“One night into our voyage, a violent storm split our ship. I washed up upon a nearby shore. I never saw my prince again. I do not know if he survived. The witches’ prophecy is the only lasting remnant of our love.”
Diana knew this story contained in The Book of Love, but had she believed it? Eureka closed her eyes and knew that, yes, Diana had. She’d believed it so fervently she’d never breathed a word of it to her daughter. She’d meant to save it for a moment when Eureka might be able to believe it for herself. The moment had to be now.
Could Eureka go there? Allow herself to consider that The Book of Love had something to do with her? She expected to want to dismiss it as a fairy tale, something lovely based on what might have once been based on something true, but was now mere make-believe.…
But her inheritance, the thunderstone, the accidents and deaths and ghostly people, the way this storm’s rage felt too in tune with the storm inside of her …
It wasn’t a hurricane. It was Eureka.
Ander stood quietly at the edge of her bed, giving her time and space. His eyes revealed a desperation to hold her again. She wanted to hold him, too.
“Ander?”
“Eureka.”
She pointed to the last page of the translation, which laid out the conditions of the prophecy. “Is this me?”
His hesitation caused Eureka’s eyes to sting. He noticed and inhaled sharply, as if in pain. “You can’t cry, Eureka. Not now.”
He moved toward her swiftly and lowered his lips to her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered closed. He kissed her right eyelid, then her left. Then there was a quiet moment when Eureka could not move, could not open her eyes because it might interrupt the feeling that Ander was closer to her than anyone had ever been before.
When he pressed his lips to hers, she was not surprised. It happened the way the sun rose, the way a flower blossomed, the way rain fell from the sky, the way the dead stopped breathing. Naturally. Inevitably. His lips were firm, slightly salty. They made her body flush with heat.
Their noses touched and Eureka opened her mouth to take in more of his kiss. She touched his hair, her fingers tracing the path his fingers followed when he was nervous. He didn’t seem nervous now. He was kissing her as if he’d been wanting to for a very long time, as if he’d been born to do it. His hands caressed her back, pressed her against his chest. His mouth folded hungrily on hers. The heat of his tongue made her dizzy.
Then she remembered Brooks was gone. This was the most insensitive moment to cash in on a crush. Only it didn’t feel like a crush. It felt life-altering and unstoppable.
She was out of breath but didn’t want to interrupt the kiss. Then she felt Ander’s breath inside her mouth. Her eyes shot open. She pulled away.
First kisses were about discovery, transformation, wonder.
Then why did his breath in her mouth feel familiar?
Somehow, Eureka remembered. After Diana’s accident, after the car was swept to the bottom of the Gulf and Eureka washed ashore, miraculous, alive—never before had she evoked this memory—someone had given her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
She closed her eyes and saw the halo of blond hair above her, blocking out the moon, and felt the life-giving air entering her lungs, the arms that carried her there.
Ander.
“I thought it was a dream,” she whispered.
Ander sighed heavily, as if he knew exactly what she meant. He took her hand. “It happened.”
“You pulled me out of the car. You swam me ashore. You saved me.”
“Yes.”
“But why? How would you even know I was there?”
“I was in the right place at the right time.”
It seemed as impossible as all the other things Eureka knew were real. She stumbled to her bed and sat down. Her mind was spinning.
“You saved me and let her die.”