Kill Me Softly (8 page)

His eyes on hers made her dizzy.

“All right,” he said finally, his expression unreadable. “Let me kick my brother out.”

When Felix left, he shut the bedroom door, and Mira perched on the edge of the bed with her legs drawn up, wondering what he expected to happen, what
she
wanted to happen. Part of her knew she was asking for trouble if she stayed. The rest of her wanted to know what trouble was like.

A few minutes passed, during which she heard the brothers arguing in low, angry voices—but she couldn't make out the words. Something made of glass crashed, shattered. She heard a
thud
against the wall and flinched. Then Blue's voice came through the door, so close it was like a hand on her shoulder. “Mira, don't stay.”

She didn't answer.

“Mira …”

And after another moment, she heard Blue cursing. She heard the hall door slam.

And then she and Felix were alone.

Felix emerged from the bathroom in a fog of steam, wearing black pajama pants, his hair still wet, a towel thrown over his shoulders. Tonight, for the first time, she saw his body, lines of lean muscle his clothes had only hinted at; and she stared at him like he was a picture, wondering what it would be like to touch him—and wishing she was wearing a sexy nightgown, instead of pajamas that looked like gym clothes.

He turned down the bed, yanking the coverlet off and letting it fall to the floor, while she stood awkwardly beside him in her T-shirt and girly boxers.

“I could sleep on the couch,” she offered. “If you want.”

He gave her a look like he didn't take her seriously. “You really want to sleep on the couch?”

“No,” she admitted.

She hesitated—then climbed into bed.

She didn't want to sleep on the couch. She didn't know what she wanted—that was the problem—and she wasn't sure she'd know until it was too late. But maybe this was why she'd come alone to Beau Rivage. Maybe she was meant to discover something about herself. To grow up. Wake up.

When she was with Felix, she didn't lose herself in daydreams. She wanted things that were real.

The light clicked off. She could feel the mattress sinking under his weight, the sheets being tugged as he came closer. She lifted a hand to feel for where he was, and her hand found his bare chest and slipped over the muscles there, enjoying the feel of him before she turned self-conscious and stopped. He was leaning over her, the heat of his body warming the air between them.

“Hi,” he said. There was a smile in his voice.

Her hand lay frozen against his chest. She'd never felt so tense.

“Don't be nervous.”

“I'm not,” she lied, wanting him to make a move so she could reject it or accept it … and stop waiting for something to happen, wondering what it might be. His hand settled on her hip, familiar, and she stalled, nervous about what else might seem natural to him, but be monumental to her.

“Felix,” she started, “why does your brother hate you so much?”

He sounded amused. “Did he say that?”

“Not exactly. He just … he says a lot of bad things about you. Like that I should stay away from you.”

“Of course he does. I'd tell you the same things about him if I thought you were interested. You have to be used to guys fighting over you.”

“Fighting?” She laughed. “Um, no. That doesn't happen.”

His hand on her hip felt so heavy—she could barely pay attention to anything else. He was stroking her skin, kneading her hip, almost casually, and yet not casually at all.

“I didn't know you liked me like this,” he said, his voice low, intimate in the dark. “I'm kind of happy about it.”

“You are?” she said.

Felix laughed. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“I don't know,” she said. “No one I know has ever … liked me like that.”

“Either the guys you grew up with are blind,” he said, “or your godmothers are jailers. All right: I'll tell you why I like you.” He bowed his head close to hers. “You're brave, Mira. You're beautiful. And hopeful—and I'm not. But you make me feel like things can be different….”

His voice turned tender, faded as he kissed the corner of her mouth, warm and soft; and his hand slipped up her ribs, his fingers catching her T-shirt and tugging it slowly up. She wasn't sure if she—

His hand grazed her breast, and her breath caught in her throat.

Felix stopped. He seemed like he was weighing whether that was a
yes
gasp or a
no
gasp. The moment passed, and he smoothed her shirt into place so it covered her again. She wanted to do something, to show him she could be natural at this, but—she couldn't. Her body had gone rigid with apprehension.

