Under Chateau Lights | Complete

13 | You Could Run Away

The room is completely silent except for the movie playing in the background. Maybe if I stare at the screen hard enough, nothing else will happen. Maybe he'll forget what he asked me. Maybe he won't convince me to tell him the rest of the truth.

"There it is," he finally responds. "Are we best friends now?"

"Why? Because we professed our love in front of each other?"

"Something like that." He reaches up and around my shoulder, gently pulling me closer until my head is resting on his shoulder. "Now shush and eat your chips."

"You can't tell me what to do!"

"But you want to eat the chips and change the subject, don't you?"

"Yes," I have to admit. "I do."

Shoving chips in my mouth is saving me from continuing the conversation from earlier, and watching the men point weapons at each other is distracting Christian enough that he doesn't seem to mind, though his arm is still around my shoulder.

We've never done that before.

The knot in my stomach grows. After everything he is doing for me, he should at least know what he's getting into. No matter how many times I open my mouth to tell him the truth about everything that happened with Ronan, no words come out.

Christian's fingers fiddle with the ends of my hair.

There's something I have to tell you that I haven't told anyone. It hasn't been as long as you think. The words are right at the tip of my tongue, threatening to spill out and stain the silence.

"Okay now that's just over the top!" Christian shouts at the television, springing up from the couch and threatening to punch the screen.

I haven't been paying attention to the movie for a while. "What's over the top? This whole movie is outrageous and now you have a problem." Sitting up, I put my hands on my hips and try to give him the look my mom always gives when she thinks I'm being ridiculous.

"No it hasn't!" he tries to defend it before realizing I'm right. "Okay, it is, but this is just going too far. Where did she get that gun from and why on earth would she wear that outfit to go to a fight? It's not even remotely practical!"

His cheeks grow red with his excitement and he turns to face me. "How many times have I ranted about this to you?" he asks, running his hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck.

"I stopped counting after a couple hundred."

"I'm sorry," he groans, flailing himself backwards onto the couch and sagging down into the corner.

"It's just you can't get over how terrible their costumes are. Yeah, I know." I chuck a chocolate covered raisin into the air and he catches it effortlessly in his mouth.

"Yes, okay but you'd think maybe one of these movies could get it right? I'm not even a historian or anything but it's irritating."

I've heard the rant before but I let him go through the whole thing, watching as his hands flail about his head to illustrate his point more clearly. The movie credits roll on the television and the room slowly grows darker, emphasizing the city lights visible through the window.

Sliding off the couch, I slip on my sweater and make my way toward the window, absorbing the twinkling Christmas lights of the old town. When I close my eyes, I can almost smell the cinnamon.

But cinnamon reminds me even more of Ronan. Of how he carried chocolate in his pockets and offered me his special coffee that smelled of spice and tasted of orange. He would like it here. It's twinkling and warm and cozy.