I marvel at how golden his skin is in our starlight, how just ... breathtaking he is. How, after everything we’ve gone through, after everything we’ve done to one another, good and bad, we’re here, together, our names the same and our future intertwined. I trace the sweeping line from ear to chin to mouth, my thumb dipping between his lips, and tell him once more, not with words from my mouth but those clamoring within the confines of my heart, secret words only he can interpret: how much he means to me; how much he’ll always mean to me.
He kisses me again, and I pity all the women in the worlds who will never know just how wonderful it is to be kissed by Jonah Whitecomb. Long minutes stretch out between us, easily filled with both languid and urgent touches, of my hands memorizing the maps and planes of his body and his mine, even though we already hold close to heart every inch of skin. I gasp when his mouth leaves mine only to travel to one of my breasts, sigh when my blood goes molten as his fingers trail down my belly, between my legs. The stars in the room flare white-hot as I fall apart in his hands, pausing in their dance to transform once more. I ache to return the favor, to bring him to such heights, but as heavy breaths escape me, he cradles my face and kisses me gently.
He undoes me, this man.
I cup his buttocks as he slides into me, losing all those heavy breaths to heart-racing gasps. Our bodies move in unison, worthy of Olympic medals for perfection of synchronized thrust and kiss. Each stroke in and out spirals me further into the wide universe, brings me nearer to that place where he and I are no longer separate entities, where we’re two souls of stardust mixing together to form one, brilliant, beautiful being. Each kiss births new stars above us, each touch carries each of us closer to the perfection of oblivion.
We’ve made love dozens and dozens of times over the last three months. Tonight, though, with my name the same as his for the very first time and our forever stretching out in front of us like a wide, open road we’ll travel together, it feels different. There’s no guilt in this moment. No what-ifs, no should have beens, no wishes to change the past or our situations, no wondering if what we’re doing is right or wrong. So when we instinctively merge into each other’s heads at the same time and our bodies erupt and the stars above us supernova into those pinks and blues and purples I saw in my eyelids earlier, I take hold of this moment and promise
promise
promise that it will stay with us
f o r e v e r.
Two days. Two days filled with some of the best food in all the worlds, coins in the Trevi Fountain, sinful gelato on the Spanish Steps, making love for hours, laughing over how badly I butcher Italian while the language flows off of Jonah’s tongue so easily, and driving by the Colosseum on the back of a Vespa. Two days are all we get in Rome before we have to go back to Annar and face the brutal task of hunting Enlilkian down.
Two days to pretend that he and I are just Jonah and Chloe, that we are like any other newlyweds in history and have no other worries other than writing thank-you notes for wedding gifts received. Except ... this is our wedding gift, our escape to Rome while loved ones back in Annar hold back the flood of responsibilities and realities that lay in wait for us for good or bad. After everything that’s happened to me—to us—these last few years, it was surprisingly easy to sway our loved ones to see our point of view and accept what we insisted we were going to do, blessings or no. I’ve been protected, hidden, and I get the reasons why, I really do, but Jonah and I need these two days, these moments of freedom. Astrid gave us the gift of holding the Council at bay for forty-eight hours; Cameron’s turning off our cell phones and hiding them in a drawer; Karl is serving as our gatekeeper, the only one who knows our exact location in case of emergency. Yes, a Tracker can be sent after us, but ... not for two days. We get all of two Guard-free, no one watching over every second days to float in a bubble of normality before we’re expected at a Council meeting to discuss the festering Elders problem.
Every moment of these two days is sacred to us. There is no Enlilkian, no Elders, no Council, nothing but Jonah and Chloe.
It’s funny how two days can feel like mere minutes.
There’s a mini war meeting less than an hour after we arrive in Annar. There are hugs and kisses, but there is no time for small talk. The usual suspects are present, including the Graystones, the Danes, and the Lotuses, alongside the Mesaverdes and Erik; our normally spacious home grows two sizes smaller as I’m forced to create new seating just to accommodate everyone.
Everyone but Kellan, who is still MIA to everyone but his brother. For all we know, he’s cavorting around the planes, convincing Métis to find their way home to Annar. But I do not allow myself to dwell on these possibilities—not now, not when Karl and Astrid bring us terrible news. The Elders attacked and murdered a household full of Magicals on the Elvin plane, including a small child.