Page 24 of Jetmir

She jumped, nearly dropping the device.

“Jesus, Thorne.” Fuck, sometimes I wished her calling me Thorne wasn’t a reminder that she didn’t really know my true identity. Although, I loved that she was the only person on this planet to call me by my middle name.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Kidnapping you for the weekend.”

“I have an exam in four days.”

“You’ll pass and we both know it.” I held out my hand. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?”

Getting into a car with me, a man she knew nothing about, should have mattered. She was smart enough that it should have mattered a great deal. But she trusted me and her hand was already in mine.

Someone might have said she was dumb to be so truthworthy, but she wasn’t. She didn’t trust just anyone and nobody seemed to understand that about Anya. Underneath all that careful, dutiful-daughter composure was a girl who wanted, badly, to be reckless.

I didn’t tell her where we were going until we were already at the airstrip.

“Portugal?” she said flatly, like she was waiting for the punchline. “Thorne, my parents will⁠—”

“I’ll have you back before anyone notices.”

She scoffed. “Somehow I doubt that. Portugal isn’t a town in the same time zone, never mind the same continent. Someone will notice.”

“I promise you’ll be safe,” I vowed.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Come on, angel. I have a wonderful surprise for you.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on her lips and I could see I was already getting her to cave.

“This is insane,” she muttered. “This is—we can’t just⁠—”

I kissed her and she stopped arguing, and then I nudged her up the steps and buckled her in. She fell asleep smiling somewhere over the Atlantic with her head against my shoulder, and I swore I would always keep her safe.

Lisbon met us gray and drizzling, but Anya studied it with shiny blue eyes and an excited expression. We grabbed breakfast, then walked the old streets hand in hand. Every so often, we’d pause and Anya would read a sign excitedly until we finally got to our destination.

My surprise for her.

The door was unmarked.

It boasted a layer of dust and a brass elephant knocker, and when I pushed it open, her gasp reached my ears. The look on her face as she stared at the shelves stacked to the ceiling was priceless.

“Thorne.” Her hand found my sleeve, fingers curling into the fabric without her seeming to notice. “Thorne. This is—how did you even⁠—”

“You like it?”

She turned to look at me and nodded her head like a little kid in a toy store.

Two hours. Six bags. An old man behind the counter who kept sliding me approving looks every time she wasn’t watching, like he understood exactly what he was witnessing—a girl falling in love with a place, and a man falling further in love with her for it.

What he didn’t know was that I would burn down every library on earth if she asked.

I should have known then. Some feelings arrived already carrying their own warning label.