“This is my sister—”
“Stepsister,” Morgan corrected.
“—and she and I are going to Prague tomorrow. But as for right now, she’s going back to the village.”
“You’re going to Prague tomorrow?”
“Yes, Colchester, and it’s all been squared away with the captain, so don’t even try—”
I broke off as he pushed the door to his room open and took something off a small desk inside. He emerged holding a paper rectangle printed with dates and times and train stations, and the edges of his mouth curled in an amused smile.
“Oh good,” Morgan said, batting her eyelashes.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
I stepped closer to make sure. And yes, it was definitely a train ticket to Prague. For tomorrow, from the same station. And even at the very same time.
“We should all ride together,” he said, his gaze flitting to Morgan and then back to me. “When I scheduled my R&R, I really had no idea where I wanted to go. It was too expensive to go back home and I’d heard good things about Prague…” He lifted one shoulder and smiled an innocent kind of smile. I stared at it, at his mouth. How could he smile innocently like that when just an hour ago, he’d had his boot on my wrist and told me he wanted to hear me beg?
Morgan caught his drift immediately. “I’ve been twice, and Embry’s been once. We’d be happy to show you around.”
Colchester looked pleased. Morgan looked pleased.
I was the only one who was not pleased.
Somehow, I made it through the rest of the evening. I managed to pry Morgan away from Colchester and see her off the base. I swallowed a dinner I didn’t taste. I went to my room and laid on my bed fully clothed, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to sleep, knowing that so many sleepless hours lay between now and being stuck in a train car with Colchester and my sister…
And then I woke up. I had slept, dreamlessly and deep, and now it was time. I told myself I dreaded it, spending the trip with that smug asshole, I knew I dreaded it, except the way my heart pounded and my stomach flipped didn’t feel like dread. I got dressed quickly, used the bathroom quickly, as if I could outrun my own agitation.
I couldn’t.
And when I stepped outside the barracks, he was already waiting, the early morning light brushing a glow against the high lines of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. He was squinting a little in the bright light, those thick eyebrows pulled together and those green eyes narrowed, and I saw him before he saw me. And for a moment—just a moment—I knew the awful, stupid truth. That if this gorgeous bastard really tried, he could snap my cherry-stem heart in an instant. He could chew it up and spit it out and I’d be as helpless as any cherry swirling in the bottom of a whiskey glass.
But why? I demanded of myself. Why? Why? Why?
No. This had to stop. It was only because he was so pretty, so stern, his body so firm, and in Prague there would be hundreds of boys like him, not to mention all the warm, sweet girls. I didn’t need to be knotted up over someone who only noticed I existed so he could shoot me in the arm. I was putting down this feeling once and for all, and I knew exactly how to do it.
I walked toward him, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “We better get a move on,” I said, walking past him as he grabbed his own bag. “The train won’t wait.”
And after we’d left the base in silence, I took a deep breath and forced myself to do it. “Which hotel are you staying at?”
“I haven’t booked one yet,” he admitted.
“You should stay with us,” I said, hating myself for the twisting in my chest. “Morgan is really excited to get to know you better.”
5
Embry
before
Two things happened that trip. Well, more than two in retrospect, but at the time, these were the only two I marked. The first happened early on, as the train rocked and swayed across the hilly uplands of southern Poland. Colchester sat across the table from Morgan and me, talking in a low, charming voice to her as they played cards. He was nothing but honest and courteous and gently funny, and after growing up among the most sophisticated men in the country, his direct openness and unselfconsciousness seemed to utterly disarm her. It was the first time I’d ever seen Morgan blush, playing cards with Colchester. I’d seen her perched on countless men and women’s laps, drinking, snorting, smoking, I’d seen her caught in lies that would drive a nun to madness, and always her ivory cheeks remained untouched.
But now, fully clothed and sober and behaved, she blushed under his attention.
This is what you wanted, I reminded myself and my brittle heart. Seeing them together, watching them together. Making sure you realize this little infatuation with Colchester must stop.
But it was still too much, even with that reminder, and I leaned my head back to feign sleep so I didn’t have to watch them any longer. And as is usually the case with me, feigned sleep turned into real sleep, the motion of the train pulling me into unconsciousness though Morgan’s arm jostled mine at regular intervals as she dealt and re-dealt the cards. I wasn’t sure how long I slept, but I woke up in the stilted, regressive way that only happens in cars and on planes and trains, my consciousness stirring and then resting, and then stirring again. Finally, I became aware of a sharp pain on my arm, the cold, hard window against my forehead, the noise of the drinks cart rattling down the aisle, Morgan’s quiet snores next to my ear. I opened my eyes to find that Colchester had moved chairs, so he no longer sat across from Morgan, but was now across from me, and I could feel the place where our boots touched under the table.