Page 363 of Eternal
His hand tightens on my thigh, pinching gently as he sips his coffee. He watches me with that calm, quiet look he gets when he’s thinking.
“I told you about the girl, Emily, and her list,” I finally say. “The names and all.”
He nods, draping his arm over my legs.
“One of them owns a club downtown,” I add. “It’s fancy, but it feels fake, a bar, hotel, and club all rolled into one.”
“We’re going tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say, eyes on my bowl. “We get ready, head there. Once the party really starts, after the quiet music and drinks, we move. Find him, steal an invite, get the real time and date for the sermon. Then…” I pause. “We kill him. And then, next week I’ll go there.”
He smiles, softer than usual, and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m with you.”
I tilt my head, smirking. “Partner, are you flirting with me again?”
He doesn’t respond at first, simply sets his coffee down and gently moves the cereal bowl from my stomach to the table. Then, quietly, he lowers himself onto the sofa, his body easing over mine.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing. “Flirting… yeah. Can I have a kiss now?”
My heart skips. He leans in, and our lips touch, soft, then bold. He kisses me like he’s marking this space, this moment, as ours. His hand drifts up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheek.
I laugh against his lips, breath uneven and shaky.
“You’re impossible,” I whisper.
He grins. “I have a delicious partner and I can’t stop kissing her, apparently.”
Another small kiss and then he shifts, pulling a movie remote from the side table and flicking on Casablanca. And I smile, because I know he doesn’t like this movie as much as I do. But he did it for me.
We lie like that, his arm draped across my shoulders, our legs tangled, his laugh echoing on my neck as he leaves small kisses everywhere and tries to flirt with me for hours.
The movie plays in the background, and I feel safe. Ridiculously, stupidlysafein his arms.
Eventually, the clock ticks toward evening. He glances at me and nods. “Think it’s time to gear up?”
I squeeze his hand, nodding back. “Yeah.”
Showers, clothes, quiet prep. He’s always checking if I need help, like he’s trying to memorize the way I move.
I opened the drawer he emptied for me the day I arrived.
I know this is temporary. But living with someone who takes care of me... is strange. He’s not loud about it, not performative, it’s quiet, but necessary.
Like the vase and the irises he brought home the next morning. Like the bowl of yogurt and cereal he makes me every day. Like the curly hair products in the bathroom that I never asked for.
He made space for me, like I had a place here, like maybe I could stay here for more than a few days.
I pulled out a black dress. It’s short, simple, tight, with a slit high up the thigh. Practical if you know how to wear it. Thick enough to hide a few weapons.
From the bedroom, I hear his voice, “You’re wearing a black dress?”
“Yeah, why?”
He laughs, low, rough. Doesn’t answer.
The dress slides on. Tight. Zipper in the back. I reach, can’t quite get it. “Damir?” I call, voice softer now. “Can you…?”
He’s already behind me. Close. Warm. His fingers trail up my spine, slow and light as he pulls the zipper up.
