Chapter 29

Griffin

“This is where it all begins, right?” I ask, not even looking at Kalista as she walks next to me. “In this giant hallway, as we both dry off.”

Over the years I’ve spent getting accustomed to this life, there are some lessons I’ve tried to make myself learn.

Like how I should keep myself—my real self—to myself at all times, never giving away anything more than what’s absolutely necessary in a given moment.

“This is where what all begins?” Kalista answers my question with her own question—and a confused laugh.

While keeping the world at a cautious, respectable distance seemed like a common sense necessity for someone like me, there are times when somehow slipping up and letting my guard down in some subtle way has been my biggest—really, my only—worry.

“Our lives after that hammam experience,” I clarify. “You were there, right?”

“Oh, the ways in which I was there. I wouldn’t have minded staying there for a while longer, even, but I have a feeling that bath will live vividly in my memory for quite a while.”

“That’s what I meant. You and me both, we’ll always carry that around with us…”

“I didn’t say always, Griff. Just quite a while, which I still think is quite a compliment.”

The rate at which we’re sauntering through the hallway keeps getting slower. By the time I finally turn my head to look at Kalista, we’re almost stopped.

She’s looking down slightly but smiling at her last comment. I smile mildly myself, but I begin walking again and faster.

At one time, not that long ago, I assumed I was going to have to learn some things the hard way. But I think I had been quite successful in keeping myself to myself. Even the people who are supposed to know me well can’t know me that well.

Kalista’s keeping up with my pace, although she’s unsettlingly still not looking in my direction.

It turns out that, as I’m learning now, I never really learned that lesson about keeping myself to myself at all times. I thought I could just do it, and it never seemed like a problem until these past few days.

Until now.

And this hallway, as grand as it is, has never seemed so endless.

When Kalista half-slides to a halt and turns her body towards mine, and it feels almost too dangerous for me to stop along with her.

Almost as if the sheer amount of space will swallow us whole if we stop moving.

Of course, I still stop and turn towards her as she finally looks at me, her eyes congressing with mine.

Kalista’s close enough that she’s looking up at me. That extra dimension makes it difficult to interpret what she’s trying to say with her expression.

“Do you really not have an amusement park in the basement?” She sounds so serious, her voice is soft without a hint of laughter.

“That question’s starting to get disturbing. I’m going to stop thinking about it now.”

“So, yes?”

I feel myself pulled down, and it’s more than just the gravitational pull of Kalista’s beauty that does it.

It’s also her hands.

Kalista hungrily grabs my head and forcefully brings it closer for a short, startling kiss.

It really is startling, too. So much so that I feel a small pulse of electricity and see sparks as I close my eyes.

After it’s over, it feels right, making me worried that it wasn’t right—like my brain and heart are both playing tricks on me.

“Don’t get too excited yet, love. There’s nothing that loud or amusing on this entire property.”

“Not right now, there isn’t. Not yet.”

Those little sparks of passion and excitement are still there, but now they’re in Kalista’s eyes as she grins sheepishly and looks at the floor.

And it’s a balanced, happy moment that feels right, as well. Even more right than the kiss felt.

It feels comfortable, and there’s a literal warmth I can feel.

A warmth that’s undeniable.

And it disappears almost immediately, replaced by the nagging sensation that I’m doing something wrong—that I might be in the middle of that lesson I was dreading having to learn.

The hallway starts to feel too large again, and I turn away from Kalista and restart my walk away from the hammam.

I move quickly, like the architecture really is going to swallow me whole if I stay still.

The sound of my own footsteps—and no one else’s—moving down the hallway helps lift a few grams off this sudden weight I’m feeling.

Kalista’s footsteps follow mine closely, though. No words, no intention that I can sense, just the sound of her feet following mine.

And there’s no reason she shouldn’t be following me, either.

She’s not following me, either, but simply trying to walk with me. After our ritual in the hammam—not to mention every other event she’s been through with me—why do I feel like I’m suddenly trying to flee her?

I stop, turning around as Kalista strides up to me, still smirking her mischievous smirk.

If there really is some lesson here, it’s not making any sense. The presence of my associates, even though they’re nowhere to be seen yet, only seems to muddy my perspective further.

“Are you trying to get to the kitchen before I do?” she inquires.

“I’m not trying to, but I might.” I shrug, casually, feeling a touch of the warmth returning. “That doesn’t mean I’m planning to cook by any means.”

Kalista draws herself in closer, to the point where she’s having to look at me at the same angle as before.

“By what means are you planning to cook, then?” Kalista accentuates her joke by lightly, gracefully biting her lower lip.

This is a woman who, after being so abruptly torn from her life, is now willing to give up everything.

How much is everything, anyway? I know in Kalista’s case, it’s a significant number, not the type of wealth to make hasty decisions about.

That’s not what most people would do, anyway.

Kalista’s no longer smirking; she’s now nearly beaming as her eyes shine happily and ravishingly.

“You’re not most people, are you?”

I think it sounds like a compliment when I say it, and it doesn’t faze Kalista even the smallest amount.

Her smile stays stable as she nods her head slightly.

She agrees with me. She’s not most people.

Just like her financial worth, I’m vague on how much she differs from the average.

Or, importantly, from the predictable.

As much as I might enjoy those aspects of her—and so much more about her—those same things might become part of that very difficult lesson I’ve been hoping to avoid.

As we stare at each other, still and wordless in the hall, I realize it’s getting to the point where I may need to end this whole thing now before it’s too late.

Before we’re in too deep, and we start running the risk of some real problems for both of us.