tree with binoculars when you went running in the woods. Flitting from statue to statue in the Louvre, like some crappy secret agent in a B-grade film. Need I go on?”
So that explained how Bird was familiar with Hugo. My mouth hung open, this new disclosure the height of … annoyance! Yes, that was the emotion – extreme irritation. Relentless eyes spying on me! I was used to being monitored at home, but I believed I’d gained a modicum of privacy at boarding school, of all places. I was tired of being wrong.
“Well, this has been a lovely little chat,” I said, my temper rising. “We’ve discovered that spying on me is not just a favourite pastime of my guardians. You watch me. Hugo watches me. And you watch Hugo watching me. How do any of you get anything done?” I glared at Smith, feeling horribly violated. “And what perspective do you see me from, Smith? In the mirror?” Dare I ask? “In the shower?”
“No. I’ve never seen you indecent! Not counting this morning’s exceptional outfit.” He grinned, but dropped it hastily at my scowl. “Mostly I look outwards, as though through your eyes. If I want to, I can pan around and see your surrounds.”
“That includes me.”
“But—”
I wasn’t appeased by his protests of innocence. “I just have to take your word for it? That you’ve never peeked.” It felt as though he’d pawed through my underwear drawer or spy-holed my bathroom.
Smith struggled to explain. “Okay. I could if I chose to. But I don’t and I won’t. I swear, Winnie. I’ve only ever seen you do things that make me realise how incredible you are! How self-contained, independent and brave. You never back down. You’re not afraid of people who aim to intimidate.”
“Flattery is not going to distract me. I want your blood promise you haven’t peeked, nor will you ever!”
We hadn’t made such a pledge since our early teens, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t the highest show of loyalty and honesty I could think of. Even so, I wasn’t certain I trusted him. The memory of Tiffany yesterday morning kept flashing my mind, telling me how ‘hot’ things got, even though her word was as valued as spent toilet paper. But this new Smithy was a person I’d only recently met, and the force of my feelings for him had me out of sorts and mixed up.
And now, our relationship was completely unbalanced and not in my favour. He knew everything about me from these past two years, yet I knew almost nothing about what he’d been doing. Maybe he was in cahoots with Hugo, who told him about my loser existence at boarding school. But that explanation depended upon mutual communication and the dislike Smith had for him was real, or I was a normal person.
In the last few days, the ground supporting my orderly, manageable world had turned to quicksand. My own perceptions and judgements were totally unfaithful.
How could I rely on anyone else’s?
Eighteen
“A blood promise it is!”
Smithy leaped out of bed, the action so smooth and athletic I was gobsmacked, and ran to the bathroom to return with a razor. He snuggled close and I offered him my thumb, intensely aware of the friction of our flesh. Parts of my body flickered pleasantly, harder and harder to ignore. He made the cuts and we pressed, Smithy enclosing our thumbs in his other hand. The strength of his gaze seized my lungs.
“I swear on everything precious to me that I have never, and will never, look without your permission. If your life is in jeopardy, all bets are off.”
“Hey! I didn’t agree to that!”
He peeled his thumb from mine. “You know, at the start, the jealousy towards that bastard, Hugo, was so bad. I could only get a glimpse of you when you were seriously stressed. The visions didn’t happen a lot. I had to wait for them, yet he was with you constantly. It didn’t seem fair.
“Then the rollercoaster started. Why did Aunt Bea feel the need to appoint a guardian gargoyle for you? Aside from a few bullies, whose butts you kicked as easily as blinking, where was the risk? Finally, it occurred to me. Maybe you were in some kind of danger. After those early months, I gradually became grateful Hugo was there, keeping you safe. I can’t describe the relief now you’re home, where I can take care of you.”
I was over being coddled, pulling my hand completely free of his grip. Who gave a hoot when they’d shipped me off to boarding school and I really craved the comfort of a friend?
“Poppycock!” I snapped. “I don’t bloody need all this security. Bea’s going senile if that’s what she thinks. And I don’t want you to take care of me! I am not a toddler.”
Competing with the anger, the rash on my wrists grew worse and stung like Chinese burns. I rubbed my arms against my thighs.
