“You are still beautiful,” Fern said softly, her face turned to his. He was quiet for a moment, but he didn't pull away or groan or deny what she'd said.
“I think that statement is more a reflection of your beauty than mine,” Ambrose said eventually, turning his head so he could look down at her. Fern's face was touched with moonglow, the color of her eyes and the red of her hair undecipherable in the wash of pale light. But her features were clear–the dark pools of expressive eyes, the small nose and soft mouth, the earnest slant of her brow that indicated she didn't understand his response.
“You know that thing people always say, about beauty being in the eye of the beholder?”
“Yes?”
“I always thought it meant we all have different tastes, different preferences . . . you know? Some guys focus on the legs, some guys prefer blondes, some men like girls with long hair, that kind of thing. I never thought about it really, not before this moment. But maybe you see beauty in me because you are beautiful, not because I am.”
“Beautiful on the inside?”
“Yes.”
Fern was silent, thinking about what he'd said. Then, in a small voice she whispered. “I understand what you're saying . . . and I appreciate it. I do. But I would really like it if, just for once, I could be beautiful to you on the outside.”
Ambrose chuckled and then stopped. The expression on her face made him think she wasn't kidding, wasn't being flirtatious. Ahh. Ugly Girl Syndrome again. She didn't think he thought she was pretty.
He didn't know how to make her understand that she was so much more than just pretty. So he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. Very carefully. Not like the other night when he'd been scared and impulsive, and had smacked her head against the wall in his attempt to kiss her. He kissed her now to tell her how he felt. He pulled away almost immediately, not giving himself a chance to linger and lose his head. He wanted to show her he valued her, not that he wanted to rip her clothes off. And he wasn't sure when it came right down to it, that she wanted to be kissed by an ugly SOB. She was the kind of girl that would kiss him because she didn't want to hurt his feelings. The thought filled him with despair.
She let out a frustrated sigh and sat up, running her hands through her hair. It flowed through her fingers and down her back, and he wished he could bury his own hands in it, bury his face in the heavy locks and breathe her in. But he'd obviously upset her.
“I'm sorry, Fern. I shouldn't have done that.”
“Why?” she snapped, startling him enough that he winced. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because you're upset.”
“I'm upset because you pulled away! You're so careful. And it's frustrating!”
Ambrose was taken back by her honesty, and he smiled, instantly flattered. But the smile faded as he tried to explain himself.
“You're so small, Fern. Delicate. And all of this is new to you. I'm afraid I'm going to come on too strong. And if I break you or hurt you, I won't survive that, Fern. I won't survive it.” That thought was worse than walking away from her, and he shuddered inwardly. He wouldn't survive it. He had already hurt too many. Lost too many.
Fern knelt in front of him, and her chin wobbled and her eyes were wide with emotion. Her voice was adamant as she held his face between her hands, and when he tried to pull away so she wouldn't feel his scars, she hung on, forcing his gaze.
“Ambrose Young! I have waited my whole life for you to want me. If you don't hold me tight I won't believe you mean it, and that's worse than never being held at all. You’d better make me believe you mean it, Ambrose, or you will most definitely break me.”
“I don't want to hurt you, Fern,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Then don't,” she whispered back, trusting him. But there were lots of ways to cause pain. And Ambrose knew he was capable of hurting her in a thousand ways.
Ambrose stopped trying to pull his face away, surrendering to the way it felt to be touched. He hadn't allowed anyone to touch him for a long time. Her hands were small, like the rest of her, but the emotions they stirred in him were enormous, gigantic, all-consuming. She made him shake, made him quake inside, made him vibrate like the tracks under an on-coming train.