Page 37 of How to Steal a Galaxy

Which only makes Rian jumpier.

He keeps waiting for me to make a break for it. It’s like he still thinks I might try to cram Pharaoh Tutankhamun’s liver into my purse, but he must have realized by now there’s more at play here than that.

“Dessert?” a server says, pausing in front of us with a tray full of delights.

“No, thank you,” I say.

Rian’s eyes grow wide. “Are you okay?” he gasps, incredulous as I watch the tiny plates of chocolate-covered berries walk away. He frowns in concern.

Part of me wants to shove him aside, race to the server, and shovel the chocolate into my mouth by the fistful.

But the part of me that wants to get paid wins out. So, rather than follow the absolutely logical course of action, I turn my back on the food.

He’s watching me even closer now. Maybe he can sense the anticipation coiling in my gut like a snake. He’s always so observant, my Rian.

So, I pick a fight.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” I ask, eyes flicking down to his jacket.

“Notice?” Rian’s brow creases.

I jab the O-ring he’s used to affix the rose to his lapel. “I told you something real and true, and this is what you choose to make a mockery of?”

It takes him a moment to follow—good; I hope that means he forgot about the dessert thing. But once he finally pieces together my accusation, he blanches.

“You think I’m making fun of an entire family that died due to a ship malfunction?” he asks, reaching for the corsage. He shakes his head, and some of his carefully slicked-back hair breaks free. “No, no, that’s not what this is.”

“Oh, yeah?” I cross my arms, glaring at him, but inside, my heart leaps. I hadn’t actually thought he was making light of such a horrific event, but I had thought he was mockingme. From his tone, though, I can tell I missed whatever point he was truly trying to make.

“It’s to remind me that something small makes all the difference in the world,” he says softly. He’s looking at me, right into my eyes, all earnest and soulful, and it’s making my knees melt like the chocolate I wish was on my tongue.

“Oh?” I say, trying to yank myself back into the here and now.

He nods. “I made a mistake once.”

“Just the once?”

That gets me a smirk. “I saw someone who Iknewwas trouble.”

“Can’t be me, then.”

“And rather than believe she was as capable as she said, I overlooked just how much damage she could do.”

“She sounds like my type.”

“Ada.”

I mocked him once for the way he said my name, voice deep and serious. And I want to mock him again, now, except—

Except now it’s not just my knees that are melting, it’s all of me going liquid, all of me burning, all of me longing. Wanting.

My name forms on his lips, and it throws me right back into the past, to that moment where I let myself pretend, for one night, that I could have a life like the one he thinks he wants. He told me he liked the idea of knowing where I was in the universe, but he’s a goddamn liar, because I can see the truth painted all over his flushed skin. He says he wants a life that’s stationary? No.

No.

He wants to chase me. He’s practically begging me to run right now. He’s dying for some action.

Problem is, right now? I can’t move, much less run. I put my hand on his chest, not intentionally. Because gravity is melting alongside me, my heart floating miles above my head, and if I don’t touch him, I’ll fall. Except that’s not true, either, because touching him?

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