t in love or anything. But it did move me. So many people were giving me things, and my mother and father were delighted. But you gave me perspective. You were an example of something real in the life of deadly games.”

My heart pounded in my chest. “I wasn’t in love with you either.”

He smirked. “You said that in the note.” The room was still and quiet, but my gaze wandered back to the lamp on his bed.

“Carmen, I have seen many people die, and I can tell you I don’t understand how it works. You deserve to be happy more than anyone I know.”

I shook my head, turning my attention back to him as tears stung my eyes. “I’m not sure I can ever be truly happy. I’m too damaged, too broken.” Though I stopped speaking, my thoughts did not.

Antonio’s thumb traced circles on the back of my hand. “You’re not broken, Carmen. You are in pain. You’ve survived things that would have shattered most people beyond repair. You’re beautiful, smart, and kind. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

I pushed against his chest. “I—I can’t love you. I can’t love anyone.”

He pulled away, his gaze intense. “I’m not asking you to love me. Not yet, anyway. I’d settle for you not pushing me away every chance you got.”

I swallowed hard and shook. Was this real? How had we gotten to this place? It was killing me not to touch him, to feel his strong heartbeat under my own. The only sound was our ragged breathing as I leaned in and aimed to kiss him.

And I missed.

I was trembling so badly that I ended up with my mouth on his chin.

Horrified, I pulled back and covered my mouth with my hand. Up till this point, Antonio had guided me with such ease.

I had only ever kissed one person before him, and my lack of practice glared back at me.

Antonio didn’t look terrified, far from it. He wanted much more than my mouth.

---