“You want to just sleep?” he said gently. She wondered if he was embarrassed for her, because she'd thought she could play in his world, and she couldn't.

Mira nodded, then remembered it was dark. “Okay.”

“Come here,” he said, kissing the edge of her ear. He pulled her backward against him, so that his chest was pressed to her back, his breath warm against her neck. He held her, not speaking, just letting her be.

“Good night,” he said.

Mira lay still until she heard his breathing fall into the smooth, even rhythm of sleep. She touched Felix's hand; said his name. But he just pulled her closer, sleepily possessive, so she was fitted more tightly against him.

Gradually, the sound of his breathing calmed her down. Once there was nothing to wait for, nothing to decide, her breaths fell in sync with his. She felt safe then, with his arms around her. Like she was his—even if it was just another daydream. Right then she felt like it was true.

“Good night,” she whispered.

M
IRA WOKE RELUCTANTLY
, her mind shaking off layers of sleep. She remembered, distantly, the warm pressure of a hand on her back, fingers rubbing up and down her spine. A whispered
good morning
that felt like a dream.

She lay on her stomach, her T-shirt pushed halfway up her back, the sheets kicked to the floor. When she felt the chill of the air-conditioning on her skin, she scrambled to pull down her shirt.

She wasn't naked—nothing anyone else would consider
private
was on display—but it was almost worse than being naked. Because she couldn't be sure how long she'd lain like that—and whether Felix had seen the ugly mark on her back.

As if she didn't already have enough strikes against her—now she'd be deformed in his eyes, too. An immature girl with a freakish mark.

She wandered out into the empty suite, trying hard not to cry. Her embarrassment from last night came flooding back.

Why had she been so eager to stay with him? Everything was ruined now. The curtains in the living room were wide open, and she could see the ocean far below. The sparkle of the sunlight hurt her eyes.

On a table near the couch sat a vase of flowers and a crisp white card, and a silver serving tray with a domed lid. Inside the tray, she found breakfast: French toast with strawberries. Opening the card, she found a message from Felix.

Hey beautiful,

The passkey lay on the table. Mira ran her fingers over it, feeling electric. He'd see her later. They were going to search again; he wasn't repulsed by her mark. And in the meantime, she was free to explore, go shopping, whatever she wanted. His home was her castle.

She liked the sound of that.

Mira spent the morning exploring the hotel. She roamed the long halls of rooms, imagining the drama that went on behind closed doors. She even went up to the thirtieth floor, to check out the view—but she didn't go near suite 3013.

Afterward, she headed down to the casino. She threaded her way through rows of slot machines, hoping to run into Felix; then skirted the gaming tables very, very quickly, searching for a head of blue-black hair.

There was no sign of him. Maybe he was in one of the VIP rooms, or in his office.

Or maybe he was in suite 3013. But she wasn't about to barge into the one place he'd told her to stay out of. Maybe it was a test—and if it was, she was going to pass it.

The last place she explored was the shopping area. She browsed through designer jewelry and clothes, overpriced underwear, and even Dream memorabilia, like glittery T-shirts and magic wand earrings. Felix had told her to charge whatever she needed, but she didn't want to abuse the offer. In the end, she bought a red satin nightgown from a lingerie boutique called Cinderella's Secret—but she paid for that with cash, not Felix's card.

On her way out of Cinderella's Secret, Mira stopped to orient herself. The Dream's shopping area was themed, like the rest of the hotel: it was made up of a series of wide corridors decorated to look like a forest trail. Shop windows peeked out from between trees, and vines and flowers grew over everything. A trail of Hansel-and-Gretel-style “bread crumbs” was embedded in the floor. The whole area was called Forest Passage, and in addition to boutiques, there were several cafés, some of which had “outdoor” seating in the “forest.”

Sitting at one of the outdoor cafés was Blue.

