A Beautiful Torment

41. Mirror

Wyatt was stretched out on the rug in my bedroom when I returned that evening, thoroughly exhausted. He had one arm folded beneath his head, both knees bent slightly, and his other hand resting lazily on the remote as he flicked through the channels on the television.

He craned his neck slightly as the door clicked shut behind me, alerting him to my presence – although, he'd probably known I was there the whole time. I could feel the bond connection in the back of my head growing stronger with every step I had taken toward my room.

"Hey," I said, my lips curling into a shy smile as I walked further into the room, circling around him to perch on the arm of the sofa. "Whatcha doing down there?"

"Have you never noticed how sinfully comfortable this rug is?" His brows rose slightly, his eyes flicking away from the television to catch my gaze.

My heart did a silly, stutter-flip dance in my chest and I dug my fingers into the side of my thigh – out of his line of sight, of course. If he ever guessed how much a single glance affected me, I would probably die of mortification.

He hooked his ankles around one of mine without warning, tugging sharply until I found myself being propelled off the arm of the couch, and falling toward the floor. I shrieked, but he caught me easily, jack-knifing into a sitting position and wrapping his arms around my waist before I could tumble forward.

My heart jolted in my chest – whether out of sheer fright or his proximity, I wasn't sure – as he eased me down onto the carpet beside him, one arm draped loosely across my lap, my back wedged against his side. I wiggled a little, trying to make myself more comfortable and catch my bearings all at the same time, and when he lay back down on the rug, I let my head fall into place in the crook of his arm. "See?" he murmured.

I wasn't used to this playful side of Wyatt, and it took me a few minutes to calm the rapid beat of my heart. My stomach, however, as another story. It felt like my insides were tied in nervous-excited knots, and I almost trembled with anticipation as I waited for him to make another move – but he didn't.

His focus returned to the television, the palm of his hand resting lightly beneath my ribs.

Eventually, my heart rate slowed and I completely relaxed against him. I stared at the television, but I wasn't really paying attention. He was watching some sort of action thriller with lupi actors – From Russia with Wolves – and when the characters made particularly witty remarks, his chest vibrated against my cheek with his low laughter.

When his fingers began to trace random patterns across my diaphragm absentmindedly, my stomach fluttered violently and I sighed.

"How come you're not running errands?" I murmured, before he could notice. I tilted my head back to look at him.

His eyes never strayed from the television. "Nikolas decided to teach me how to dance instead."

I snickered as the image of him attempting to waltz appeared in my head. "Seriously?"

His lips curved into a grin. "Deadly serious. I have to dance that stupid Paume dance, too."

I giggled, unable to imagine him following the complicated steps involved in the dance, but my giggles died down when I realized that if he was dancing, then he'd need a partner. And clearly, I wasn't going to be partnering him if I had to dance with some guy called Romeo.

And what sort of a name was Romeo, anyway? It sounded awfully pretentious. Was it even his real name or was it a nickname? My brow furrowed and a surge of jealousy rose in my throat – I couldn't help it. The thought of him dancing with another girl while I was stuck with a pretentious Lothario-wannabe cut right through me.