Until I Die

him to choose me.”
“So did I, Charlotte. I’ve been hoping for that this whole time. It’s really not fair. You would be perfect together.”
“I thought so too.” She sniffed and wiped her tears away. “But I can’t think like that now. I love Geneviève and I love Ambrose, and if they could be happy together, then I would never get in their way.”
Charlotte gave me another squeeze and then left me alone. I didn’t even bother getting undressed. Wondering why life—or death, in Charlotte’s case—couldn’t be easier, I lay down on the bed, closed my eyes, and let the sound of the waves lull me into unconsciousness.

TWENTY-NINE
     
    THE NEXT MORNING I AWOKE TO SEE VINCENT lying beside me, watching me sleep. “ Bonjour, mon ange ,” he said, playing with a strand of my hair. Then, rolling over, he plucked something out of a bowl on the bedside table and, before I could see what it was, popped it into my mouth. I bit down in surprise. And my mouth was filled with the sugary sweetness of a strawberry.
“What—” I began, but couldn’t talk around the berry.
Vincent tried not to laugh. “When I was volant, you made such a big deal about not having to brush your teeth before talking to me that I thought I’d run a better chance of getting a first-thing-in-the-morning kiss if I spared you the indignity of morning breath.”
“So now I have strawberry breath.”
“My favorite,” he responded with a teasing smile.
“Wanna try?” I proposed, and leaned forward for a kiss.
“Mmm,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Good. Good. But just for the record, I think I prefer Kate au naturel.”
I laughed and put my arms around him. “This is the best, waking up next to you.”
“We’ve spent the night together,” he replied, “when I’ve been volant.”
“Yeah but I couldn’t do this,” I said, and pressed my lips back to his. He took my head in his hands, returning the kiss, and then, wrapping me in his arms, he pulled me toward him. Our limbs wound themselves around each other’s until our bodies were completely tangled, and I couldn’t feel the point where mine stopped and his started.
His hand moved inside the back of my shirt, and the novelty of his warm skin brushing against mine sparked a powerful longing inside me. I didn’t want him to stop until he had marked every inch of my body with his touch. And as he continued, it felt like I was expanding. Like my body was too small to contain me and I would burst out of my skin like a supernova.
“Kate.” Vincent’s voice sounded like it was coming from a distance. “Are you ready for this? Do you want it to be now?”
“Yes,” I said automatically, and then, opening my eyes, I hesitated. Vincent had sat up and begun pulling his shirt over his head, and I saw that his chest was marked with bruises—bigger, darker facsimiles of the ones under his eyes. And although they didn’t repel me—if anything, they triggered something in me that wanted to take care of him—they were shocking enough to clear away the mist from my passion-muddled thoughts.
We’re both hiding something . The words flashed through my mind with a clarity that made me wonder if they had been spoken out loud.
It was true. We were both keeping something important from the other. And suddenly it seemed dishonest for our bodies to join when our spirits were divided. That’s not how I want this to start , I thought, and as he folded me back into his arms, I said, “Wait, Vincent. I’m not … I’m not ready yet.”
Vincent’s grasp on me loosened. He paused, then moved his mouth next to my ear. “That’s okay,” he said, his hot breath on my skin making me shudder. “I’ve waited this long for you—I’m in no rush. We’ll have all the time in the world.”
We lay there motionless for a few minutes as I savored the sweetness of feeling his body pressed against my own. Finally we eased apart enough to look into each other’s eyes. “Kate. Don’t cry.” Vincent looked concerned.
“I’m not,” I said, and then realized that my eyes were filled with tears.
I wasn’t crying from frustration: My desire for Vincent wasn’t only physical. It wasn’t confined to the here and now. I wanted him, body and soul. And I wanted the hours we had together to be full of life and love and joy at having found each other.
But looking at the boy lying inches from me was like being laughed at by misery and death. Besides the bruises on his chest, his lovely face was