Inquest (20 page)

“I have some
ideas. Ideas we’re going to explore, okay?”

Bucking
against his subduing presence, I shake my head.

“Libby,” Milo
growls lightly, “please stop arguing. I don’t want you getting
hurt.”

Oh, crap. He’s
right. He is going to win this fight. How am I supposed to refuse
him when he asks like that? My body softens and leans against him.
It is answer enough for Milo. I’m wrapped in his warmth, and for a
few seconds I have no doubts about his feelings for me.

“Thank you,”
he says. It’s a simple phrase, but the eager edge to his words
slips through and makes me wonder why he wants me to start training
so much. “Thank you for protecting Celia today, too. I would never
forgive myself if something happened to her.”

“I won’t let
anything happen to Celia,” I promise. A little piece of his earlier
demands comes drifting back into my mind. “Just so you know, you’re
not spending the night here.”

“Oh
really?”

I duck my head
into his chest to cover my traitorous smile. I would love to have
him stay. I can’t afford that kind of distraction right now. It’s
hard to remember that with Milo holding me, but I say, “You’re not
staying.”

Rubbing his
hands back and forth across my back, he steals more of my resolve.
“Libby, I know you don’t think I can protect you, but I can. You
don’t know what I can do. Let me protect you.”

I can’t resist
the gentle tone of his voice. My head comes off his chest and I
catch his gaze right away. He hides from me so often. The precious
few moments he really lets me in are amazing. All I can do is
breathe, and even that’s not coming too easily at the moment. My
skin is very nearly vibrating with desire to always be near him. I
don’t even care if it’s leaking through my emotional shield. I want
him to know how much I care about him, how crushed I would be if I
lost him.

One, two, then
three breathless seconds pass before his head tilts down. Thought
abandons me all together. I’m not even sure if I’m breathing
anymore. His lips touching mine are the only thing I care about. I
want to reach up to him, but I’m afraid of pushing him away. I can
feel his breath washing over my skin, and then he turns away
muttering about his sister being here.

I had
completely forgotten about her. Again.

“Don’t let me
stop you,” Celia says happily. “I don’t mind.”

“I do,” Milo
says.

She rolls her
eyes and glides across the carpet to punch her brother in the arm.
“You’re such a dork, Milo.”

He swats her
leg before she can get away. “Get in the car, you little twit.”

“You’re
kicking me out? That means you’ll have to leave Libby alone. You’re
not going to abandon her are you? What will she ever do without
you?” Celia drawls.

“Get in the
car.”

She folds her
arms and takes on a positively adorable stance that I think she
means to be hostile. “No.”

“I’m not
kicking you out, Celia.”

“Then why do I
have to get in the car?”

Grabbing her
shoulders, he turns her toward the door and gives her a little
push. “Because it’s dinner time and I’m taking you two out to eat.
Now go.”

“Well, why
didn’t you say that in the first place?” she says. “Let’s go.”

She bounds out
the door like a little bunny. Milo shakes his head at her, but he’s
smiling when he turns back to me. When his fingers reach out for
mine I take them without hesitation. Our hands slide together
perfectly. “You too,” Milo says. “Let’s go. I’m taking both of my
girls to dinner.”

His girls. I
really like the sound of that.

Chapter 17

Disturbance

Hot rollers
shouldn’t make people cry. People, what a laugh. I’m the only
person in the world that cries at the sight of hot rollers. All I
have managed to do so far is plug them in. As soon as the little
red indicator light turned on, I burst into tears. Worked more than
they have been in maybe —thanks to Milo’s new training regimen—my
muscles protest being curled up in a ball as I sit on top of the
toilet. Tears splash down on my bare knees. My fingers fumble to
grab my phone off the counter. Celia’s number flashes across the
screen and it’s ringing a second later.

“Hey, Libby,”
she answers happily.

“Celia, I
can’t do this.”

Her sigh
whispers across the line. After spending most of the week together,
plus everything Milo has already told her about me, she doesn’t
even have to ask what I’m talking about. “Yes, you can, Libby.”

