Page 51 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

I turn abruptly to go, but my dress snags on a branch of the wishing tree. The tree trembles and the tags swing. I attempt to yank it free, but the fabric is caught, and it makes the tree sway perilously above my head.

“Oh, for the love of Sam Hill!” I exclaim.

“Stay still,” Ren says, and I’m surprised by the confidence in his voice. He kneels down at my feet and carefully works to free my skirt. His knuckles ghost across my bare leg and his touch sends sparks across my skin. Suddenly, I’m glad I don’t have any stockings.

For a moment, he hesitates and looks straight up at me. Our eyes meet. I have the sudden desire to bend down, grab his hair, and kiss him while he kneels at my feet. I think he sees it in my face because he goes very still. The quality of air changes between us. Then he lowers his head, breaking the electricity binding our gazes together. Determinedly, silently, he wrests the fabric free. He holds the hem of my skirt and his hand brushes my ankle once more. The sparks I felt before spike across my flesh and spread up my leg. Then he releases my skirt. He rises to his feet, towering over me again.

“Are you sure you aren’t asking for my help because you’re the one who needs it?” he asks, and his voice is gravelly.

“No—I mean, thank you.” I’m usually quick with words but I can’t find any. I can only think about the touch of his fingers on my ankle and the wanting look in his eyes when he stared up at me. “For freeing my skirt.”

Ren’s eyebrow arches, even though he seems as breathless as me.

“Anytime,” he says.

“And while I don’t need your help, I would appreciate it.”

“I’ll think about it,” he replies smoothly.

“Very well.” I hold out my hand. “Deal, then.”

He frowns.

“Wait, what? What’s the deal?”

“That you’ll think about it,” I say. I feel silly, but now I must commit to it.

He takes my hand. He doesn’t let go and neither do I. We stare at each other. The caginess in his eyes gives way to something else. Something bright, pulsing, building.

I’ve never seen him look this way, ever.

“Come with me,” I whisper, and I’m shocked at how exhilarated I sound.

Ren’s grip tightens on my fingers. There’s a mutual melting in us. It’s a relinquishment, resistance given so suddenly over to surrender that it stuns me. I intended to lead him, but he leads me, pulling me away from the festival. There’s a part of the park that’s still being landscaped. Two trucks sit side by side, their flatbeds holding potted saplings, their branches budding with delicate blossoms.

Ren guides me between them, and we leave the world behind and enter a new one. Leaves whisper against my face and run through my hair. My skin is alive, every nerve tingling and sensitive. I let go of Ren’s hand and move past him, down the tree-lined aisle. I stop and lean against one of the truck’s curved fenders. The metal is shockingly cold, yet it seems like it must be, that everything in this moment must be hotter, colder, intensified to the greatest degree. I reach out, inviting him in. He wavers for only a moment. I see the briefest struggle in his eyes, as though he’s doing something against his better judgment.

Then he comes eagerly, and his hands settle at the base of my neck. They travel upward, skimming the length of my throat to my face. I’m shocked at the ease with which his hands mold to me. He bends over me, and I lean back. I form to the truck’s fender. Its rounded shape heightens my own curvature, as though this new world is made just for us, just for this exact moment, just for this exact kiss. One of my hands tangles in his hair and the other slips beneath his shirt, finding its way up to his chest. My fingers spread open against his skin, my hand stretching so I might feel as much of him as possible. His heart beats wildly against my hand and his skin radiates heat. My heart responds, our own language for our own world.

Our lips meet.

I’m nothing but the beat of his heart and the curve of the truck and the pinpricks of stars overhead, which I suddenly see through the branches because my head has found its way back. While his hands traveled up my neck, his lips travel down it, following the path of my throat. The truck is frigid, monolithic, metallic behind me while Ren is the opposite, all shivering breath, racing pulse, hot skin.

“Violet!” I hear my name from afar. At first, it’s nothing but an alien sound in my ear—invasive, annoying, vague. “Violet Aratani!”

Jarringly, I’m thrown back into the present.

It’s Mama. She’s calling me. She’s here. Dismayed, I push him back, rising up from the fender like a demented corpse bride from a coffin. He stumbles, sucking in his breath so abruptly, it makes him choke slightly.

“It’s my mother,” I breathe. I hurry out from the space between the trucks, praying to God that she doesn’t see me emerging from a secluded place with Ren. She’s across the way at the festival, head twisting like an owl. I swear she’ll suddenly develop the ability for it to twist all the way around and she’ll spot me. I sprint from our spot. Ren staggers out behind me.

“Violet Aratani.” She says my name again, but it’s no longer an inquiry. It’s a summons. Fury fills her eyes as I walk over. Only once do they flick behind me to take in Ren before fixing on my face again. My heart, which was racing moments before, plummets.

“Mama, what are you doing here?” I ask, bewildered and horrified at the same time.

“No, Violet,” she says, and there’s nothing but steel in her voice. “What are you doing here with him?”

“I was spending time with him, Mama.” I won’t make the same mistake again and pretend like he’s no one to me. “We’ve been getting to know each other.”