“Not interrupting at all.” Aaros rose. “I was about to use the restroom.”
Kallia glared daggers across the table. “Funny, I was about to do the same.”
“No, you were going to order me another cup.” He threw her an impish grin before tipping his hat. “Nature calls.” He all but skipped away from the table, in the opposite direction of the public facilities.
“Does he know he’s going the wrong way?”
“Taking the long route, is all.” She rapped her fingernails slowly against the table’s surface. “I was actually about to pick up the check, so I don’t—”
“Let me get it,” he murmured, gesturing at the nearest waiter before Kallia could. He thanked the man, scribbling his room number and signature on the bill. It was such a normal scene, them at a café table, and she almost wished she could play along. With him next to her, the act only grew more difficult. The air between them, infinitely tighter.
Damn it.
“What do you want?” she blurted out.
Never one to act oblivious, Demarco exhaled. “If you humor me, this won’t take long.”
There was something removed in his gaze, the straight line of his mouth. Like looking at a stranger, and it tore a hole in Kallia worse than any lie.
Just say it. Just leave.
“Will you come with me to my room?”
Kallia lightly braced herself against the table. “E-excuse me?”
Normally, he’d be stumbling over his words, citing decorum and polite intent. Here, he was calm as ever. “I want to show you something.” His brow hardened. “I have to.”
Panic quietly flared through her. “Why can’t you do it down here?”
“It’s … private.”
“You don’t need to tell me everything, Demarco. If it’s something better unsaid, it might be best to leave it that way.”
“I’m guessing it won’t stay that way for long,” he said, lips flattening. “Regardless, it’s something you should know. Something I want you to know, from me.”
That seized her attention. This answer held weight, the kind he’d never give on their walks. No questions, until now.
“Please.” The cracks in his calm and composed mask gave way in the trickle of sweat at his temple. His breath, deliberately slow.
He was nervous.
So was she. So nervous, that a rational part of her mind objected. She was better off leaving him, closing the door altogether. Locking it.
It’s precious. Nearly impossible.
Her muscles tensed, heart squeezed.
“Make it quick, Demarco,” Kallia heard herself say as she rose. Her heart blared in refusal, but her mouth kept running. “Lead the way.”
* * *
Daron had no idea what he was doing. And still, Kallia followed.
There was no going back, after this. It was a wonder the other judges hadn’t raised his issues before, though they’d probably spoken at length behind his back. Men caught up in scandals and tragedies so often walked from them unscathed.
And he was one of them. So lost in his search of Eva, that he hadn’t noticed he’d come out of it with barely a scratch.
How foolish, to think it would never rise back to the surface.
As they reached the first floor, it struck him how easy it had been to turn back into strangers. Too easy. Their laughter gone, light manners replaced with impeccable posture and footsteps matching the other’s almost too perfectly.
He gripped his room key in his pocket, the metal teeth biting at his palm as they veered toward his door. Daron had always thought his room far too big for one person, but as Kallia entered and strode right into the common area, everything fit. The large fireplace was not so menacing. The windows, not as towering. The couch, once too big, now just right when she sat on one end. “Demarco?”
So often, he’d imagined her there with him. The reality was far more intimidating. He blinked. “Sorry.”
“You don’t … seem well.” She sounded wary. “Maybe it’s best if I—”
“No, I’m fine.” Get it together. Daron inhaled, already stepping toward the dining table he’d pushed against the wall. “Over here.”
Every inch of him tensed at the entire surface covered in ripped brown packaging envelopes on one side, and newspaper spreads on the other. Kallia’s gaze immediately fell to them, widening at the large-lettered headlines dancing across each stack.
“Demarco Dares Once More,” she read slowly, her finger pausing over the black-and-white inked picture of a young magician bowing on a stage. “This is you.”
“Just a few years ago, when I was the Daring Demarco.” He smiled sadly at the images splashed across the table that showcased him as the centerpiece of the