Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(83)

His eyes are focused, determined. His hand presses firmly on my mouth but for once, he does not need to silence me. I am stunned on my own. The world has gone strangely blank. No Pink Martini, no wind. Even the scent of Aeternum has faded. The ice from his hand spreads to the rest of me and I shudder.

It may seem odd that none of his warnings about physical danger have deterred me, yet this image of isolation finally breaks through. But when I think about it, it really is not odd for a girl like me. There is nothing injury or death can give me that I have not survived, and even craved before. But losing the only semblance of a family—losing my second chance—how can I go through that again?

Of its own volition, the silver heel of a Louboutin slides back a step. Away from him. He closes his eyes and removes his hand. Maybe he saw the change in me or maybe he is having a change of his own. Whatever it is, I need to think. I turn away from him and run out of the tent.

The wind whips my hair on my face as I try to calm my breathing. I look at his Alone Place. Can I be with him on these terms? And what happens if I do? I will lose the Solises, Reagan, new friends I have not yet met, and in the end, even him. No! I should go. I should leave right now.

I try with all my strength to take a step forward on the hilltop. My muscles recoil from the idea. The world goes blank again as if my senses register Aiden’s impending absence and refuse to acknowledge anything else but him. All I can see in the dark night is a beautiful, tormented man who has moved roses across continents for me, who has brought me to life in every sense of the word. My heels sink in the grass. I can’t leave. I have to at least try. Maybe if he allows himself some normal, happy memories, they will balance out the bad ones, and with time, replace them.

I take a shuddering breath and enter the tent. He has not moved an inch—his face still grave. I stride across the dance floor to him, surprised my knees can support me.

“Should I drive you home?” he asks, his voice almost hoarse.

I take his hand. “Not tonight. I want to find out on my own.”

His lips press in a thin line and he closes his eyes.

“I learn by trying, not by telling, Aiden.”

When he opens his eyes, they start lightening to turquoise. His lips lift into a defeated smile.

“Scientist through and through.”

“A major genetic flaw, according to my mum.”

“So where does that leave us?”

I lock my fingers with his. “I believe you called it a ceasefire.” I reach on my tiptoes to kiss his scar.

He sighs, whether in pleasure or frustration I don’t know. And for now, I don’t want to find out. I trail kisses along his tense jaw to the corner of his mouth.

“Kiss me,” I say.

He truly smiles now. “One temporary victory and you’re already giving me orders?”

“Yes.” I fist my hands in his hair, pulling him close. “Now, no more talking from you tonight unless it’s dirty!”

That’s it for Aiden. His mouth parts for a full Pink Martini stanza. Then his eyes darken and he pulls me roughly to him. With a groan like surrender, his mouth is on mine. His tongue and lips start a deadly tango of their own. He grips my face so tightly that I feel his strength down to my bones.

“You want dirty, Elisa, but I can’t say f*ck around the roses,” he says between kisses. “So now, you’ve made this harder on yourself.”

In my pounding ears, I register Pink Martini singing about whispering amado mio. Maybe it’s the song or Aiden’s tongue tip tracing my lips but the last vestiges of my brain resolve the stutter and go up in flames. And just like that, I know the words that have been taunting me since I first saw this place.

I grip his face and kiss him with all their power because I cannot say them out loud. But with every stroke of my tongue, my mind says, I love you. I love you. I love you.





Chapter Thirty-Seven





Work of Art


One week has passed. It felt like a day…and like a lifetime. It felt like a day because no matter how many hours I have with Aiden, they fly too fast. It felt like a lifetime because I’ve never lived more than I am living now.

“You shouldn’t look so stunning. It will attract police attention,” Aiden says, caging me in his arms as Benson hauls me to my graduation party. We’ve discovered that if Aiden holds me in the car, his customary traffic tension eases a fraction.

“You don’t mind that I’m wearing my mum’s dress?” I ask, fluffing the sea gray skirt.

“Elisa, wear whatever makes you smile like this. And in any event, I think your mother should be at this party.”

As should you.

I stare out of the window to distract myself from the void that flares in my chest every time things like work or sleep pull us apart. Hydrogen, oxygen, radium—I race through them as I watch the world go by. In the opposite direction of Casa Solis.

“Umm, Aiden, I think we’re going the wrong way. Casa Solis is in North Portland.”

He gives me a dimply smile. “You’re not going to Casa Solis, Elisa.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Benson smiles in the mirror too, but my pulse starts racing in terror. Last time Aiden planned a surprise, he was trying to expel me from his life. Nothing has changed in that department—we’re still on ceasefire.