Page 38 of The Encore’s Crown

Signe’s thumb sweeps against Natalia’s upper arm.

“He sounds like someone who didn’t take himself too seriously.”

Natalia gives a broken little laugh.

“No. Fuck, no. He showed his love in simple ways, teasing you the whole time he did it.”

Her expression breaks before she forces it smooth again.

I want to get up.

The impulse is so immediate I nearly do it before I can think better of it. I could move around the table, crouch beside her chair and put a hand at the back of her neck. I'd tell her she doesn’t have to keep performing for anyone in this room.

Would she want me to?

That question stops me.

Would she lean into me the way she leaned into Signe? Would she let me take her somewhere quiet and hold her while she fell apart? Or would my touch only remind her of the wall? Of my mouth on hers? Of everything complicated and selfish and badly timed between us?

Maybe comfort from me would feel like pressure. Would she think I was using her grief to get closer? What if I’m the last person she wants near her right now? The possibility makes my chest hurt.

Natalia reaches for the bottle and her hand shakes again. Signe intercepts the pour, not taking it away, only steadying the bottle between them.

“Easy,” she murmurs. “I’ve got it, gorgeous.”

I grab my phone because I need to do something before I crawl out of my own skin. My thumb hovers above the screen.

I’m sorry, Nat.

For what exactly, I don't know. That she's going through this, that she lost her brother, that I pushed things tonight, of all nights? Yeah. All of it.

I press send. Her phone lights up across the table. I can’t read her. Then she releases a small breath and gives a quiet nod. It looks like the message hurt and helped at the same time.

I want to ask her what she needs. I want to tell her I’d do anything she asks, even if the thing she asks is for me to stay exactly where I am. Instead, I keep my hands around my phone and say nothing. Natalia pours another drink. Signe watches her closely now, one arm still anchored around her shoulders. No one stops her. How could they?

No one here gets to dictate how she carries her dead.

Natalia lifts the glass. Her fingers tremble, and something inside me gives way with them. I want to sit beside her. I could steady the glass or hold her hand beneath the table where no one could see. Maybe I'd say something stupid enough to make her laugh or soft enough to help her stop pretending she’s fine. I could take her back to the hotel and sit outside her door if she didn’t want me inside. I'd keep my hands to myself, pretend the hallway never happened. I'd be whatever she needs me to be. If she'd let me.

I don’t know if she would.

After that kiss, I don’t trust myself to guess. So I stay where I am, across the table. Swallowing every instinct that tells me to go to her. I watch Signe hold her steady while my hands ache uselessly in my lap.

Natalia is breaking in front of me with a kind of honesty that's ripping open everything inside of me. All the things I try to keep sealed shut. I want to hold her through it but wanting to comfort someone doesn’t mean they owe you the privilege.

So all I can do is wait for her to look at me and hope that, if she does, there's something in my face that tells her the truth.

If she asks for me, I’ll come.

If she lets me, I’ll hold her.

And if she doesn’t?

I’ll stay right here and let it hurt.

Chapter 17

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