Page 54 of Those Fatal Flowers

She nudges me gently with her shoulder, and it takes all my strength not to seize her by the forearms and press her in close. “I barely remember it. You tell me one instead.”

“Oh, all right, coward,” I say, keenly aware of the sweat on my palms. “Ready?”

Cora nods, so I begin:

For just gazing at you for a second, it is impossible

for me even to talk…

The verses spill from my mouth instinctively, as if one of the Muses has caught hold of my tongue. But I barely hear the words—my world is reduced to her eyes, and the fact that they’re locked on my lips. I only realize I’ve finished speaking when she raises her stare to meet mine.

A look passes between us before she finally speaks. “That’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” I whisper, trying to memorize her every angle—the way the firelight catches in her hair and dances across her eyelashes. She thinks I’m talking about the poem, and while I agree the verse is lovely, I want so badly to admit that I’m speaking of her. But I don’t. Instead, I take a few steps back, clasping my hands behind my back so she can’t see how they tremble. This metered, careful interaction needs to be enough, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to watch as her expression melts into one of confusion.

“You need not retreat…” Her voice is so soft that I worry I’ve imagined the incredible coincidence of her speaking aloud exactly what I longed to hear.

“Is that the beginning of another poem?” The words sound crueler falling off my tongue than I anticipated, and there’sonly one way I can think to take them back. When I speak again, I offer my heart. “Don’t I, Cora?”

It’s she who closes the gap between us this time, reaching to take one of my hands in hers. I suck in a breath at the shock of her touch, and she turns my palm to trace its lines with her index finger. How is it that a caress so light nearly brings me to my knees?

But then her grip on me loosens, and her gaze drops to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, desperate to fix the source of whatever hesitation now plagues her.

“What about Will?”

I feel my face twist in confusion. “What about him?”

“You’ve been spending so much time together. I…I don’t want to hurt him.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Cora, it’s not me he loves—it’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t compete for my hand because he wanted it. He competed so that—” My voice catches in my throat. Thomas is the last specter that I want to invite into this liminal, fleeting space we’ve found—it’s just for me, her, and the firelight. “So that your future would be secure.”

Embers pop as she considers my answer, and when she lifts her chin once more, her eyes are clear and determined. “Do you remember that first day on the beach?”

I nod.

“I reached out to check you for a fever, and you pulled away from me.”

“Cora, I…”

“I couldn’t figure out why it bothered me so much. Well, that’s not exactly true…But it seemed impossible that even then, I…”

My throat tightens as instinct draws my body closer to hers. This time, she’s the one who inhales sharply as we press together, as she laces her fingers into mine to draw my arms around her.

“That you what?” I almost groan the words into her ear, savoring the scent of her hair—the warmth of a bonfire, and, of course, the pale kiss of roses.

“That I…”

“What?”

When she turns her head to me, our eyes meet one last time—there’s a hunger inside hers that mirrors my own. The only question is who will be the one to close the distance between our lips.

“Thelia…” she begins, and my eyes flutter closed in anticipation. Every part of me quivers with need, unable to believe she’s finally, blessedly, close enough to taste.

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