I remembered how close we felt a few hours ago. The way I held his hand in mine. Holding his hand like that . . . touching each of his fingers, tracing the little creases around his knuckles . . . his hand in mine was the best remedy to ease the paranoia of the secrets he kept. I loved his hands—how big they were, how strong. I thought of how they held me, touched me, comforted me. I dozed off again and woke up to Kael standing over me, watching me sleep. He looked like a prince out of a movie, wearing a white T-shirt and gray sweats. Maybe I was groggy, maybe I was losing my mind, but he was so beautiful and I missed him so much. I yanked on his arm, bringing him to me.

“Hey.” He curled his body into mine. I clung to him like he had been away at war.

“How is Mendoza?” I felt unsettled but didn’t want to ruin the moment now that he was back. Silence fell between us. He took a deep breath and I held mine.

“Did you enjoy your nap?” he asked, completely ignoring my question.

I had to make a choice. Press him for an answer about Mendoza and risk him closing off and turning distant or let him decide what parts of him I could access.

I nodded, trying to keep my emotions at bay. I lifted my head up to kiss him and his arms wrapped around me, hugging my body as close to his as it could get.

“I missed you. Too much,” he said against my forehead.

And even though I knew this was too good to be true and the red flags were piling up, I held on to him and decided to take whatever it was he would give me. I should have remembered that not all fairy tales end in happily ever after.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

With Elodie off on her weekend girls’ trip, Kael and I played house for a couple days, never leaving limbo. I begged off work, ensuring with Mali that my clients would reschedule. Kael and I stayed in the house and ordered food when we felt like it. He made me want to do nothing except lie next to him all day. Not even having sex, just listening to his theories about the world, how it began and how it would end. When he sensed the conversation was too heavy and too bleak, he switched topics to show me a YouTube video on the conspiracy that Shakespeare had a ghostwriter. I rolled my eyes, telling him that insulting Shakespeare was a crime in my house, and he lifted his body on top of mine, offering kisses to avoid any penalty.