“I’m sitting
in my bathroom crying my eyes out. I can’t do it. I can’t curl my
hair.”

“I think
you’ll feel better once you just do it. Whatever it is that’s
holding you back, it’s time to move on,” Celia says.

I shudder out
a painful breath. Move on. I don’t know if that’s possible. “Celia,
you just don’t understand,” I begin.

“Well, of
course I don’t,” she interrupts, “because you won’t tell me!”

And I’m not
going to. My silence reinforces that.

“Do you know
where I am right now?” she asks.

“No.” I wish
she and Milo were both here with me.

“I am sitting
in a chair at the barber’s watching Milo get his shaggy mop cut
off.”

My chest
tightens with excitement and guilt. “He’s really doing it? How does
it look?”

Celia snorts.
“It’s looks terrible,” she says, “but that’s only because they just
started.”

I can’t wait
to see him with short hair. I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to
imagine it.

“Libby,” Celia
says softly, “I’ve begged him, and my parents have threatened him
to cut his hair. He didn’t care. Nothing we said to him mattered.
He’s doing this for you because you asked him to, and because he
wants to see you overcome whatever this thing is with your hair.
Nobody else could push him to change like you have. And that’s
saying a lot since I’m here, too. We both know how much he loves
me.”

I laugh at her
blatant confidence in her brother’s love. Most girls her age are
embarrassed by their families and do everything they can to pretend
they don’t exist. Not Celia. She is happy to tell anyone who’ll
listen how much Milo means to her.

“Libby, do you
want to go to the dance with Milo tonight?”

“Yes,” I say
quickly.

“Then you have
to curl your hair.”

“I know.”
Faced with the choice of holding onto my familiar pain a little
longer, and hurting Milo and missing the dance, my resolves begins
to sharpen.

“He bought a
suit,” Celia adds, her singsong voice trying to entice me even
more. “I saw him try it on last night. You’re going to like it. He
hasn’t worn a suit in a long time, Libby.”

A suit. No
more baggy clothes that hide his body.

“And if it
makes you feel any better,” Celia says, “Milo isn’t having much fun
either.” I can hear Milo growl in the background. Celia laughs. “I
can’t decide whether he’s going to break the arms of the chair off
with how tight he’s gripping them, or just throw up on the barber.
I’m leaning toward breaking the chair, but it’s a close call.”

“Shut up,
Celia,” Milo’s muffled voice rumbles.

We both laugh,
though I can certainly sympathize with him.

“Libby, you
can do this,” Celia says.

I close my
eyes, and say, “I can do this.”

“Send me a pic
when you’re ready. I promise not to show Milo.”

“Hey,” Milo
argues.

“He’s
delusional,” Celia says. “Good luck, Libby. I’ll talk to you
later.”

“Bye,
Celia.”

I set the
phone back down and flip open the lid of the hot rollers. The light
has flicked off, letting me know they are hot enough to use now.
It’s been more than five years. Five long years since I’ve seen my
hair in any other style than plain and straight. I have missed the
twisted bounce of dozens of ringlets tickling my neck. I have
missed twirling the curls around my fingers. More than anything,
I’ve missed twirling
his
curls around my fingers. A hiccup
of wrenching pain escapes me. I yank a curler out of the box,
burning my fingers, and spin it into my hair before I think better
of it. One after another, I roll and pin each one in place. My
fingertips sting and my eyes are bleary by the time I finish. But I
do it.

When the tray
is empty my head feels like it’s ten pounds heavier, but I’ve
finally done it.

I brush my
teeth and put on my makeup in a state of shocked disbelief. Somehow
I remember everything Celia told me to do with the new makeup. The
eye shadow is more sparkly than what I usually wear. It looks like
I am dusting my lids with crushed diamonds. They almost seem to
glow next to my dark eyebrows. I can barely see the blush when I
put it on, but somehow it brightens my whole face. I apply the lip
stain more carefully than I usually would, given that it won’t come
off for hours once it’s on. I press my finger to my berry tinted
lips experimentally and am surprised to find out Celia was right
about it not smearing off.

