There’s nothing at all nonchalant about the look he’s giving me. But, then, there’s nothing nonchalant about my relationship with Carter Thorne. Never has been, never will be. Not until we’ve both left this earth and turned to dust.
Maybe not even then.
I drink in the sight of him like I’m dying of thirst. I try not to, but I can’t stop myself. It’s been three months since I last saw him. An infinite stretch of days and hours and seconds without being in close enough proximity to study the small scar that bisects his eyebrow, to see the way his dark hair has grown long enough to curl at the collar of his jacket, to marvel at the cutting sharpness of his jawline.
I wish, for the zillionth time, he wasn’t so stunning. It might be easier to keep my treacherous heart from reacting the way it does whenever he’s near: twice its normal speed, his name a sharp underscore to every beat.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Car-ter.
Car-ter.
The last time he stood in front of me, I was brimming over with hurt and heartache, reeling from the death of my father and the aftermath of the bombing. When I learned Carter had concealed the truth from me… that he’d been party to my old advisors’ attempts to manipulate my actions…
I cut him out. Excised him from my life like a terminal cancer, with scalpel-sharp precision.
At the time, it seemed the ultimate act of self-preservation: carving out my heart to save my life. But in this moment, as I look at him… as I feel the ache radiating through every bone and ligament in my body… I know my efforts were for naught.
I never got rid of him; not really. He’s threaded too deeply through my every molecule, embedded too permanently in the intricate spirals of my DNA. Nothing will ever remove him from me completely. This foolish state of remission I’ve been living in was never meant to last.
“Your Majesty, we apologize for the delay in your departure,” one of the guards is saying, though I’m having a hard time focusing on him. “This man refuses to move despite our repeated requests.”
Carter lets out a low laugh — the first sound he’s made. It shivers over my skin like a kiss in the hollow beneath an ear, a fingertip down the curvature of a spinal column.
“Anders,” Riggs barks from my side.
“Yes, Commander?”
“Lower your weapon. Tell your unit to do the same.”
“But he’s a security threat—”
“Anders.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll handle this personally,” Riggs says flatly. “You and your men are dismissed.”
“But sir—”
“Dismissed.”
Anders splutters into silence. He looks like he wants to protest, but doesn’t dare disregard a direct order from his Commander. The unit quickly disperses, holstering their weapons as they go.
With a gun no longer aimed at Carter’s heart, it’s ever-so-slightly easier to pull in oxygen. At least, until his eyes flicker back to mine and I lose my breath all over again.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
That dark smirk on his face grows even more pronounced as he regards me, frozen on the steps with a buffer of five hulking men. He doesn’t say a word, but I can practically hear his silent mockery even at this distance.
How many guards do you need to keep yourself in check, little girl?
I swallow audibly, shoving the thoughts away.