Page 74 of Reckless Hearts

“I’m not sure I’m even going, that’s all.”

He smiles. “C’mon, Dahlia.” He hands me the bouquet of flowers that bear my name. “Just give me a chance?”

My lips twist up in a smile. “Let me…think about it?”

He beams. “Totally! Yeah, take your time.”

“Thanks, Chase,” I say shyly, turning to walk away.

“Sometimes I feel as if I’m the only real person wandering a whole planet of replicas.”

Time stops. I freeze mid-step, my mouth falling open as the line forever seared into my heart falls from Chase’s lips.

Swallowing, I turn to stare at him in disbelief.

“What did you just say?” I breathe.

“A single fish in a tank, with the glass painted to look like the ocean around me.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

It’s him. The diary author is Chase.

Not Deimos.

There’s a small flicker of disappointment deep in my core that I’m not quite ready to dissect yet. So I shove it aside, and promptly latch onto the other feeling: the one of utter disbelief and shock that this is happening.

“I gotta run to class.” He grins as he pushes the flowers firmly into my hands. “Hope we can talk soon, Dahlia.”

I, too, have class. But hours later, as late afternoon is fading into evening, I rush across campus to my favorite spot. I pull out the rock and flip open the orange leather book to the last page.

My heart soars at the words written there.

Have you figured out who I am yet, Dahlia?

We’ve never once used names. ObviouslyIhaven’t, because I don’t know who he is. But I’ve likewise never told him who Iam. It’s kind of been our “thing”.

Until now.

My heart races as the pieces all drop into place.

It’s Chase. The man I’ve been pouring out my soul to, who gets me so fucking much it hurts, who understands me, and doesn’t judge me, and has me hanging on his every word, isChase.

A smile lights up my whole face as I snatch a pen out of my bag and bring it to the page.

Yes. And I cannot tell you how glad I am that it’s you. I think I wanted it to be you all along. I can’t wait to dance with you at the Halloween Ball.

* * *

A week later,I make my way across a dark campus filled with eager, excited students. I’ve gotten ready for the Halloween Ball in my dorm room, despite Amanda’s snobbish, shitty comments, and her asking me “why I’m even going to the dance since no one wants to fuck a rape-baby.”

I won’t lie, seeing her smile drop like a stone when I casually mentioned that my date was Chase Cavendish wassupremelysatisfying.

The club members and assorted hangers-on that greet me at the Para Bellum mansion when I walk in are all equally as snobby and elitist as my roommate. Being in a club at all at Knightsblood puts you in the “elite” category of students here. But Para Bellum in particular seems to attract the especially blonde-hair-blue-eyes, WASP-y, snobby types.

Whatever.

I ignore the looks as I make my way upstairs and down the hall to the east wing of the mansion where the “top brass” of the club hang out.

---