He sat with his back to her, at a small metal table, along with Freddie and a dark-skinned girl with a pink streak in her brown hair. Mira didn't recognize the girl. She was kind of fierce-looking, closer to the Blue end of the fashion spectrum than to Freddie. She wore a shredded T-shirt over a white tank top, black shorts, and boots made for stomping.

Blue was going on about something. It was noisy in the Passage, so Mira couldn't hear him, but she wouldn't have been surprised if he was complaining about her. She hung back and spied for a minute, and probably would have gone on spying if Freddie hadn't spotted her and waved her over.

Scrunching up her Cinderella's Secret bag so they wouldn't see the logo, she pasted on a smile and started toward them.

Blue regarded her with a bewildered expression that quickly cooled to indifference.

“You're alive,” he said.

“I usually am,” she said.

Freddie rose to his feet in an almost courtly way. “Mira, how wonderful! We'd love it if you'd spend the day with us. Um, of your own free will this time.”

“Gee, thanks, could I?” she said.

“Yeah, spend the day with us,” Blue said. “You're guaranteed one more day that way.”

Freddie frowned. “Blue, don't be like that.”

“Don't worry, I'm used to it,” Mira said.

The girl with the pink streak in her hair put down her drink to join in—then pressed a handkerchief to her mouth before any words could escape. Her eyes watered and she started to cough, like she was choking.

“Are you okay? Is she okay?” Mira asked, searching their faces for answers. “Does anyone know the Heimlich—?”

The girl held up a hand to stop her, then breathed and wiped her mouth, clutching the handkerchief in her fist. A wet lavender petal clung to her lip. “I'm fine.”

“Okay,” Mira said, still feeling like she should do something. “If you're sure …”

“I don't think we've met,” the girl said. “I'm Jewel.” Her voice was husky, lovely, bluesy. Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, the pink streak twisted through it like a ribbon. A diamond stud glittered in her nose, and her ears were pierced with a row of precious stones: emerald, amethyst, pink sapphire, onyx. “I sing in Curses.”

“Oh, right. The band.” Mira said.

“We have a show this weekend,” Freddie said. “You should come.”

“Maybe,” Mira said. “I might have plans.”

“You might not be here,” Blue said. Then, turning to Freddie, as if Mira were already gone: “So there's no use inviting her to anything.”

“I'll be here,” Mira said.

“In theory,” Blue said, not bothering to look at her.

“Uh … anyway,” Freddie went on, his gaze passing awkwardly between them, “we'd love it if you'd come out with us today. Or come to the show. If you have time.”

“We're not very good. Well,
we
are,” Jewel said, “but Blue isn't. He kind of ruins us. We'd be a good band otherwise.”

“If I was a competent musician, I'd be too sexy,” Blue said.

Mira snorted. “I don't think you have to worry about
that
.”

“Isn't that the whole point of being our drummer?” Freddie said. “Nobody ever likes the drummer. Do you have to be bad, too?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Blue said.

Mira raised her eyebrows. “Are you telling me you have a drummer who can't keep the beat?”

Jewel nodded. “He's lucky we like him. And that girls come to our shows anyway to gawk at Freddie.”

“They do not come to gawk at me,” Freddie said. “They come to watch you.”

“They do not,” Jewel said. Then, to Mira: “Freddie plays hard to get.”

“I don't play anything!” Freddie protested.

Jewel dismissed his claim with a wave of her hand. “Whatever, yes, you do. Freddie only dates princesses. He's a snob like that. And princesses are always in short supply, so …”

“You like your girls high maintenance, Freddie?” Mira asked. “Aren't those girls usually annoying?”

“I'm not … no, it's not like that.” Freddie seemed flustered, unable to properly explain. “It's not like that.”

“That's why he's still a virgin,” Jewel said with a wicked grin—before being interrupted by another coughing fit. She pressed the handkerchief to her mouth, and when she pulled it away, Mira saw that the cloth was full of sodden flowers: shiny-wet violets, tiny daisies, delicate pink bleeding hearts. All fresh and flecked with blood.

