“So you say, and yet, ceilings keep turning so interesting around you.” He gestured at the water with his free hand, the other still curled warm and heavy around my thigh. I could feel the width of his palm and the pressure of each fingertip so acutely I wondered if I could draw his fingerprints just by feel. “Have you ever tried to bloom that?”
“Yes,” I said. My voice came out raspier than I expected, and I cleared my throat. “Though only in daytime, with the sun on it. And just for myself, of course. It was one of my favorite things. Like a bonfire made of sun and water.”
“How about from beneath?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come. I’ll show you.”
He stubbed out the cigarette and heaved himself up in one smooth movement, then turned to stand in front of me, holding out his hands. I took them and he pulled me up, so hard I stumbled into him with a surprised squeak, palms flat against his chest. We stood there for a moment, his eyes on mine, his mouth so close my lips parted in response to the tickle of his breath.
“My, my,” he murmured, running his hands down my bare arms, over my shoulders, and down my back. “That was a very adorable little mouse sound. Not what I would expect from you. Tell me, do you make any others?”
I felt that giddy rush again, like a globe filled with sparkling water being tilted back and forth. “That’s just—do you always say things like that to girls you barely know?”
“Sometimes, yes,” he whispered in my ear, brushing his stubbled cheek against mine. “But definitely never always.”
“Why do I feel so sparkly around you?”
He swirled one hand into a courtier’s bow. “Turning girls’ blood into glitter happens to be my specialty.”
I burst into giggles against his chest. Being around him was so much better than drinks, better than the smoke that still wisped through my blood. It was making me forget entirely how angry I was at Malina, how adrift I had felt when we returned from Perast with near nothing to show for it.
It nearly made me forget my missing mother.
“You, sir, are ridiculous.”
“And you, miss, are the same.” He took one of my hands and lifted it to his mouth, turning it over to press an openmouthed kiss into my wrist, and this time I was sure I felt the hot flick of his tongue against it. “So . . . wild. Iris suits you, you know. Irises grow everywhere, in cold and heat and desert, set down roots even in rocks. A warrior of a flower, no kind of lady.”
“It’s true,” I murmured back. “I’ve never been strong in the ladyship department.”
“And a very good thing that you’re so lacking. Because ladies don’t take off their tunics and leap into dark waters with strangers, do they?”
“Wait, what—” He flashed me a lazy half smile and abruptly let me go, pivoting on a bare foot to set off down one of the short concrete piers that jutted off into the water, stairs cut into their sides. He stripped down as he walked, tugging his V-neck over his head. The muscles in his wide back corded in the moonlight, shifting black and gray shadows. His torso tapered sharply at the waist, and as he stepped out of his jeans, I caught my breath at how dense his thighs and calves were, how solid all of him was, like he had been carved out of a single slab.
I swallowed hard. He glanced at me over his shoulder, his cheek creasing from his smile.
“Are you coming or not, then, flower? I’m not going to stand here for your inspection all night.” He let his hair down from its bun; it just brushed his shoulders as it fell loose. “Unless that happens to be your thing.”
It could be made to be my thing, I thought as I followed him. If he was willing to continue looking that way.
I pulled my tunic over my head, so aware of the fabric’s whisper against my skin. Everything felt high-pitched and sensuous, my mind and body vibrating at the same high frequency as I stepped next to him in my bra and panties, trying not to shiver as he took my hand. His thumb stroked over my knuckles, and his eyes went heavy-lidded as he ran a slow gaze over my body.
“What is it like,” he said, low and rough, “to be made so perfect as you are?”
“I’m not perfect,” I stammered, ducking my head. “My sister is the perfect one. Curves from here to everywhere. In all the right places.”
He stroked three fingers down my throat, tracing out its hollow. “And where exactly do you think yours are? Not in any wrong places I can see.” He tipped his head toward the water. “Lead the way. If you’re game to go, that is.”
Everything inside me roused at once. “Of course I’m game.” I dropped his hand and broke into a run to the edge of the concrete pier, calling, “Don’t forget to take the biggest breath!” over my shoulder.
Then warm air parted around me as I jumped, a wobbly, delicious plummet in my stomach as I dropped toward the water and broke its surface with pointed toes. I nearly exhaled the long breath I’d taken as the silken warmth rushed around me, sealing over my skin. A fizz of bubbles like popped champagne tickled against my face; Fjolar had landed almost exactly beside me, both of us kicking to stay underwater.
The salt stung like fury when I opened my eyes and water surged into them, but I could stand it and I could see, enough to make out the bright wavering coin of the moon’s reflection on the surface, and the rippling silver facets where its light broke on the waves all around it. Fjolar took my hand and squeezed it hard, my bones grinding together until I nearly gasped. And just like in the café the gleam went roaring through me. The facets multiplied over each other, and so did the central orb of the moon, spiraling into concentric rings around itself. I pulled at the gleam until I’d made the underside of the water into some strange, brilliant night sky, the glittering overlay of the moonlight like perfect constellations—as if someone had graphed out all the stars and forced them into order.
My lungs burned and my head went light from lack of air, but I didn’t stop pulling until the constellations came alive, blooming into silver fireworks that arced down toward us. I had never wondered how far I could take the gleam, what would happen if the fractal bloom actually touched me, but I wondered now as it came surging down.
I ran out of air before I could find out. Two kicks launched me back above the surface, gasping and laughing through salty water as I rubbed at my stinging eyes.
“What a glory,” Fjolar was saying breathlessly, laughing low in his throat. “What a work of wonder you are.”
“Thank you,” I replied, running a hand over my head to slick the hair back, licking the salt off my lips. “I—just, thank you.”
We stopped laughing at the same moment, rising and dipping as we faced each other, kicking to stay afloat with little fin-flicks of my feet. There was nothing but silence, the quiet splishing of the water right around us. His hair had slicked back too, and he was shining with sluicing water, his cheekbones curved and thick as ribs, his lips and lashes glistening as he watched me. My insides went tight with hunger.