Cinderella Is Dead(64)
“Still,” I say.
Constance pushes the kettle over the fire, and we sit down. I am suddenly aware that she and I are alone together for the first time since before we found Amina in the White Wood.
Constance angles her body toward me, winding a lock of hair around her finger. “Do you think about your friend Erin often?”
The question catches me off guard, though I know it’s something we have to talk about eventually. I’ve been avoiding it because I don’t know what to say. I decide to be completely honest. “I do. I think about her all the time.”
Constance looks down as if that isn’t the answer she wants.
“I never thought I could feel the way I feel about Erin toward anyone else,” I say. “But when I met you, that changed.”
Constance studies my face, her brow furrowed. “But you still care for her.”
“I think I’ll always care about her. I want her to be safe. I want her to be okay, even if she and I can’t be together.” It hurts to say that out loud. For so long, there was only Erin. But with Constance, I see another path, one where I’m not constantly fighting for her affection or struggling to convince her that it’s okay for her to care for me.
When the firelight dances across Constance’s face, all I want is to tell her how I adore her, how she makes me feel like I don’t have to be afraid, but Erin is always there at the back of my mind.
“I would never try to come between you and her,” Constance says. “I just want you to know that I care for you, and it doesn’t matter what anyone else says or thinks.”
I inch closer to her, leaning toward her. “With Erin, it’s mostly me chasing after her, trying to force her to understand that …” I trail off. It’s not fair to say anything bad about Erin. I know what living in Lille has done to her, and it’s not her fault.
“Understand what?” Constance asks, her tone gentle.
“To understand that I’m worth it? That she is worth it. I don’t know.” I struggle to find the right words. “For a time, I’d convinced myself that we could make things work. If we could just hold on, if we were willing to fight for it.”
“And did the two of you fight for it?” Constance looks down.
“She didn’t want to.” The words stick in my throat. They make me angry and sad and hurt all at the same time. “She wanted us to follow the law, to obey our parents. And I think, more than anything, she believed that what we felt for each other was wrong.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I realize now that she wasn’t ready to risk everything to be with me and that I shouldn’t have pushed so hard.”
“You cared for her, so you pushed. I would have done the same thing for you.” She glances up at me, her deep-brown eyes soft, questioning.
My heart races. I don’t know what to say or do. All I know is that I want to be close to her. I lean in and she reaches up, running her fingers down the side of my neck, tracing my collarbone. My stomach twists into a knot. Before I have a chance to overthink it, I press my lips to hers. Her hands move to my neck and face. A surge of warmth rushes over me as she presses herself against me. There is an urgency in her kiss, like she’s trying to prove to me how much she cares, and I yield to her, unconditionally.
The fire in me that has smoldered for her bursts to life in a way I never knew was possible. I’m lost in the tide of her breathing, the sweet smell of her skin, the push and pull of our bodies against each other. Each touch sends a shiver straight through me. In this moment, nothing else matters, only the surrender to the feelings we share.
In the late hours of the evening, Amina returns from her walk.
“Where did you run off to?” Constance asks, straightening out her tunic and working her hair into a curly bun on top of her head.
Amina sits down in the chair and prepares her pipe. “I took a stroll. And I have something interesting to share.”
“Something about the king?” I ask.
“In a way, yes. It seems we won’t have to wait too long to have our chance at a confrontation with him.” Amina reaches into her cloak, pulls out a folded piece of paper, and hands it to me. I show it to Constance.
“He’s plastered these flyers all over town. Nailed one to every door,” says Amina. “Every girl in the kingdom will be required to attend a cotillion on the midwinter solstice.”
“Your walk took you farther than you let on,” says Constance, eyeing Amina suspiciously.
“He’s looking for me,” I say. “He doesn’t want to wait until the next ball. He thinks this will draw me out.”
“And he’s right,” says Amina, puffing away and gazing off. “We have less time to prepare now, but this is our chance.” Her tone is strained, almost sad. I wonder if she’s changed her mind about wanting to help us.
“Then we should get to it,” I say, glancing at Constance, who only nods. “I think we should start by trying to find the little book Cinderella spoke of.”
Constance nods. “She said it was a journal, and if she risked her life to try and give it to Gabrielle, then it must be important.”
“And if it still exists, if she took it back to the castle, there’s no telling what became of it,” Amina says. “But we’re talking about an object that existed two hundred years ago. It could be dust for all we know.”