He nodded, a frown twisting on his lips. ‘But you’re not afraid of me.’
‘Maybe not of you,’ I said, feeling out my answer. ‘But I’m afraid of what you’ve done. Where you come from. You know that.’
He raked his hands through his hair. He seemed so out of it, so tired.
‘I’ve never seen you like this,’ I said, pulling back.
‘Stress,’ he said, exhaustion softening his voice. ‘I’m stressed.’
‘Stress?’ I repeated, studying him.
He raised his face towards the sky, to the blanket of stars that stretched overhead. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Family stuff.’
‘And you never think about leaving it behind? For college? For normality?’ For good?
He simply shook his head. I remembered his mother’s words: He would never choose you over his family. It was true, and I knew it. Nic would never leave the family, not for me, not for him, not for anything. The only way out was in a coffin.
When he spoke again, his gaze was no longer on the stars and his voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘Do you remember the last time we were here together?’
‘Everything was different then.’
‘You let me kiss you,’ he said, his gaze unwavering.
‘Even though you shouldn’t have.’
I felt the warmth of his breath in his response. ‘I never could follow the rules when it came to you, Sophie.’
‘We should have followed them, Nic.’
He shut his eyes tight, inhaling sharply. ‘Don’t say that. Please.’
‘It’s the truth.’
He fell silent, and I felt compelled to fill up the space.
‘You moved house,’ I said, changing the subject. I was trying to ignore the intimacy that still lingered between us, trying to remind myself why I should be upstairs in bed, away from him.
‘Did it surprise you?’
‘No, it’s not that. It’s just strange to think of the Priestly mansion empty again after it was so … full of life.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, clearing his throat. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and in a flicker he was boyish again, a grin pushing against his cheekbones. ‘Do you miss me, Sophie?’
I looked away from him, at the new flowerbeds blooming in the darkness – my mother’s anchor to her sanity. An anchor she needed because of this boy and his family. ‘I don’t want to talk about this,’ I said quietly. ‘Please, Nic.’
He flinched. ‘OK,’ he said, his voice small and quiet now – barely as audible as the branches rustling around us. ‘Look, I know I shouldn’t have come here tonight, but I was worried about you. I wanted to see you, and sometimes when I get an idea in my head it sort of has to play itself out. It doesn’t mean I’m not still aware of everything that’s happened, all the pain you’ve suffered because of me. Because of my weakness.’
I could almost pinpoint it – that feeling of falling back into him. Already, I had inched closer. I could sense his warmth pressing against the air, his eyes the only thing I could focus on. It was dangerous. It was the opposite of what I was supposed to be doing. ‘If we can only be together at night, hidden like this, whispering so no one can hear us, then we shouldn’t be together at all.’
‘There’s always the future, though.’ His lips parted, his breath hitching as the idea took over him.
I pressed my thumb into my palm and felt the dull sting of the blade’s cut, trying to clear my mind. ‘There will never be a future where my father didn’t kill your father. Where you didn’t try and kill my uncle.’ My voice hardened. ‘After I screamed at you not to do it.’
He shook his head angrily. ‘There will be a future, when this is all behind us.’
‘Behind you, maybe,’ I told him, stepping back so that my back grazed the stray branches of a bush. ‘But not behind me.’
He came towards me, pushing the warmth back into the air. ‘Do you want to talk about it, then? I’ll talk about it until my voice runs out. Do you want me to tell you I’m sorry a thousand times? I am sorry that it hurt you and that it changed the way you look at me. I hate that you look away when I try to get your attention. I hate that you pull away from me when I get close to you. I hate that I can see the moment when you remember your uncle and your voice turns cold. I hate that what my family stands for drove a wedge between us. I hate that that’s how we were brought together. I hate that I’ll always question whether it would have worked if we had been from the same world. I hate that I hurt you, but I had to do what I did. I can’t apologize for that. Jack would have killed Luca. He would have killed me. It was about my family. It was about protection. It’s no different to what your dad did.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ I reeled from his final words. ‘You can’t compare the two like it will get you off the hook or something. You know what my dad did was an accident. That was different.’
‘Was it?’
Had the wind stopped blowing? Suddenly I was back at Felice’s house, staring into Valentino’s cold cerulean eyes, listening to him question everything I knew about my father, about his intentions, about his soul.