Page 43 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
I think I remember that day.
I knew he was there. I always know when someone is there. But it’s different with him. I don’t want to run from him as much as I want to run from the others.
“You wanted to watch silly old me?” I laugh.
“Want to,” he says. “Iwantto watch you. Not that you’re silly. I think you’re just shy of perfect.” He smiles, and I can feel it in my marrow, vibrating my bones.
“Not perfect?” I whisper, half-joking, half-hoping.
“I like to think I have a keen eye for character.”
“It’s not the scar on my lip?” I laugh—the first time I’veeverlaughed about my scar.
Azaire draws closer, his gaze tracing the curve of my lips. “I love the scar on your lip,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent. Like this moment between us is glass, and he’s scared to shatter it. “It’s your mark—a story you have to tell.” He pauses, his gaze meeting mine. “I love your eyes—not just any green, but the kind that belongs to the wildest places in the worlds.”
Slowly, his hand rises up my waist, and I hold my breath as he continues, “I love your nose. Your freckles…they’re like constellations. And your smile.Gods, I love your smile. If the world was ending, and I could ask for one thing to see before it all went away, it would be that smile.”
I stare at him, silent a moment. How could he mean all this? How can I listen to his declarations, knowing without a doubt he means them, and still wonder?
How could I have ever run from this boy? Ihaveto, and I will after this. But I don’twantto.
At a loss for words, I ask, “You think my smile is worth that?”
Azaire nods. “Rarer than gold.”
“Because I’m standoffish?” I ask, really laughing. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone at this academy thought so.
“Because it’sreal,” he says.
His hand moves from my waist up to my face. Before he can settle it where I know he will, I flinch away.
Looking down, I shake my head. “You can’t touch me.”
“Okay.” Azaire lowers his hand.
“Really,” I say. “No one can.” I look up to see Ms. Ferner staring at me. I drop both my hands and step back, nearly running into another couple. I mutter my apologies, then look back at Azaire. “I’m not supposed to be dancing.”
I try to walk away.Trybecause Azaire’s hand is still on my waist, and he spins me back into him, holding me close.
Our chests touch.
“But I’m fine,” he whispers. “More than fine. You can feel me, can’t you?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Then feel me.” His eyes don’t move away from mine as he lifts his fingers back to my face. Right before making contact, he says, “Feel my heart leap out of my chest at the mere thought of being skin to skin with you.”
I grab his wrist, for the first time ever being thankful for the gloves. But I feel it, I do. His heart leaping. His longing.
“I want to be touched as much as you want to touch me,” I mutter, dropping his wrist and using his momentary shock to slide out of his grasp. “But I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”
Though I fear being in close proximity to me will be enough to ruin him.
Chapter 10
Loneliness Within Reach
K
