Chapter 29

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When I wake, it's to an angel sleeping beside me.

She's lying there, tousled blonde hair littered across the pillow, tendrils of the gold falling across high cheekbones and pink lips and glowing pale skin, and I feel my heart clench inside of me at the sight, at the memory.

I can see the facial changes; the deeper creases in her forehead, the slight aging of her skin, the lack of freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose, the darkness to her hair — but she's still just as beautiful as she was a year ago, if not more, and I can't stop myself when I reach out to touch her face, stroking my thumb along her cheek, down her jaw, across her chin, to see if she's real.

Something inside of me is still not willing to believe that she's really here, that she's really back, and that she's going to stay.

It's the same thing that's terrified she's going to disappear again.

Just as that thought processes, just as my thumb traces over her bottom lip and my mind reels back to the feel of it pressed against my lips, I feel her stir and the breath catches in my throat when I lift my gaze to find bright brown staring back at me. The light filtering in through the blinds behind her creates a halo around her face, and the image of her, lying there, the pale and blonde highlighted against the blackness of my bedsheets, honestly takes my breath away.

I don't think I've ever been so simultaneously affectionate, loving and frightened at the same time.

I pull my hand back when she says nothing in greeting, though before I can tuck it beneath my pillow, she makes a grab for it, long fingers wrapping around my smaller ones and tugging my hand until it lays in the space between us. She doesn't make a move to tangle her fingers through mine, and I hold back on the urge to do it, instead letting my palm press against the cool mattress. It's more than I should really be giving her, anyway.

Silence drags between us two, time stretches, too, and I take these quiet moments to memorize every inch of her face, my vision dropping to her lips when her tongue pokes out to wet them. I want to kiss her, I want to touch her, but there's something holding me back and when she takes in a deep breath, I know I can't avoid it any longer.

My hand moves back almost automatically, her face twisting and eyes flashing with rejection but I can only offer a sad smile in return as I shift and roll onto my stomach, my arms sliding beneath the pillow, head turning and cheek pressing to it so I can continue staring at her.

Then it's time to speak, and I inhale deeply, my lungs filling and head swimming with her scent as I prepare my words.

Except she speaks first.

"I thought you wouldn't be here," she breathes.

My first reaction is to scoff, because really? That's slightly hypocritical. But then I stare into her eyes a little longer and I see the fear lingering behind them and it makes all the bitterness, all the anger, the typical Lalisa Manoban bitch-tastic reaction, seep from my body. With anyone else, I would've snapped, made a biting remark, a scathing comment, but I can't even find it within myself to treat Rosé the way I treat everyone else. I never have been able to.

"I don't think I could leave if I wanted to," I sigh, my eyes never leaving hers.

The corners of her lips curve, a slight redness creeping across her cheeks and she twists her head, half-hiding her face into the black pillowcase, one brown eye peeling open to peek up at me, but I don't want her to hide her face. I've missed it too much, it's been gone for too long, and my hand's stretching out, the back of my fingers brushing across her cheek before I can even stop it, my thoughts coming out in words.

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