I stop thinking about myself and set my focus back on Eden’s exciting recount of her night. Eden’s eyes turn brighter when she tells me that they drove down a winding road through a forest that was part of the same property.
“You’re not a slasher ax murderer?” she asked him and then warned him that she was no victim.
And she isn’t. Eden is trained in advanced self-defense. She’s given me multiple lessons on how to strike the vulnerable spots of a would-be attacker. During freshman year, she used to be worried about how I went jogging alone early in the morning.
“Paisley,” she would say, “God made men physically stronger than us, so you can’t beat a man in a fistfight, but you can weaken him, wound him, and then run.” Step-by-step, she showed me how to do it and made me repeat the moves until she was certain that I got them.
Nero told her that he wasn’t an ax murderer, gun murderer, strangler, or any other kind of murderer and started taking off his clothes while she drove to prove it.
“You’d better not get naked,” she said, splitting her attention between him and the road.
He said he was keeping his underwear on but jokingly pointed out that not only wasn’t he a murderer, but he wasn’t a pervert, either.
Eden grins at the bed as if amused by her memories. “I have to admit, though, Paisley, I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone more than I wanted him. Which is crazy because he wasn’t making those kinds of moves on me. He was just fun.”
Then, she said, they arrived at a cute cottage with a glistening lake spread before it.
“That’s what you want to swim in?” she asked him.
He told her to trust him, and she did. She stripped down to her panties and bra. He grew a boner but still kept his distance. He took her by the hand and said, “Let’s dive in so you can get warm.”
“The fucking lake is heated, Pais. Who heats a lake? Rich people do. I bet your family heats a lake!”
I raise a finger to drive home this point. “No, we don’t.”
“Well, he does, and do you want to know why? He’s a Valentine. His name is Nero Valentine. That guy you left with—he’s a Valentine too. They’re cousins. Did he tell you?”
I widen my eyes, pretending to be shocked. “No.”
Exhaling as if she’s expelling all the life from her, she falls back on my bed and entwines her fingers on top of her chest. “He’s very smart, very cute, and out of my league, at least for now.”
“No, he’s not.” I stare out the window. Thank goodness it’s Saturday. I’m finally starting to get sleepy.
She looks off thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I guess I’m not ready for someone like him. We didn’t have sex. We just played in the lake, and then we wrapped ourselves in warm blankets on the dock and talked until we fell asleep.”
“What did you talk about?” I’m beyond curious. How could she be with a guy all night and never tell him her real name?
“All the places he’s been and all the places I pretended I’ve been too.”
I frown. “You mean you lied?”
Her eyes are glossed with tears. “He made me feel as if the real me isn’t good enough for someone whose lake house is a mansion and whose lake is warmed. I mean, he didn’t do it on purpose, but…” She closes her eyes and then covers her face with her crossed forearms.
“You’re good enough for anybody, Eden,” I say in a desperate attempt to make her feel better.
She doesn’t say anything until she shakes as she cries. I’ve never done what my instincts are telling me to do, but it doesn’t matter—I follow their directions. I scoot down beside Eden and wrap my arms around her. Eden lets me. I’m comforting her, but she’s comforting me too. We both have Valentines we can never be with. And that’s very, very sad.
Chapter Sixteen
The Morning After
Hercules Valentine
“Herc, wake the hell up!” Achilles says.
I blink until my eyes are half-open. Then I turn my head. My brother’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, pissed.
“Get yourself together, and then come see me in the kitchen.” He turns and leaves. His footsteps are heavy. He walks extra hard when he’s angry.
