Thea had often wondered if she would even notice, if Tris changed his mind about her. If he ever saw her as a woman, and not just a friend. She’d spent so much time convinced it would never happen, thinking it didn’t matter how beautiful she was, how grown up, how competent, how worldly…maybe she’d become so dedicated to this idea, she would be blind to the subtle shift in how he looked at her, insensible to his thoughts.
But Tristan was not subtle, and his thoughts were writ large on his face. She was sure her own were as easy to read as a street sign.
So the interruption was both welcome and unwelcome. She had a flicker of self-consciousness telling her that she needed to slow down, get her bearings, get a grip, get a hold of herself. The raw longing that buzzed between them was loud as a swarm – he wanted to kiss her, and she wanted to be kissed, but she wanted so much more from him, wanted to give him so much more. Everything. Could she be content with his casual affection? Could she be a girl he kissed and took to bed and loved in that formless way of his, untethered, a wild falcon that would never land? Could she treat him like a man she met in a temple, on a faraway island?
Alethea wasn’t sure. In the moment, all she was sure of was wanting him.
The room had gone from warm to hot, and Thea regretted her choice of clothing immensely. A sundress, that would have been better. She would have fanned herself if it were not so obvious. Instead she busied her hands opening books of wallpaper and satin, arranging a few ideas around the scarlet and gold: a white like fresh cream; a dark, muted green to anchor everything, touches of walnut and lacquer. By the time he returns, there is practically a full design laid out on the table, the tension of the moment making her decisive, somehow.
He turns her, and she swallows thickly, imperceptibly. Her smile is soft, but her eyes could burn.
“How could I say no?” It’s a question for him, for herself. Layered. They are so close…
The way he stiffens, when he hears the pointed cough in the hall, makes her laugh.
“Persistent, isn’t he?” She asks through a smirk. She smooths her hands over her skirt when he releases her, feeling rumpled, somehow, as if he’s already pushed her down onto the bed and kissed her breathless. An unwise thought; the room goes from hot to scalding. She’s about to suggest that they go somewhere else for dinner, somewhere outdoors, with a cool breeze and the open sky to make all of this feel less intimate, when he instructs Jay to fetch their meal.
He had asked her to stay. Apparently he meant right here. And how can she say no?
She can’t.
She goes to the window, levers it open a crack, stands with her back to the room and her face to the world, breathing deeply the cool evening air. Her hands on the sill tremble faintly. There are more servants coming soon – they will be shortly interrupted, as they have been since she arrived. Maybe all these intrusions were fate trying to tell her something, trying to warn her. Give her opportunities to reign it in, to defuse the bomb she’s lit. Maybe all they can do is burn.
“Tristan,” she starts, without turning. She knows if she looks at him, all sense will abandon her. But she can see his reflection in the window glass, and the sense she has left is all for where he is, so near, just the two of them. All hers, for once. It has been so long…
She closes her eyes, breathes out through parted lips. Steadies herself.
“I really missed you.”
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