Scarred (Never After #2)(58)

My fist closes around the piece of paper, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

I smile at the few lingering eyes, and as casually as possible, walk to the side of the room, nodding at people as I pass them by, anticipation winding tighter with every step I take.

It isn’t until I make it to the far wall that I turn away and unfold the note with trembling fingers.

Meet me where you kiss the stars.





CHAPTER 33





Tristan





Jealousy is quite the emotion.

I would be a liar if I said I’ve never had it sear against my insides and singe wicked thoughts into my brain. The first time was when my father missed our evening talk, choosing instead to meet with Michael and go over a Privy Council meeting that was happening the next day. For hours, I sat at the edge of the cliff, trying to convince myself that he would show, while knowing deep down he wouldn’t.

But I worked through the envy years ago, knowing I was destined for greatness; that I would rise and take everything in the end. As for my father… well, things don’t hurt as bad when you learn to numb yourself to the pain.

The scar on my face twinges, and my fingertips graze across the rough edges, trying to come to terms with the fact that once again, the bitter tang of jealousy is carving itself into my psyche, creating emotions I haven’t felt since I was young.

Seeing Sara get manhandled by Claudius sent a rage unfurling within me, disgusted he thought he was worthy of speaking her name, let alone touching her skin.

But seeing her with my brother? The jealousy is a sickness, mutating every cell and infecting every organ, until it coats my insides and settles into the marrow of my bones. It makes me feel, once again, that I’m nothing but a lost little boy, stuck in the shadows and watching him hold everything I wish to have.

But Michael would rather kill her first than allow the embarrassment to his name of letting her go. So, until I give the hyenas their revolution and assume the throne, all I can hope for is stolen moments in the shadowy nights.

The grounds are darker than normal, thick clouds looming over the city and hiding the sky from view. I have no clue if the ball rages on, but now I don’t care. Edward’s already told me we’ve accomplished what we set to do, and out here, in my mother’s garden, no one is around.

Leaves crunch on the ground behind me, and I tilt my head back, blowing rings of smoke in the air.

“Technically, there are no stars out tonight for me to kiss.”

I smile at Sara’s voice. “Maybe they were waiting for you to arrive.”

She scoffs, walking around the bench with her hands on her hips. Gone is the woman in the lace ball gown, and in her place is a simple girl in a black dress with a skirt that stops above the ankle.

Earlier, she was beautiful, but it’s in these moments where she takes my breath away.

Smirking, she walks up to me, her floral scent wafting into my nostrils as she bends down and takes the joint from my mouth, bringing it to her lips and inhaling, her gaze holding mine.

My fingers tense with the need to pull her into my lap.

“So…” She straightens, glancing around. “This is different.”

I quirk a brow. “Is it?”

She sighs, pursing her lips as she stares down at me. “I’ve decided you’re incapable of having an actual conversation. All you do is ask question after question.”

My legs stretch out until they surround her, caging her in. “Do you think so?” I ask, my hands reaching for her hips.

Her eyes widen when I grab her, pulling her forward until her shins kiss the bench, my boots skimming the top of her ankles.

“You’ve forgotten your place,” she gasps.

“No.” Lifting my hand, I pluck the hash back from her mouth, allowing the tips of my fingers to graze against the pout of her lips. “I’ve simply figured out yours.”

Her breathing stutters.

“You asked me once to tell you a secret,” I continue. “Do you still wish for one?”

She moves, sitting down next to me, her head tilting as she watches me with a curious gaze. “This feels like a trick.”

Chuckling, I lean back against the bench.

A crack sounds from the forest and her eyes fly to the sound before she whips her head around from side to side. “I should go,” she says.

I wave my arm toward the door. “So go.”

She doesn’t move, although her eyes scan the perimeter.

“Ma petite menteuse, we both know the risk excites you.” I slide closer to her on the bench. “Doesn’t it?”

She blows out a breath. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“That,” she snaps. “You’re infuriating. I’m not sure why I even came here. I’d rather drink a gallon of bleach than listen to you answer everything with a question for the rest of the night.”

My lips tip up in the corners. “So ask me one, instead then, little doe.”

“Stop calling me pet names,” she gripes. “It’s not appropriate.”

I smirk, puffing on the end of my joint.

“Fine.” She leans her upper body in close, and my stomach flips, my eyes dropping to the swell of her breasts and wondering what her nipples look like. How they feel. If they’re dying to be sucked the way I’m desperate to taste them.