Mira swallowed and felt like she had a rosebud stuck in her own throat. Her mind fought to make sense of this, to feel anything but numb horror.

She had to be misinterpreting what she was seeing.

Jewel couldn't be coughing up flowers.

Freddie was still stuck on Jewel's last announcement. He seemed to think Mira's horror was for him. “That's not why,” he insisted, color rushing to his cheeks. “And … and it's not like that's a bad thing.”

Blue shrugged, unfazed. “We're all virgins, except for you,” he said to Jewel. “Oh, and except for Mira. She slept with Felix last night.”

“
Slept
in the sense of
sleeping
,” Mira said. “Not that it's any of your business.”

“You just made it my business by telling me,” Blue said. “So what happened? He decided he wanted to play with you a little first?”

“You know, you are the most …
despicable
person I've ever met.” Mira's fingers tightened around the Cinderella's Secret bag. “You don't even know me, but you insist on being a jerk to me every chance you get.”

“Only because I care,” Blue said, grinning. She would've slapped him if she didn't think he would like it.

“Felix is
not
someone you want to hook up with,” Jewel said. “You should stay away from him. Count your blessings and move on.”

“I'm pretty sure I didn't ask for your opinion either,” Mira snapped.

She knew it was rude, but she was struggling not to say something worse. Blue had no right to embarrass her in front of his friends. And she didn't need to be lectured.

Jewel shrugged. “Your funeral.”

Mira told them she'd see them later, and left. She wasn't in the mood to argue about Felix. Blue would say something nasty if she stayed; she'd never be able to get him to back down—especially not while Jewel was agreeing with him.

It wasn't until she'd emerged from the hotel, and into the hot, bright light of day, that she remembered the blood-flecked flowers in Jewel's handkerchief—as unnatural and fantastical as the Dream itself. There had to be a reason, even for something as unreasonable as that.

Her throat tightened as Felix's words came back to her.

I don't believe in coincidence.

Maybe the curses Blue and his friends joked about, and talked circles around, were real.

Mira made her way from the Dream to the “beautiful shore” Beau Rivage was named for. She wanted to stroll barefoot through the white sand, and think—not daydream, but try to make sense of things.

What exactly was going on here?

And what—if anything—did it have to do with her?

Sun worshippers and day-trippers streamed past her, carrying beach towels and picnic baskets, dog-eared paperbacks, plastic pails, and shovels. They were a blur of humanity, redolent of banana and coconut suntan lotion—but occasionally, an individual would stand out.

The crowd would part around someone, and Mira's breath would catch. She saw a young man with a white-tipped cane, the skin around his eyes marred by crisscrossing scars. There was a girl whose hair frizzed around her head like dandelion fluff, looking harried as she darted through the crowd, a strange wooden doll clutched to her chest. Mira was tempted to stop her, ask her what was so urgent, but instinct told her not to. Besides, the girl was quick and out of sight before she could try.

Were these curses? Was that what she was seeing? Or was she just paranoid?

Mira was holding on to the railing of the boardwalk with one hand, peeling off her shoes with the other, when Henley and Viv stopped beside her, both in swimsuits. Henley was loaded down with a cooler and a cardboard tray stacked with French fries and hot powdered donuts. Viv was holding her car keys, hip cocked to one side as she fixed the knot on her red sarong.

Mira sighed. She hoped this didn't mean Blue was on his way. “There's no escaping you people, is there?”

“Excuse me?” Henley said, with his typical furrowed brow and humorless expression.

“Ha-ha, no, it's a small world,” Viv said. “I'd like to get away from these losers once in a while, too.”

“If I wasn't here, you'd have to carry your own shit,” Henley said.

Viv rubbed his shoulder play-vigorously. “You're
right
. I'm so lucky!” She leaned in and kissed his arm, then kept her cheek pressed to his bicep, her dark eyes on Mira. “So, outsider, what do you say—join us? I can promise you no Blue, at least for a little while. And free food.” Viv snaked a fry from its paper wrapper and bit off the end. “Deal?”