Page 53 of Cruel Kiss

Then she puts hers in them.

They're cold and trembly, so I squeeze them for reassurance that's not really mine to offer. Then I remember I shouldn't bedoing that. Gripping isn't in the deal. She sighs, almost sadly, when I loosen up.

"Then the officiant says their piece," I go on, "and you say your line, and then it's my turn, and then it's done. Rings, and then the?—"

"The kiss," she gulps.

"We'll get to that."

Hurriedly, I let go of her hands, because if I keep holding them I'm going to forget which lines I'm allowed to cross.

She flexes her fingers like she's shaking off pins and needles. "Okay. Skirting right past the kiss. Onto the photo. There's always a photo."

"We'll need one," I agree. "Mercer will be expecting it."

"So we should figure out how we stand for it. So it doesn't look—" She makes a face. "—stiff. Staged."

"You'll be in front. I'll be behind you, a little. Hand at your waist."

"Show me."

I hesitate, and then I move behind her, resting my hand at her waist. Just my hand. Over the robe, light, barely there. She stiffens.

"Like this?" I ask.

"Lower," she says. "That looks like you're afraid of me."

I move my hand down, to the curve of her hip. "Better?"

"Worse in so many ways," she breathes, then shudders like she wishes she hadn't said that out loud.

I couldn't agree more.

"Now, we…" She turns her head to look up at me. We're closer than either of us planned, close enough that I can see the ring of amber around her pupils, and she loses the thread of the sentence entirely. "Now, we look at the camera," she finishes, quieter.

"Like this?"

"No. Don't look so angry. You're supposed to look…" She touches my cheek to rearrange my face into a semblance of a smile. "—happy. Or, no. Not happy. That'll look fake. You look like—like the way you looked at me at the aquarium. That'll do."

I don't say anything, because I don't trust what will come out.

We stand like that for a moment too long, my hand on her hip, both of us staring at a wall like there's a photographer in it. The room is full of everything we're not saying. It's so loud I can barely hear the traffic outside.

She's the one who breaks first. She always is, when it counts.

"I guess we should practice the kiss," she says. Her voice comes out at about half its usual volume, like she's hoping I won't catch it, or maybe hoping I will.

I don't move. Ican'tmove. That's the trouble.

Even if you beg me.That was the promise. Neither of us can trust the other once the hands start reaching.

"Well?" she says. "Aren't you going to?—"

"No." I hold her eyes in the imaginary camera lens. "I'm not."

Her brow furrows. "You said we'd get to it."

I let the corner of my mouth tip up, slow, because if I can't touch her then at least I can needle her. "But I made you three promises last night, Ms. Meadows. And the second one was that I keep my hands to myself. So if we're kissing… you're going to have to be the one to do it."