Erasing Faith(45)

The attendant stared at me blankly.

“Not that I’ve been on a lot of them, or anything,” I explained, swallowing again. “Well, actually, this was my first one ever. But it was beautiful.”

Shit. I was rambling — my worst nervous habit.

“I mean, really, gorgeous. That view! Best in the city,” I blathered on. I knew I was only making an awkward situation even more uncomfortable, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

Wes squeezed my hand and tried his best to suppress a laugh as he pulled me toward the exit.

“I don’t even like heights. In fact, I’m pretty scared of them,” I said, wishing I was flexible enough to literally shove my foot into my mouth — that was likely the only thing that would shut me up, at this point. “But this was totally worth it.”

“Thank you, miss.” The attendant also appeared to be burying a chuckle.

We sidestepped him and passed through the door.

“No, thank you!” I called over my shoulder as we walked away.

We left the cliff railway behind and walked toward the castle. Wes was silent, his shoulders shaking slightly.

“So… I ramble when I’m anxious.” As if he hadn’t just witnessed four full minutes of this humiliating habit in action.

He took a deep breath and turned to look at me, forcing a serious expression.

“What?” I asked, my voice defensive.

Wes’ solemn expression cracked as he lost his battle against amusement. He laughed deeply — the kind of laugh that made his whole body shudder and left him gasping for breath. I waited, arms crossed over my chest, until he’d regained some command over himself. I was glaring at him, but the severe look was undercut somewhat by the twitching of my lips as I fought my own giggles.

“I can’t help it!” I shoved him in the shoulder. “I’m a nervous talker.”

A fresh laugh escaped Wes’ mouth. “Yeah, Red. I remember our first meeting quite well.”

I grinned involuntarily at the memory. “That was nothing. You should’ve seen me as a kid — I never got away with a freaking thing.”

That soft look appeared in his eyes. It made me want to kiss him again. “I can only imagine,” he murmured, staring at me warmly.

“Let’s just say, if someone puts screws to me…” I shook my head and grimaced.

He arched a dark eyebrow, his crooked grin firmly in place. “You’ll sing like a canary?”

“Pray I never get captured by terrorists and tortured for information,” I joked.

Wes’ grin fell off his face so abruptly, I worried he’d suffered some kind of mental breakdown. Something dark flashed in his eyes as he stared at my face. Before I could ask what had happened, the strange look cleared into a flat expression, concealing whatever was going on inside his head.

“You okay?” I asked, concern lacing my tone.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He shrugged. “Let’s go check out the castle.”

“After you, Prince Charming,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood as he began striding toward Habsburg Gate, the tall stone archway that opened onto the castle grounds.

“I’m not your prince, Red.” Wes’ voice was low, nearly ominous. “The dark knight, maybe. But don’t confuse me for the valiant hero.”

I rolled my eyes at his back as I followed after him. “Well, good, Mr. Dramatic, because I’m no Disney princess.”

Wes glanced over his shoulder at me, somewhat startled by my vehement admission.

I dragged a deep breath in through my nose and prepared to unload several decades of disenchantment on his ass. “First there’s Ariel: the girl genetically modifies herself for a man she’s never even spoken to because being a unique, beautiful mermaid is apparently so much worse than being an average human — albeit one with great hair. Then, there’s Snow White: she communes with wild animals, consumes food from creepy strangers, and, essentially, is entirely useless when it comes to doing anything but sing, cook, and clean.” I let out an exasperated snort. “And don’t even get me started on Belle. I’m not sure what’s worse — the blatant Stockholm Syndrome or the rampant bestiality.”

There was a beat of silence as he waited to see if I was done with my tiara-induced tirade.

“Don’t hold back, Red.” Wes’ voice was wry and his eyes were amused when he finally spoke. He’d come back to me. “Tell me how you really feel.”

Happy he’d regained his sense of humor, I grinned and shook my head, in the process catching sight of a statue in my peripherals. “Oh, look! See that statue? The one of the weird, ugly bird clutching a sword? Like a griffon, only way cooler?”

His eyes followed my finger as I pointed at the massive stone hawk, its wings spread wide.

“That’s the Turul! It’s a hugely important symbol in ancient Hungarian history. They say it signifies power, strength, and nobility.” I turned excited eyes to Wes and caught him staring at me with a strange look on his face.

“What?” I asked warily for the second time in ten minutes.

His mouth lifted in a half-grin. “Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“You’re just… full of surprises,” he said, shrugging. “You hate Disney princesses and you love medieval mythology. You’re terrified of heights, but you appreciate the view from the top. You’d choose Rocky Road ice cream over survival supplies. You ramble when you’re nervous. You complain that you don’t like me, but you kissed me on a train car like you never wanted to come up for air.”