I pound his chest, just once, with my free hand. “Even if I did sense it, that’s not good enough! When you didn’t come to me in my dreams, I was afraid you didn’t want to find me.”
His dark gaze intensifies and he backs me toward the baptismal, stopping when my hips hit the coolness of the bricks’ edges. He slips off my cap and tosses it into the pile of rose petals, then winds his fingers through my hair and tilts my face so I can see the sincerity etched in every perfect feature. “I will always want to find you.” His deep voice grinds through me, imploring me to believe. “Sometimes we can’t be together. But even then, I’ll be tied to you. I was giving you time to find yourself, to get your footing, while I found mine. But never doubt that I would cross the universe for you, flamme jumelle.”
Twin flame—the most disorienting and exhilarating juxtaposition I’ve ever encountered: adrift and independent, yet at the same time, rooted deep and bound to another.
His knuckle grazes my temple. “Now, all better?”
I lean into his body heat, holding him tight with one arm while basking in his woodsy, spicy scent. “Yes.” I sigh. This is what I’ve been missing. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Peace, comfort, and completeness.
Home.
Both of his arms wrap around me, fingers trailing my vertebrae underneath my jacket as he nuzzles the top of my head. I press my ear to his sternum and open my hand on his chest, so I can hear and feel his heartbeat.
“Where were you?” I ask at last, snuggling closer to share his energy.
“After we escaped the flood”—balmy warmth dusts my scalp as he breathes the answer—“Erik and I stayed at Jippetto’s for a few days, until the police thinned out. Then we went to the club in Paris for two weeks, arranging for others to take over its running. Erik had masks and clothes there, so once he was well enough to travel, we took a plane to Canada. We wrapped his face in bandages, as if he’d been in an accident. Ange and Diable accompanied us in the cabin. There’s a mirrored underground city where I have . . . family.”
I pull free to look up at him. “Mirrored and underground. So, our kind of family?”
“Yes. I’ll take you one day, if you’d like to see it. But Erik needs to be there now. Somewhere safe, where he’ll be accepted. He’s still so fragile. I wanted him away from—” He cuts himself short.
“Me.”
Etalon narrows his eyes in thought. “This place and all its memories, at the very least.”
He’s trying to downplay it, but even if he has forgiven Erik to some extent, there’s still a part of him that doesn’t trust his father anywhere near me. And I’m okay with that. I’ll feel a lot safer here at RoseBlood knowing the Phantom is in Canada and that no one—other than a cranky cat—is lurking in the shadows.
“So,” Etalon presses. “Your turn. Tell me about you.”
I snort. “My details pale in comparison. You really want to hear about school? Boring, everyday things?”
“Always.” His hands drop to the basin’s edge on either side of my hips so he can hunch down, his forehead inches from mine. “But for now, I was thinking along the lines of something more intimate.” The way he growls the word sparks my insides with anticipation, yet instead of the passionate kiss I’m expecting, he nuzzles my nose, sending electric tingles up the bridge. “When’s your birthday . . . what’s your favorite breakfast . . . how did it feel the first time you knitted a scarf? How many pets you’ve had. Oh, and what your favorite color is—”
“That’s easy,” I interrupt his teasing, noticing his chest aglow with that greenish light where my hand’s still touching him. “It’s green.”
He laughs.
I laugh, too, until it registers what his job interview today must mean. “Wait. You’re going to live in Paris?”
“I already have an apartment. I’ll show it to you as soon as I’m moved in.”
I bite my lip, trying not to give away how happy that makes me. Although I know he can read it in my aura. “Hmmm. You’ve made a lot of commitments to show me things. The mirrored city . . . your apartment . . . the rose-petal-covered bed.”
He raises one dark eyebrow. “That one’s my favorite.”
“Mine, too.” The admission warms my cheeks. “And maybe you can also show me how to play the violin?”
“Bien s?r. However, you know I like to play half-dressed.” He grins—a seductive tease of teeth and lips.
“I’m all for learning my maestro’s techniques,” I respond without missing a beat.
“Just the answer I was hoping for.” He’s preoccupied with my hair again, winding the waves around his fingertips as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. There’s an easy rapport between us now . . . a pleasant contrast to all the heavy emotions and drama that brought us together. It’s going to be nice to finally live in the moment, after so many years of being trapped in the past.