Deven laughs. “We’ll have to save that for another day. If we don’t head back soon, we won’t make it before dark.” I glance up and see that he’s right. It must already be late afternoon.
On the way back Deven slides his hand into mine, and tingles race up my arm. It’s a lie, our palms pressed together, our fingers entwined like we belong to each other. But it’s a lovely lie, and I wish it never had to end.
By the time we make it back to the flat, the sun is dipping beneath the horizon and the sky is blushing like a new bride. Mani is finally worn out, and he slumps against me as I fish for my key. When I swing the door open, he crawls into bed still fully dressed and pulls the covers over his head.
Deven leans against the doorframe. “Thank you for today.”
“So typical,” I say.
“What?”
“Thanking me when I’ve done nothing at all.”
He smiles and tugs gently on my ponytail. “You came,” he said. “I didn’t think you would.”
“I didn’t think I would either.”
“So why did you?”
I’m sleepy and content and it’s working on me like a drug running through my veins, making me loose and fearless. I tell him the truth. “You make me do irresponsible things.”
He laughs and pulls me against his chest. He wraps his arms around my waist and presses his lips to my forehead. “I hope to make you do more irresponsible things in the future,” he says. I lay my head on his shoulder and relax against him. His fingers move up and down my spine, and my whole body comes to life. It steals my breath away, this sensation of being touched, of feeling alive. Deven’s fingers twine through my hair, stroke the back of my neck. My nerves are singing. I lift my head—just for a moment—and he catches my face in his palms. His thumbs idly stroke my cheeks. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. He’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the world. His eyes are deep brown, pools of melted chocolate, and I could drown in them. Deven leans toward me, lips already parted, and time seems to slow down. I want him to do it. I want him to kiss me more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
I put a palm on his chest and push him away. Deven’s hands drop to his sides and a look of hurt flashes across his face.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, and I am. So sorry. “I can’t. I…” I’m floundering for an excuse, for a way to erase the wounded expression on his face. I reach for his hand and squeeze his fingers. “It’s just that Mani is here and I’m so tired.”
“Oh,” he says. “I’ll let you get some rest, then.”
I nod. “Thanks,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can.
He turns to leave and then stops. “Wait. I almost forgot.” He pulls something from his pocket and drops it into my palm. “I brought this for you,” he tells me. “It’s a cricket.”
And it is—a cricket just smaller than the length of my palm carved out of silky, dark wood. Every detail is perfect, from the tiny wings and slender antennae all the way down to the folded legs poised for jumping. This must have taken him hours of work, maybe days. No one has ever given me a gift before, and I can’t stop staring at it.
“Do you like it?” he asks.
“I love it.”
Deven leans forward and brushes my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “I couldn’t work out how to carve a sunset, and a star seemed too ordinary.” You like nighttime. On the day I was supposed to kill him, he was memorizing the things that I love.
“Thank you,” I tell him. My voice is thick with emotion and I feel like something inside me has cracked open and I’ll never be able to close it up again. “I can’t…I don’t know how to repay you.”
He grins and presses another kiss on my forehead. “You’ll think of something,” he teases. “Good night, Marinda.”
“Good night,” I say. And it was. It was a perfect night. Yesterday I told Iyla that I wasn’t in love with Deven.
I think I lied.
Deven needs one more dose of poison, but I haven’t seen him in two days. Mani and I have searched everywhere—the park, the market, the café where he bought us lunch—but Deven seems to have vanished. I try to tell myself that he’s just busy, that he isn’t lying on the side of the street somewhere writhing in pain from the poison I’ve given him. But red-hot worry snakes through my veins and coils tightly around my middle. I run my thumb along the back of the silky-smooth wooden cricket in my pocket. This may be all I have left of him. Mani and I are running out of places to search.