“What have you been thinking?” The butterflies in my stomach have turned into raging hormones.
Reaching out, he dares to touch the ends of my hair, the strands manipulated between his fingers. “You’re brave for only being what, five three?”
“Five four. Anyway, what does bravery have to do with my height?” I brush my hair behind my shoulder and watch his hand fall back to his side.
He chuckles. “I think you’ve proven it makes absolutely no difference when it comes to courage.”
“Speaking of courage, why are you here?”
“Does it upset you?”
“No, just curious.”
“Like I said, I’ve been thinking about you.”
“How’d you know where to find—?” I don’t finish. I just shake my head. “My uniform.”
“What are you doing for your birthday?” He’s direct.
“I’m not sure.” Glancing to Shelly, I say, “I think she’s concocting a big plan.”
Looking at her, his brow furrows. When his gaze returns, he replies, “I want to see you again.”
“Maybe next time we can attempt to get to know each other.”
“Yeah, maybe.” The tips of his fingers brush under my jaw. “You’re very pretty.” The words don’t come out light like the rest of our conversation. His eyes have darkened, his pupils widening as he stares at me.
“How old are you?”
The warmth of his hand falls away. His laughter filters around me and then swallows me whole. “Are you really worried about my age?”
“I am. You could be seventeen or you could be twenty-five.”
“And if I were twenty-five?”
“I’d be sad.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t see you anymore.”
“I’m nineteen.”
My smile is quick. If I don’t leave now, I might stick around long enough for him to touch me again. I already miss the goosebumps that cover my skin. The bell rings and I look back at the school that will save my heart the trouble. “Lunch is over. I need to go.”
When I turn to leave, he catches my wrist, his hand encircling it. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
In that final four-word exchange, I’m not sure if I should be happy or scared, my feelings straddling the emotions. I’m tempted to ask how, but don’t. I already know if he wants to find me, he will.
. . . “He’s also my last,” I add, flipping the page of the reference book.
Maya asks, “It’s that serious, huh?”
When I look up at her, I see through her, her eyes giving her away too easily. Just like all the others, she’s attracted to him. I sigh, disappointed she was so easy to see through, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll never love anyone as much as we love each other. Alexander is it for me. “Very.”
6
Sara Jane
Two hours later, I’m walking out of the library. The fresh fall air hits my face as the sun starts to duck behind the psychology building. I don’t get far before I see him. Alexander pushes off a wall and walks to me. My backpack is swung over his shoulder and his arm swung over mine. A kiss is placed on my cheek and sweet whispers in my ear. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“You did?” he asks, straightening to his full height.
“I did.” Patting his chest, I add, “Don’t act so surprised. Just because you owe me a good time doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
He stops, his arm slipping from my shoulder while I keep walking. When I stop and look back, my heart dances wildly in my chest. Just like the first time I ever saw him, he takes my breath away. Alexander’s eyes are locked on me, seriousness overtaking his features and darkening his expression. “I would do anything for you. Anything to take care of you. Anything to protect you.”
Like how easily his arm slipped around me, his mind slips into the darkness he can’t seem to shake years after the death of his mother. I’ve been told he used to be the center of everyone’s attention—friends, mothers, his school—happy, always the charmer. Some things never change, but others, like the burden of the rain clouds that hover over him, I wish would. “I know you would,” I reply with certainty. “You’ve never let me down.”
Coming closer, he stops in front of me, taking my hands in his. “I mean it. I’m not just saying it. Nothing matters to me more than you. We’ll always be together.”
When he says such things I sometimes wonder if he’s saying it for my benefit or his. For such a brave man, seemingly unafraid of anything, he’s afraid to lose me. “Always.” I reach up and touch his cheek. “You’re not going to lose me.” A large hand warms my waist and pulls me closer. I find comfort in his physical strength and his beautiful eyes; eyes that hold a million secrets and buried pain. As much as I wish I could ease that pain or erase it altogether, they represent the Alexander I know. I do know something that will make him laugh, even if I don’t. “Maya said you were cute.”
A smirk pops into place. “Only cute?” he asks. I push him in the chest and turn to walk away, but I’m quickly swung around and right into his arms, our bodies flush. “Hey.”
I dare to look into his eyes, knowing he’ll own me the second I do. “What?” My arms go around him, my cheek to his chest. I love listening to his heart, each beat the tick of my life’s clock. I am only because of this man.
And he knows it . . .
“You don’t like me looking at you, do you?” I hate that he can hear my nerves even through a hard swallow. I cross my arms over my chest and tuck my shaking hands. When I don’t say anything, he touches my cheek, the back of his fingers warm against my cold skin. He lifts my chin and turns me so I look in his direction. He doesn’t speak until my eyes finally meet his. “Don’t be shy. Be brave. Be strong. Show the world who’s in control. Show them they won’t beat you. Don’t let the world win.”
His confidence in me is tempting to believe. “How?”
“Hold your chin up even when you’re scared, or shy, or embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re meant to be queen.”
Then it clicks—King.
I hold my chin up on my own accord when his hand goes down to my lap. I uncross my arms and sit straight. With the slightest nod of his approval, I find my own courage in the moment. “Because every king needs a queen.” Lifting up with my hands against the park bench on my eighteenth birthday, I kiss him.
I. Kiss. Alexander.
I. Kiss. My king.
. . . What he doesn’t know is that he is who he is today because of me. His edges were dull, numbed by the death of his mother when I met him. I gave him someone to believe in again. Someone to love.
Like a knife, his senses, his intelligence in life and business, his softer side sharpened over the years. Before me is a man, a leader, a legend in the making. I fell for his mysteries, his smile, and his piercing blue eyes. He’s the catalyst to something greater for both of us. It wasn’t planned. I was too innocent to ever devise such schemes that he plots. I never knew life could teeter between good and evil so easily until I met Alexander Kingwood IV.