Page 125 of Entangled

Should I go after her? What was this?

The door swings shut in front of me, and then Jasper is standing in front of it. In front of me.

“Hello, Lucien.”

“Don’t.Don’tLucien me.” I’m going to throw up. She won’t go far, right? She’s still in the house. She wouldn’t leave Bristlebrook, would she? “What the hell was that, Jasper?”

I’m breathing too fast. Ijustgot her back. I stare at the door.

She wascrying.

I actually feel it—the moment my heart ruptures. It physically, truly hurts. I press my hand against my chest, like I should feel blood spilling out of it, a more fatal blow than my bullet wounds.

I only wanted to make her smile.

“Did you have something to do with that? What did you say to her?” Anger rises to meet my panic. I search his face, suddenly furious. It’s one thing for him to hurt me; it’s another thing entirely for him to hurt Eden. “Fix it. Fix itnow.”

Jasper studies my face right back, a slight frown marring the smooth marble of his own. “Eden made her own decision.”

“Aboutwhat?”

Shockingly, Jasper looks hesitant. “About this.”

He pulls something from his pocket. It’s a small yellow flower, I realize, rumpled and a little wilted from its confines. He twirls it between his fingers and looks up at me from beneath those sinful lashes. His eyes are fathomless. Beautiful.

Tentatively, he reaches up and tucks it behind my ear, into my hair, and I freeze at the touch. His fingers stroke my hair the whole way back down to my chest. My scalp tingles, and my whole body lights up with gooseflesh.

I’ve forgotten how to breathe. Justpoof. Gone.

He studies the flower, and the curve of his lips is almost... affectionate.

Why is he looking at me like that? Since he left, I’ve braced for everything on his return. For coldness. Distance. Another few years of half-caught glances and jacking myself off to thoughts of him.

I wasn’t prepared for a flower and a smile.

“Every day I was out there, I was in a panic,” he says softly. “I couldn’t bear the thought of Eden being hurt, and I was acutely aware that we might be too late. Or worse, that we might be so because I was too slow. Too inept.” Jasper’s eyes close for a moment on a tired exhale.

His usual elegance is disturbed, his beauty especially raw today. There are weary lines at the corners of his eyes, and his inky hair is uncharacteristically mussed. For the first time, I spot a few silver hairs flecking the obsidian at his temples. He’s exhausted, I realize, and battling the same guilt I am.

That we all are.

“There were several moments when I thought I physically couldn’t do it. I reached my utter limit. And then I would see your pin.” Jasper absently touches the bright daffodil pin on my uniform, the one my mom gave me but I was never allowed to wear while I was officially in service.

He’s still in my uniform.

Despite my alarm, my mind trips over itself, seeing him in it. Unlike when he left, it seems to fit him better. A little better, anyway.

Jasper’s eyes lift back to mine, and they’re naked with emotion. He’s looking at me... differently. The stilted, agonized expression he wore with Eden is gone, and in its place is something my body recognizes but my memories don’t. It’s intimate and so dangerous that the small hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end, and my panicked heart starts racing for a different reason.

“This pin of yours reminded me of you. Cheerful. Almost absurd. But hopeful. You never give up, Lucien. Your tenacity is one of your most beautiful and admirable qualities,” he says softly.

He steps in, and I step back, not in rejection but just... confused. He’s being charming. Eden was crying. I don’t know how I’m feeling, but I know I’m feeling so much of it, whatever it is. He continues, unperturbed, stepping forward again and tracking me with those perilous eyes.

“I saw the flower on the way here, and it again reminded me of you. So I plucked it.” His smile turns self-deprecating. “If only I could have decided to keep you so quickly.”

I step back again, and my thighs hit the raised arm of the couch. He stops close enough that we’re sharing the same breath. His fingers brush the flower again.

“I’ve hurt it, I can see that now. Perhaps I should have left it alone.” The tips of his fingers trail over my cheekbone, my brow, down my nose, pausing on my lips.

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