Rebel (Legend, #4)(38)

I laugh a little at that. “Yeah, I seem to remember you having a knack for it.”

She smiles, then turns serious. “Care to share any of it with me? You look like you could use someone to hear you out.”

And again, there she goes, predicting me. I hesitate, wondering whether I should embroil any more people I care about into my business. “Work’s been rough lately,” I finally decide to say.

“Rough like how?”

I sigh. “I think I’m starting to understand why you acted the way you did when I was first getting to know you. When you worked as an agent in the Republic. Working for a country you didn’t agree with, staying loyal even if the cause was imperfect. It was almost easier to be from the streets. At least all the right choices were obvious there.”

June’s silent for a moment. Rain pours down the sides of the archway above us, forming a makeshift waterfall. “It’s not easy being in a gray zone,” she finally replies. I notice with gratitude that she doesn’t ask me the sensitive details of what I’m involved in. “Maybe you should think about a line of work in something less dangerous. Finance, perhaps.”

“Why?” I straighten the lapels of my suit and puff out my chest. “Is finance a hot look on me?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I thought we were talking about making the right decisions.”

We smile a little, then lapse again into silence.

“Not here,” I whisper after a moment. “It’s too sensitive to talk about in public.”

June’s expression never changes. She smiles like I’d just murmured something intimate to her. But when she replies softly, she says, “My place, then, after most of the festivities are done.”



* * *



It’s almost midnight by the time we finally leave the gala.

June’s staying in a penthouse across from the Elector’s suites on the top floor of their hotel. As we enter the space, the security system greets us both by our names. I watch the light shift against June’s back as she removes her heels and walks on quiet feet toward her bedroom.

I lean against the kitchen counter and let myself admire the main chamber, trying not to think about June changing out of her dress in the other room. Our President definitely spares no expense in making sure foreign leaders here have a full sense of how well Antarctica’s doing.

I walk over to the long glass windows overlooking the black ocean. I’m still staring at the view when June emerges from her room.

Her hair is down now in soft waves against her face, and she has changed into a comfortable wrap that drapes silken against her figure. Her eyes are liquid dark in the night, as mesmerizing as I remember.

Hell. She’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.

Was I ever able to relax in a room with her? Or was I always like this—my heart beating rapidly in her presence, every sense of mine attentive to her and ignorant of everything else?

She seems to notice my sudden discomfort, and for a moment, we just stand stiffly apart, not knowing what to say.

“You look nice,” I end up blurting out. Immediately, I regret it. Could I have thought of something dumber to say? Probably not.

She clears her throat, unsure what to say back. I curse inwardly at myself. Way to make her uncomfortable.

To my relief, she flashes me a small smile. “Thanks,” she replies. “Always the flatterer, even when things are going wrong.”

Another shard of a memory comes back to me in that moment. We’re sitting side by side, passing a bottle of cheap sea-grape wine between us and squinting at its sour, salty aftertaste. I don’t know who she is, and I don’t know what I say to her. But she’s so beautiful and strange. Our lips touch.

The memory fades, and I find myself back in June’s hotel room, blinking at my recollection. Beside me, June tilts her head curiously.

“What did you just think about?” she asks.

I hesitate, then look down. “I remembered something,” I reply. “About us, before.”

At that, she brightens. “A memory?” she asks. “What was it?”

I glance at her with a bashful smile. “The first time we kissed.”

June’s lips quirk, and a little laugh escapes her. She looks away too, out the windows at the black ocean and the lights of the city. “Do they come back to you in pieces like that? Your memories?”

“Yes. Specific things will trigger new memories. Most of the time, they’re just fragments. I remember kissing you, for example, and the bottle of wine we were passing between us. But I don’t remember exactly where we were, or who else might have been nearby then. I don’t know what I said to you, or you to me. I just remember … the feeling of being near you. As if it were from a different lifetime.”

June closes her eyes for a brief moment, as if soaking in the memory herself, before she looks at me again. “We were on the streets of Lake, and you didn’t know who I was yet. I didn’t know you were Day. It was right before everything unraveled.”

Before everything unraveled between us. Now I remember. It was before my mother died, before the Republic arrested me. It was the beginning of being forever linked with her.

I turn back to her. “But nothing’s unraveling for you now, yeah? You seem really happy these days,” I say.