Carved in Her Bones

Rhian

Tomas kissed me.

He is kissing me.

I like kissing.

I really like kissing Tomas.

He makes these sounds deep in his throat when he kisses me, and they make my stomach flip in the best way. My hands are in his hair. I was right—it's soft. His lips, too.

I pull away for breath, and he just looks at me, like it's not enough.

"Do you maybe wanna go to your hotel?" he asks.

Oh my God. Does he want to have sex with me?

I don't know if I'm ready for that. I do want to kiss more. A lot more. But... not sex.

My shock and panic must be all over my face because Tomas suddenly starts laughing. Finally, he shakes his head, grinning.

"Rhian, surely not what you're thinking," he says, still amused. "I just want to hang out more, and it's kinda cold. I figured you'd be more comfortable in your hotel room than mine."

"So... no sex?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He laughs—loud and full, like it took him by surprise. And I laugh, too, because the sound he makes when he laughs is so raw and unrestrained, almost animal-like.

"Not right now, no. No sex right now," he says, suddenly all serious. His voice shifts when he emphasizes right now, like he needs me to understand. His eyes darken slightly, but then his expression softens. "Please know I'm saying this because I promised myself I wouldn't rush you. I won't let my needs eclipse your desires. But, Rhian—" He exhales, his jaw tightening. "I do want you. That way."

My heart is pounding.

Aleksii drives quietly, weaving through the empty night streets. He never talks much, but right now, I'm almost grateful for the silence.

The Mercure Bar is open all night—most four-star hotels are like that. It's only 10 p.m. I order a mocktail, and so does he.

Tomas leans back in his seat, watching me. "Rhye, why hadn't you kissed anyone before today?" He tilts his head, then smirks. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm just curious."

I shrug. "I never really met someone I wanted to kiss before."

He takes that in, then—because he's Tomas—he grins. "So, let me get this straight. You see me at death's door, all sickly and disgusting, and you think, I want to kiss that boy?"

I roll my eyes. "Well, Tomas, that's not exactly how it happened. I saw you and thought, That boy needs a haircut and a burger. Then, weeks later, after you got better, I thought, Okay, maybe this boy is attractive."

He narrows his eyes. "But you're still not sure?"

I sip my drink, shrugging again. "Still not sure."

"Lies." He smirks. "I know that's lies. You should've heard yourself moaning before my lips barely even touched yours. You are so into me, Rhye. You're so gone for me." He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. "And it's okay, Rhye. I'm very lovable."

"Says the boy who couldn't even say his name because he was too busy staring at me."

He grins, unrepentant. "Well, to be fair—and completely honest—I was too busy imagining how you'd taste when I kissed you." He pauses, eyes dark with something unreadable. "And notice my use of when, not if, here, Rhian."

I snort. "Very optimistic for a guy who, a week later, told me he couldn't wait to die."

His expression shifts—just slightly. He looks down at his glass, turning it in his hands. "Well... that was before."

"Before what?" I ask softly.

He lifts his eyes to mine. "Before I allowed myself to hope."

I exhale, something tightening in my chest. "Is it weird that I haven't asked you how you feel?"

He shakes his head. "No. It makes me feel... normal."

I reach for his hand. "You are normal, Tomas."

Tomas leans back, swirling the last of his mocktail in his glass. "Rhye, I never asked—why the piano? I mean, why not the cello? Joey plays the cello. I still have nightmares about his playing."

I laugh. "That's exactly how I got into music. Joey forced it on me."

Tomas raises an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Yep. My mom is one of those parents who believe kids should learn a second language and a musical instrument." I smirk. "Joey picked the piano first. We had this teacher—a very mean Korean woman named Mrs. Kim—who used to come to the house and make him play the same ballad over and over again. I was only seven, but I had it memorized just from hearing it so much."

Tomas winces. "That sounds painful."

"Oh, it was," I say. "But I idolized Joey, so I let him teach me to play. And when he was at football practice, I'd sit at the piano by myself and play for hours." I pause, fingers tracing the condensation on my glass. "I was a really lonely kid."

Tomas watches me carefully, not saying anything, just listening.

"The piano is... an incredibly isolated instrument," I continue. "Which I think is kind of cool. It's one of the few that can play melody, harmony, and rhythm all at once. Unlike a violin or flute, which usually need accompaniment, a pianist can create a full musical world solo—beautiful, but sometimes isolating. Even in an orchestra, you're part of it, but not really."

Tomas nods. "So, in a way, it was the perfect instrument for you?"

I let out a small chuckle. "I never really had a choice in the instrument itself. Joey's kind of like that."

"Like what?"

"His existence is... big. He takes up space. He takes up people." I glance at Tomas. "Kinda like you sometimes."

He smirks. "I take up space?"

"Your presence does." I tap my fingers against the table, suddenly self-conscious. "Am I making sense? Because I swear I'm making sense in my head."

"Hey, you are," Tomas says softly. "You're making sense."

I look at him, feeling suddenly exposed, but it doesn't feel bad. It feels... safe