Page 71 of Shadows of Stardust

Zan rests his hands on my shoulders. “We knew this was coming.”

The touch eases some of my anxiety, even if it makes me more painfully aware of his proximity, more awkwardly uncertain of how to handle this part of being… whatever we are now.

Still, I’ve got to get it the fuck together.

We’ve got a production crew to fool, and audience to appease, so I take a calming breath.

“We did.”

“And we’re still doing just fine. I watch staff chatter on their internal comms systems, and aside from a few snide remarks—”

“About what? Us? Is it about the whole combat training thing? Because I swear to god, I’ll—”

“Roslyn,” he says, firmly. “Focus.”

“Right. Sorry. Focusing.”

“What I’m trying to say is, we’re fine. We’ll get through tonight. We’ll put on a show, give the cameras what they want. We’ll get through it.”

“Put on a show,” I say slowly, thinking back to all those lackluster, chaste kisses we’ve been sharing.

My eyes fall from Zan’s and land on his lips, the column of his throat. Lower. Across acres and acres of muscled, intimidating male that—until we decided to stop hating each other—I was perfectly content to climb all over in the name of giving the cameras something juicy to capture.

Zan drops his hands and takes a step away, and the bottom falls out of my stomach in a plummetingwhoosh.

I still don’t know what’s going on with him, with us, with the whole vibe between us, and I have no idea how to get us back to something like we were before.

Maybe there is no going back. Or, maybe I’d have to hate him again to feel that kind of chemistry, that kind of ‘fuck itwe’re doing this’ abandon that made it so easy to throw myself against him, run my teeth over his lip, bury my hands in his thick black hair and—

“Right,” Zan says, snapping me out of those thoughts and stopping the low, insistent heat just starting to spread through my veins in its tracks. “So. Beach day today. Bonfire tonight. Figuring out our next move just as soon as we can.”

“Right.”

A few heartbeats pass. Zan stares down at me, silver sparks wheeling in the deep black of his eyes. His jaw ticks, and I almost think he’s about to say something.

Maybe he feels this, too.

This terrible tension, the elephant in the room.

If he does, I hope he’s got some idea how to fix it, because I haven’t got a damn clue.

But the moment passes, and, like a coward, I retreat into my room to get ready for the day without saying a single damn word about it.

Early in the evening, we head back to the bungalow to get cleaned up before the bonfire. The new dresses are waiting in the bedroom, a reminder about our turn on center stage tonight.

It’s going to be fine.

We’ll be fine.

We’ve made it this far, and we’ll make it the rest of the way.

Even if this afternoon didn’t do a whole hell of a lot to perk up our physical chemistry.

And it’s not even all my fault.

I’m an awkward mess, sure, but Zan doesn’t seem to be having any easier a time with it. We’rebotha mess, clumsy and uncertain, navigating this new set of circumstances between us.

But the bonfire’s still on, and we’ve only got an hour before we’re expected to arrive and step back into whatever spotlight’s waiting for us.

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