Remembering
her reason for choosing the lipstick deepens the blush in my
cheeks. She wouldn’t mind seeing a few lipstick prints on her
brother, but she knew that if her parents saw them, they’d start
asking questions. My whole face flushes as I try not to think about
all the places I would like to leave lipstick on Milo’s skin.

Done with my
makeup, I take a deep breath and slip my dress off the hanger. Its
silky grey color is a perfect match for Milo’s eyes. It glides on
like a rain cloud, brushing its cool wisps against my skin and
making me shiver. The neckline plunges down more deeply than my
usual t-shirts, but not low enough to show too much. The back,
however, leaves my skin bare most of the way down my spine. The
fabric presses against me tightly from my chest to my hips, where
it loosens and drifts down to my toes like a hovering mist. My
strappy black heels complete the look.

Now all I have
left to do is take out the curlers.

Panic bites at
me, but I refuse to let it take over again. The click of my heels
against the tiled bathroom floor is the only sound in the room. My
fingers fumble the first curler and it goes spinning out of my hair
and clattering to the floor. I leave it. My eyes are glued to the
loose ringlet quivering against my face. I watch it until it
settles, as if it might spring into life and strangle me at any
moment. A full minute passes before I can touch the next curler and
gently remove it. The process takes twice as long as putting them
in, but the results are worth the wait. A halo of curls frames my
face, and I gasp.

I have to
blink rapidly to keep a fresh batch of tears from ruining my
makeup. My dad would love it if he could see me tonight. He would
crinkle his nose and tell me to shake my head until my curls were
as wild as his. I would laugh and giggle and throw myself into his
arms. He would love it.

I think Milo
will too.

A while later,
his knock sounds at the door. It seems to take forever to walk
across the small room to the door. Never was I this nervous to open
the door for Lance. I was always excited, sure, but I am positively
trembling now. Although if it were Lance on the other side of the
door tonight, I don’t know that I could even open it. He knows why
I refused to curl my hair—well, some of it. He would know exactly
how big of a deal this was for me.

My hand
touches the door knob, and I have to pause and take a deep breath.
It doesn’t work. Taking a different approach, I tap my Naturalism
and calm my quivering body. The butterflies banging around in my
stomach don’t lessen in the least, but my hand does stop shaking. I
turn the handle and pull the door open slowly.

And…oh my.

His hair is
the first thing I notice. Cropped short on the sides so I can see
his ears—they’re adorable—but still long enough on top to be swept
up in a loose riot. I guess he couldn’t part with all the
shagginess. I would be a fool to want him to. He looks amazing.
Forcing my eyes away from his hair, I’m eager to take in this new
suit of his. Celia was right. I think Milo should have to wear
suits every day. His midnight blue shirt is actually fitted. For
the first time I can really see his waistline. The black suit and
grey tie he’s wearing set off his newly revealed physique even
more. Shoulders, Milo actually has shoulders. My eyes travel down
the length of him and back up.

I should say
something, stop staring at him like a mackerel, but all that comes
out is a strangled, “Wow.”

Milo’s hand
moves up to his head self-consciously. “That’s what my parents
said, too.”

“Well,” I say,
“you look incredible.”

“You think so?
I feel really weird. My hair’s gone, my clothes feel too tight. I
feel like everyone is looking at me even when there’s no one
around,” he says.

My hands glide
around his waist and pull him close to me. “I hate to break it to
you, Milo, but everyone is definitely going to be looking at you
tonight.”

He shakes his
head. “No, they won’t. Not with you there. I’m just background
compared to you. You look beautiful, Libby.” He pushes me back just
far enough so he can see my dress. “I’ll have to tell Celia she was
wrong about the dress, though.”

“What did she
say?” I ask.

“That you
looked hot in it,” he says with all sincerity.

I don’t take
him serious for a minute. “And you don’t agree?” My tone is
teasing, and wins me a devilish grin from him.

“No, I don’t.
You don’t look hot, you look gorgeous.”

I smile and
pull back against him. “Thanks.”

“And, Libby?”
he says as his hands stray to my hair. “I love your curls. They’re
even better than the dress.”