Once An Eve Novel

see him again soon. Still, I cringed at the thought of lying alone in that bed, between the cold, crisp sheets. “It’s just two days,” I said aloud, unsure who I was trying to comfort.
    “Right,” Caleb agreed. He kept his eyes on the road as we approached it. “It’s not that long, really,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
    We were almost to the corner. He would turn right, further into the Outlands, and I’d turn left, back toward the Palace. When we were just a few yards away, Caleb pulled me into a doorway set off the narrow street, the two-foot threshold just deep enough for us both to press inside. He held my face in his hands, his expression barely visible in the darkness. “I guess this is good-bye,” whispered.
    “I guess so,” I said softly.
    He kissed me, his fingers hard against my chin. My arms gripped his back as I pulled myself closer. His hands were in my hair. My heart sped up as his finger dipped inside the neck of my sweater, tracing lines over my collarbone. He leaned down and I kissed his closed eyelids, that tiny scar on his cheek.
    Somewhere in the distance a Jeep backfired, the boom! startling me from my waking dream.
    “I have to go—we have to go,” I breathed.
    I pulled away first, knowing that if I didn’t leave then I never would. I turned to go, giving his hand one final squeeze.

nineteen
     
    CLARA DROPPED HER PLATE BESIDE MINE, SPATTERING TINY droplets of tomato sauce on the white tablecloth. “You look tired,” she said coolly, her eyes searching mine. “Late night?” Her short blue dress was too tight, the silk puckering along the seams.
    “Not at all.” I straightened up. At most, Clara had seen my back as I darted inside the stairwell door. She couldn’t have known for certain that it was me.
    Charles and the King had just cut the red-and-blue ribbon of the new marketplace, a giant outdoor restaurant built around the Palace’s expansive pools. People ate at tables set up on the stone patio or strolled past various stands. Columns towered over us, holding up verdant topiaries and hanging purple flowers. Statues of winged lions and bucking horses perched above. The fabric stalls—called “cabanas”—had all been converted to storefronts where vendors sold Moroccan olives, Polish sausages, and fresh crepes with strawberries and whipped cream.
    Rose sat across the table, looking as though her face might melt off. Pink blush had settled in her wrinkles, and there were faint dark circles under her eyes. She stared down at Clara’s half-eaten plate of pasta. “Know when to say when,” she whispered, resting her hand on Clara’s fork. “You’re too beautiful to let yourself go.” Clara looked away, her cheeks going a deep red.
    “We’re thrilled with the final product,” the King said loudly as he strolled toward us, Charles by his side. He addressed Reginald, the Head of Press, who was clutching a notebook. “When we restored Paris, New York, and Venice we wanted them to be tributes to the great cities of yesterday’s world. This marketplace is an extension of that, a place people can experience all the delicacies we enjoyed before. You can’t just hop on a plane and be in Europe, South America, or India anymore.” He gestured to a corner of the wide marketplace. Tents were filled with steaming carts of dumplings, meats, and tiny rolls of sticky rice and fish. “My favorite is Asia. Did you ever think you would have sashimi again?” the King asked.
    I watched him, noticing how easily he slipped into his public persona. His voice was louder, his shoulders back. It seemed as though every word had been rehearsed beforehand, every slight nod and gesture carefully designed to inspire confidence. “Our Head of Agriculture is working on ways to produce seaweed. The trout is all farmed from Lake Mead. It’s not an ideal substitute, but it will suffice until we get the fishing fleets back on the oceans.”
    They sat down beside me, Reginald still scribbling in his notebook. Charles’s eyes followed me. He kept staring until I met his gaze. “Don’t say hello or anything,” he said, playfully raising one eyebrow. “You know, I’m starting to take it personally.”
    “I think your ego can handle it,” I offered, as I cut into the yellowish dumplings I’d found at the Polish storefront.
    The King reached over, squeezing my hand so hard it hurt. “Genevieve is kidding.” He laughed. He offered Reginald a subtle wave, as if to say,