Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
He gives me a look I can’t quite interpret—surprise, perhaps, that I know this detail, or irritation that I knew it before him. His jaw tightens, but all he says is, “Fine. Pizza it is.”
While he makes the call, I move toward the bedroom where Lilian has retreated. I pause at the door, uncertain of my welcome after her outburst. After a moment’s hesitation, I knock softly, the sound barely audible even to me.
“Lilian? It’s me.”
No answer. I try again, a little louder, tamping down the surge of anxiety her silence triggers. “Lilian? Can I come in?”
“It’s not locked.” Her voice is muffled through the door, heavy with exhaustion and something else—something that sounds like defeat.
I enter cautiously to find her curled on her side on the bed, facing away from the door. She doesn’t turn when I approach, but I can see the tension in her shoulders and the way her hand grips the pillow in a white-knuckled fist, like it’s the only thing keeping her from floating away.
“I’m sorry,” I say, perching on the edge of the mattress, the springs creaking under my weight. “About the arguing. About all of it.”
“I know,” she replies, her voice small and scraped raw. “I just can’t be the referee right now. I don’t have the energy.”
“You shouldn’t have to be,” I agree, tentatively reaching out to touch her shoulder. When she doesn’t pull away, I grow bolder, letting my hand slide up to her hair. “We’re supposed to be helping you, not adding to your burden.”
She makes a small sound, something between acknowledgment and pain, but leans into my touch ever so slightly. Encouraged, I begin to comb my fingers through her hair, the way I used to when she’d have anxiety attacks during thunderstorms. The soft strands slide between my fingers, familiar yet different now—like everything between us. There’s an intimacy to the gesture that makes my heart ache.
“Arson’s ordering pizza,” I tell her, focusing on the tangible, the immediate. “Margherita with extra basil.”
A ghost of a smile touches her lips, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it. “You remembered.”
“Of course I did.” I continue the gentle stroking, feeling some of the tension ease from her body with each pass of my fingers. “It’s impossible to forget anything about you, Lilian.”
She rolls onto her back then, looking up at me with eyes so full of pain, so heavy with confusion, that it physically hurts to meet her gaze. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Aries. Everything I thought I knew about myself, about my life… It’s all built on lies.”
“Not everything,” I counter, shifting to lie beside her on the bed, propped up on one elbow. The mattress dips under our combined weight, bringing her closer. “The person you are—your kindness, your intelligence, your strength—that’s all real. That’s all you.”
“Is it? Or is it just what they designed me to be?” Her voice cracks on the question, raw emotion bleeding through. It takes everything in me not to gather her into my arms right then, to shield her from the cruelty of the world. “What if even my personality is just…medication and conditioning? What if everything I’ve been told about my father’s death is a lie, too?”
“It’s not,” I say with absolute certainty, needing her to believe it as much as I need to breathe. “I’ve known you since we were children, Lilian. I’ve seen you fight against their expectations, push back against their restrictions. That defiance, that spirit—that’s all yours. No one gave you that. No one could take it away.”
She studies my face, searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or confirmation. Whatever she sees must satisfy her because she shifts closer, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder as naturally as if we’ve lain like this a thousand times.
We haven’t, of course. There have been moments—comforting hugs, casual touches, a handful of near misses when mutual desire overcame familial boundaries—but nothing like this deliberate intimacy. Nothing like the weight of her head on my chest, the scent of her hair filling my lungs, the warmth of her body pressed against mine. It feels dangerous and right all at once.
“Thank you,” she murmurs against my chest, the words vibrating through me. “For being here. For believing in me.”
I allow my arm to settle around her, pulling her closer, protective and possessive all at once. “Always.”
The door opens wider, Arson appearing in the frame with a flat pizza box balanced on one hand. He pauses at the sight of us together on the bed, something complicated flickering across his features—jealousy, longing, resignation, all warring for dominance. For a moment, I tense, expecting the worst—violence, accusations, another battle in our endless war.
Instead, he simply raises an eyebrow, his voice carefully neutral. “Room for one more? I brought provisions.”
Lilian lifts her head, extending a hand toward him in silent invitation. After a brief hesitation—a moment where I can almost see him weighing pride against need—he crosses to the bed, setting the pizza box on the nightstand before settling on Lilian’s other side.