"What the—"
My voice trails off as I shove open the door and see a large white candle on my nightstand. Its flame is burning bright, casting long shadows on the wall. Helena is sitting cross-legged on my bed, her hair unbound and hanging around her in waves, with a book in her lap. I can't help but notice how she's made herself comfortable in my room.
"What the hell is this?" I ask. Stomping into the room, I glare at Helena. Without even looking up, she messages me.
Princess: Do you mind? I'm trying to read here.
My eyes feel like they're about to explode out of my head. "Why is there a candle in my room? I don'tlikecandles, Helena. They pollute the air."
She looks up at me, her mouth twitching as she sends another message.
Princess: I’ve heard that only psychopaths hate candles. They smell good. If you must know, I got this one from storage.
Rubbing my hand through my damp hair, I groan. I don’t have the energy for this. I huff, "Fine. The candle stays, but for the love of the gods, will you read on your bed, please?"
She raises a brow, and for a moment, I think she will argue with me. She inhales sharply as the space between us diminishes before pushing herself to her feet and staring at me.
Clutching the book to her chest, Helena skirts around me. We almost touch. The space in my room was tight before adding the cot, and now it’s cramped. The air itself feels electrified. As she moves, our eyes never leave each other. It’s as though we are the only two people in the entire world.
It feels like an eternity passes in the blink of an eye as she reaches the cot. My heart is hammering in my chest as I watch her bend down and pull the blanket over herself. Our gazes are still locked, and for a long moment, neither of us moves.
Eventually, Helena drops her eyes and dives back into her book. Despite myself, I am entranced by her every movement. How her lips silently move as she reads, how her fingers trace the path of the words down the pages. It's as though every single letter gets her full attention. Watching Helena read is the most interesting thing I've done all evening.
Realizing I'm staring, I drop down onto my bed and grab my own book off the nightstand. For the next two hours, we read together. The only sound in the room is the flipping of pages, the sound as soothing as the lapping of waves against the ship.
By the time the clock reads 10:00 p.m., my eyelids are growing heavy. I dare a peek at Helena, only to see that her book is lying flat against her chest and her head is resting against the pillow.
Shutting my own novel, I slip off the bed and walk over to Helena, pulling the book off her chest and placing it on the shelf beside her. Drawing up the blanket, I tuck it around her before stepping back. Asleep, Helena looks... peaceful. Calm. Young. And even more beautiful than ever.
Pulling myself away from her, I blow out the candle and turn off the lights before heading into my bed. As sleep draws near, my last thoughts swirl around Helena.
I can't get her out of my head, and for the first time, I don't want to.
16
Not So Different
HELENA
Today is going to be a good day.I repeat the mantra to myself as I walk towards the mess hall to pay Jean Luc a visit. The enticing aroma of breakfast is already spreading through the ship, and my stomach grumbles.
I pass a few of the crew members on the way up. They each glance at me quickly before hurrying away.Odd. It’s as if I am carrying a hulking sword.
The crew is usually pretty chill when Erik isn't around.
The mess hall has a few stragglers from the morning meal, who quickly clear out upon seeing me.
What the hell?
I pause. This entire situation has got Erik’s name written all over it. Clenching my fists, I stalk to the bar and sit down loudly.
Jean Luc appears from the kitchen a few moments later. He sees my expression and grabs a notepad. He still prefers it when I write to him.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” he probes gently.
I roll my eyes so hard my under-lids blink involuntarily.
Jean Luc nudges the paper towards me ever so slightly, and I start scribbling as fast as I can.