“So, Bastiaan de Kool.” I smile, hoping if I hold the look long enough, it wil start to feel real. Wondering how it’s possible to feel so bleak after having accomplished so much. But I know why, and I intend to deal with that soon enough. “Out of al of your lives, was Bastiaan your favorite?” My gaze settles on his filmy white cotton shirt and paint-splattered pants.
Jude laughs, his aqua gaze on mine when he says, “Wel , he is the one who got al the girls. Wel , al except one.”
I look toward the window, catching Honor peering at us. Her face betraying just how anxious and worried she is at the thought of losing him to me. And while I have no way of knowing if they’re truly meant to be together for the long haul, they seem to real y enjoy each other, seem to be good for each other, good to each other, and that’s al that real y matters right now.
“Give her a chance,” I say, returning to Jude. And when he starts to cut in, I flash my palm, adding, “Last time, when you asked me what I thought of her, it’s no accident I didn’t answer. At the time, I real y wasn’t sure. But now I am, and I think you should give her a real, genuine, ful -blown, honest-to-goodness chance. She’s come a long way since I first met her, and she’s crazy about you.” I meet his gaze. “And honesly, I think you deserve someone to be crazy about you. I think you deserve al the happiness you can possibly handle.
Besides,” I shrug, “you’re no longer Bastiaan, and, despite my red hair,” I point toward my head, “I’m no longer Fleur. Nor am I Adelina, or Evaline, or Emala, or Chloe, or Abigail, or any of them. Those were just roles we played until it was time to move on to the next. And while we’l always carry a part of them with us, we have so many more roles stil to play. When you think about it, in the big scheme of things, our time together is like a dash of spice in a big cosmic soup—important for richness of flavor, but stil , not quite the main ingredient. The past is over. It can’t and shouldn’t be reclaimed. Al we ever have is now anyway.” I nod toward the window where Honor is waiting. “Don’t you think it’s time we embrace it?”
Jude stands before me, gives me a long lingering look, then nods in agreement. “And you?” he asks, remaining there even after I turn to walk away. “Is that what you plan to do?”
I glance over my shoulder, first at him, then down at the lotus blossom in my hand, saying, “Yeah. Starting right now.”
forty-two
On my way to Damen’s I make a quick detour.
Just one quick stop to utilize my manifesting powers while I stil can.
Just one brief diversion that I hope wil amount to something that Damen and I can enjoy together.
If not, then I can only assume that someone else wil enjoy it for us.
But I can’t al ow myself to think like that.
Can’t al ow even the slightest bit of negativity to slip in.
I’m sure Damen wil bear enough for the both of us, so it’s not like I need to add to it.
I wave at Sheila the gate guard, who surprisingly, considering how long I’ve been gone, just waves me right in. Then I make my way up the hil and around the series of turns, until I’m pul ing onto his street. Remembering the very first time I came here—back when I was uninvited and forced to climb through an open kitchen window—only to find the place devoid of al furnishings in a way that wasn’t just empty, but eerily empty. Wel , eerily empty except for the room upstairs where he kept al of his most cherished mementos from his past
—a room that took me some time to learn to appreciate.
I leave my car in the drive and head for the door. Not bothering to ring the bel or knock, I just let myself in. Charging right through his enormous foyer and straight toward the stairs, knowing just where to find him, just where he goes when he’s feeling troubled like he is.
He stands at the window, his back turned to me, his gaze fixed on some faraway place, when he says, “There was a time when you thought this room was creepy. When you thought I was creepy.”
I pause by the old velvet settee, making no attempt to deny what he said. Taking in his col ection of handwoven tapestries, crystal chandeliers, golden candelabras, gilt-framed masterpieces—a visual reminder of a very long, adventure-fil ed life—a visual reminder that what I’m about to ask of him is no smal request.
“There was a time when you held great resentment toward me for what I’d done to you—for what I’d made you.”
I nod, there’s no use denying that either, we both know it’s true. And though I wish he would face me, though I beg him with my mind to turn so he can see me, he remains where he is, rooted in place.
“And it’s clear you stil cling to that resentment. It’s why we find ourselves here. Divided like we are.”
“I don’t resent you,” I say, gaze glued to his back. “I know everything you’ve done, you’ve done out of love. How could I possibly resent you for that?” My voice cushioned by antique rugs, heavy drapes, piles of silk pil ows, but stil managing to echo right back at me, sounding much smal er than I would’ve anticipated.
“But we are now at a crossroads.” He nods, his finger playing at something he holds against the windowsil , something he keeps just out of view. “You want to erase what I’ve done and go back to the old way of being, while I want to stay as I am, hold on to the life I’ve grown used to living.” He sighs. “And, I’m afraid in light of al that, there’s real y no way to compromise. We’ve come to a juncture—a place where we either have to find a way to agree on a shared destination, or head off in separate directions, and live separate lives.”
I stay quiet, stil , hating the sound of his words—the way they cause my gut to clench and stir—yet knowing it’s true. A choice must be made, and it must be made soon.
“You must understand, Ever, that even though you’ve built a very strong and valid case, even though my choice is wrong in many, if not every, way—for the last six hundred years this al that I’ve known. This is the life I’ve become accustomed to. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m just not sure I’m cut out to be mortal. While it was easy to give up on my extravagant ways when I thought my karma was to blame for our problems—while it was extremely easy to trade in my handmade motorcycle boots for rubber flip-flops—what you ask of me now, wel , it’s another thing entirely. And I know how incredibly hypocritical I probably sound. On the one hand, I claim to be so concerned with
the karmic state of my soul, and yet, on the other, so fervently resistant to the one and only real solution that’s presented to fix it, but stil , there it is. Stated plainly, I’m not wil ing to give up my eternal youth and physical perfection in order to watch my body grow old and decay and eventual y die. I’m not wil ing to give up my access to magick and manifesting and easy trips to Summerland.
I’m just not. Perhaps it’s easier for you, having only been immortal for a year versus my six hundred. But, Ever, please, try to understand that my immortality has defined me for so long, I’m not sure who I’l be if I choose a life without it. I’m not sure who I’l be if I’m no longer the man you now see. Wil you stil love me? Wil I even like me? I’m just not wil ing to take the chance to find out.”
I balk. Seriously, balk. But it’s not like it matters. It’s not like he sees me. I mean, I knew he was fearful, I knew he was afraid of making such a huge change, but I never once considered he might be fearful of losing me once his physical immortality is stripped away.