''Are you—are you breaking up with me?" I whisper, the wind rushing right out of me, like an ill-fated balloon. All my suspicions confirmed: Drina, the beach, all of it. Everything.

"No, I just..." He turns away, leaving both the sentence, and me, to dangle.

And when it's clear he has no plans to continue I say, "You know, it would really be nice if you'd stop talking in code, finish a sentence, and tell me what the heck is going on. Because all I know is that Evangeline is dead, Haven's wrist is a red oozing mess, you ditched me at the beach because I wouldn't go all the way, and now you're breaking up with me." I glare at him, waiting for some confirmation that these seemingly random events are easily explained and not at all related. Even though my gut says otherwise.

He's silent for a while, staring at the pool, but when he finally looks at me he says, "None of it's related." Though he hesitated for so long I'm not sure I believe him. Then he takes a deep breath and continues. "They found Evangeline's body in Malibu canyon. I was on my way here when I heard it on the radio," he says, his voice becoming sure, steady, as he visibly relaxes and regains control. ' And yes, Haven's wrist does appear to be infected, but sometimes those things happen." He breaks my gaze and I suck in my breath, waiting for the rest, the part about me. Then he grabs my hand and covers it with his, flipping it over and tracing the lines on my palm as he says, "Drina can be charismatic, charming and Haven's a bit of a lost soul. I'm sure she just likes the attention. I thought you'd be glad she transferred her affections to Drina from me." He squeezes my fingers and smiles. "Now there's no one standing between us."

"But maybe there's something standing between us?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper. Knowing I should be more concerned with Haven's wrist and Evangeline's death, but unable to focus on anything other than the planes of his face, his smooth dark skin, his deep narrowed eyes, and the way my heart surges, my blood rushes, and my lips swell in anticipation of his.

"Ever, I didn't ditch you today. And I'd never push you to do anything you weren't ready for. Believe me." He smiles, cradling my face in the palms of his hands as his lips part against mine.

"I know how to wait."

Chapter Twenty-Two

Even though Haven refused to answer our calls, we managed to get a hold of Miles. And after convincing him to stop by after rehearsals, he showed up with Eric, and the four of us spent a really fun night eating and swimming and watching bad scary movies. And it was so nice to hang out with my friends in such a nice relaxed way, that it almost made me forget about Riley, Haven, Evangeline, Drina, the beach—and all of that afternoon's drama. Almost made me oblivious to the faraway look Damen got whenever he thought no one was looking. Almost made me ignore the undercurrent of worry bubbling just under the surface. Almost. But not quite. And even though I made it perfectly clear that Sabine was out of town and Damen was more than welcome to stay, he stayed just long enough for me to fall asleep, then he quietly let himself out.

So the next morning, when he shows up on my doorstep with coffee, muffins, and a smile, I can't help but feel a little relieved.

We try to call Haven again, and even leave a message or two, but it's not like it takes a psychic to know she doesn't want to speak to either of us. And when I finally call her house and talk to her little brother, Austin, I can tell he's not lying when he says he hasn't seen her.

So after a full day of lounging outside by the pool, I'm just about to order another pizza when Damen grabs the phone out of my hand and says, "I thought I'd make dinner."

"You can cook?" I ask, though I don't know why I'm surprised, because the truth is, I've yet to find anything he can't do. "I'll let you be the judge of that." He smiles.

"Do you need help?" I offer, even though my kitchen skills are severely limited to boiling water and adding milk to cereal.

But he just shakes his head and heads for the stove, so I go upstairs to shower and change, and when he calls me down for dinner, I'm amazed to find the dining room table dressed with Sabine's finest china, linens, candles, and a large crystal vase filled with dozens of—big surprise—red tulips.

"Mademoiselle." He smiles and pulls out my chair, his French accent lilting and perfect.

"I can't believe you did this." I gaze at the heaping platters lined up before me, so piled with food I wonder if we're expecting guests.

"It's all for you." He smiles, answering the question I hadn't yet asked.

"Just me? Aren't you going to have any?" I watch as he fills my plate with perfectly prepared vegetables, finely grilled meats, and a sauce so rich and complex I don't even know what it is.

"Of course." He smiles. "But mostly I made it for you. A girl can't live on pizza alone, you know."

"You'd be surprised." I laugh, cutting into a juicy piece of grilled meat.

While we eat, I ask questions. Taking advantage of the fact that he's barely touching his food by asking all of the things I've been dying to know but always seem to forget the moment be looks in my eyes. Things about his family, his childhood, the constant moves, the emancipation—partly because I'm curious, but mostly because it feels weird to be in a relationship with someone I know so little about. And the more we talk, the more surprised I am by how much We share in common. For one thing, both of us are orphaned, though he at a much younger age. And even though he's a little sketchy on the details, it's not like I volunteer to talk about my situation either, so I don't really push it.