“Winnie! What have you done?” Smith, who apparently never missed a thing, grabbed my hands and turned them over for a clearer view of my inner wrists. “You got tattoos?”
On each was the faint outline of a triangle, positioned so one of the points tipped to my fingers. I had seen this design before – frames filled with odd symbols – the triangle from the front of the diary. The same blood-red triangle Raphaela died in. Abruptly, Bea popped her head around my bedroom door, which stood ajar.
“I am pleased to dispel the rumour of my senility, Winsome. Less happy because it means you truly are under threat. If you would both get dressed and meet me downstairs without delay, I’d be most thankful.” And then she was gone.
“I hate it when she does that!” I began to scoot to the side of the bed, both eager and hesitant to discover what truths they’d finally share.
“Winnie, wait!”
I turned back to Smithy. He beckoned me closer and I crawled over. His cheeks were pink and he looked edgy. “I, um, think we need a better way to make a pledge.”
Considering this for a moment, I nodded and lay against the bedhead. “Okay. As long as it involves less pain, not more.”
He wriggled up from his flat position to face me, delicately adjusting my robe so I was fully covered. We were almost nose to nose. If only I could nip into the bathroom and clean my teeth, run a comb through my fuzzy, sleep-mussed hair, but there was nothing I could do without ruining the moment.
“I think that’s possible.”
“What did you have in mind?” I croaked, my pulse accelerating.
His turquoise eyes gazed dreamily into mine, the longing clear in his expression. Shimmying to wrap every bit of me, his arms secured me to his chest and legs entwined mine. And then it truly hit me! Where I was: in my bed next to a dazzling boy, who seemed to genuinely care for me, two flimsy layers of cotton the only barrier to his tantalising bare skin. After all the recent pain and fright, desire seemed the most incongruous reaction, brighter because of the tense circumstances, like a ray of sunshine after weeks of rain.
Bubbling attraction electrified the air between us. He cupped my face and slowly traced a path along my jaw, the fingers of one hand coming to rest beneath my chin. He brought his mouth down to mine so slowly I had plenty of time to take in his long lashes and notice the flecks of amber in his irises. The anticipation was so sweet, I ached for the moment of contact. I almost couldn’t breathe.
“I have waited so long to do this properly,” he whispered.
He moved to feather his slightly parted lips against mine, so softly at first it tickled. His eyes closed. I reacted automatically, trailing my fingers up his spine until my arms wrapped about him. I folded myself harder into his warmth, rubbing his strong back, one hand tangling in his hair. I lightly followed the contour of his mouth with my tongue, hungry for the experience, enjoying the sweetness of him and conscious of our skimpy outfits.
The pressure of our kiss increased, mouths a little wider, lips caressing urgently. It was the most tender lingering sensation that made me yearn for more. Heat blistered through my body, our inhalations shallow. I flattened myself closer, tugging the robe apart to trace the sensuous ripples of his bare chest. I did not want to stop, greedy for every bit of him. He abruptly pulled back.
I gasped at the interruption. “Why are we stopping?”
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“Geez, Bear! I didn’t expect you to be so … so great at it, straight away!” Completely flustered, his shoulders heaved and he struggled for composure.
Should I be insulted or complimented? “Why didn’t you think I’d be good?”
My enthusiasm fizzled. Removing my hands from his torso, Smith placed them in my lap and pulled the robe about himself, lashing the belt and knotting it for good measure. “Well, you know. You haven’t had much experience.”
“And how would you know?” I had a bad feeling about this.
“Well, I told you. I get flashes of you when you’re agitated.”
Holy mother! I warped from bliss to mortification at the speed of light. “Well I’m spectacularly agitated now! How many angles are you getting this from?”
“It doesn’t happen when I’m actually with you. And it wasn’t my choice to see it! You with another guy. Believe me! My punching bag copped an extra work-out.” His expression merged exasperation and awkwardness. “Making-out for you seemed boring, an experiment or a chore.” I couldn’t dredge a grain of sympathy and glared at him.
“Luckily, it was only twice and you ended it quickly. That lowlife in the movie theatre got what he deserved. I would’ve broken more than his hand!” He glowered mutinously. “But I want your first time to be something you remember forever, something special. Not a backseat grope with a clueless schmuck who’s too