Broken Juliet(63)

Even at our hottest and most desperate, it’s never been this incredible. I’m still reeling when he buries his head into my neck and groans.

“Cassie—I … God … I love you. I love you.”

I grip him as he shudders. I stroke his hair and hold him as I wait for us both to stop shaking.

So many emotions twist and rage in my veins, sparking and pounding in a rush that seems like it’s never going to end.

When it finally ebbs away, he’s still wrapped around me. Still inside.

I don’t let him go. I’m incapable.

For so long, I’ve tainted my vision against him. Closed my eyes to his beauty and my ears to his charm. But my heart …

I tried to harden it against the things I didn’t want to feel, and yet, here I am, feeling them anyway.

For all its amazing strength, our hearts are made of eggshells, and sometimes all it takes is someone you’d almost given up on declaring their love for it to crack wide open.





TWENTY


NOW AND THEN


Present Day

New York City, New York

Graumann Theater


I splash warm water on my face to wash off the last of my stage makeup. After I pat myself dry, I look at the stranger in the mirror.

No extra-long lashes, fake-pinked cheeks, or Lolita-red lips. Just me. Pale, splotchy skin. Olive eyes too world-weary to sparkle. Brown hair too coated in hairspray to shine.

I don’t dislike how I look. Everything is in proportion.

And yet, this girl staring back at me? Somewhere along the way, I think I lost track of how much I like her.

My new therapist is helping. In four sessions, we’ve covered a lot of ground.

We’ve talked about a wide range of topics: my childhood, my overly critical mother, my emotionally distant father, my need to please people, my parents’ divorce, and, of course, Ethan.

Always Ethan.

She’s made me describe how we met. Our first kiss. The moment I realized I was in love with him.

Making me remember all the ways he lit me up.

I know we have to talk about the bad times, too. I’m just hesitant to relive it.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

I don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him.

He stands behind me, and his chest radiates warmth, even though he’s not touching me. I watch him in the mirror as he studies me. The expression on his face makes me wonder what he’s seeing that I don’t.

“You were amazing tonight.”

I shake my head. “No, you were. I just got infected by it.”

“That’s not how I recall it.”

“That’s because you know all the right things to say to make me feel good.”

“Oh, really? I make you feel good?”

He steps closer but doesn’t embrace me. He just presses, barely there. He’s so much taller than I am, my head brushes his chin.

“All I want to do these days is make you feel good,” he says, his voice low. “However you need me to do it.”

I’m sure he doesn’t mean that statement to be incredibly arousing, but it is. I can’t help thinking that having him make love to me would make me feel pretty damn good, and God knows, I could use the tension relief. But in talking with Dr. Kate, I realize that would be a monumental step in the wrong direction. At least for now.

He knows it, too. He’s been very careful to keep our offstage contact as platonic as possible. It’s torture. Understanding why it’s a good idea doesn’t make it any less of a struggle.

Even now, I see him fighting to not touch me.

“You realize you’re stunning, right?” he says to my reflection, and I lean back into him.

“I’m getting wrinkles.”

He wraps his arms around me. “Bullshit.”

“My skin’s breaking out from the stage makeup.” I wind my fingers between his as he rests his chin on my shoulder.

“Mine too. So what?”

“I found a hair on my chin the other day. A long, dark hair poking out of a freckle. I’m officially turning into a witch. Run while you can.”

He chuckles and presses his nose against my cheek. “I’m never running again. And please stop trying to convince me you’re anything but absolutely gorgeous, because it ain’t gonna happen. You’re perfect. Always have been. Always will be. Just like this. Breakouts, wrinkles, witchy chin hairs, and all.”

And just like that, he makes those imagined flaws disappear.

“You’re biased,” I say as I step away from him and brush on some powder.

He leans against the counter and watches. “Totally biased. Proud of it. Put on some lip gloss.”

I turn to him. “What? You just told me you like me au naturale.”

“I do. I also like watching that pouty thing you do when you put on lipstick. It’s sexy as hell.” He pulls out a chair and sits down. “Actually, put it on, then wipe it off. Then put it on again. Just keep repeating the process until I say stop. FYI, we could be here awhile.”

I smile and pick up my lip gloss. Then I pull out the wand and hold it toward him.

“Is this what you want, big boy? This spongy, moist tip dragging across my lips? Does that turn you on?”