A Thousand Pieces of You (Firebird #1) - Claudia Gray Page 0,91

ah, I also remember getting wounded. Did he survive?”

“No. You—he—died in my arms.”

Paul’s head ducks, as if he feels the loss as deeply as I do. Maybe he does. “I’m sorry.”

Tears well in my eyes, but I try to fight them back.

Quietly he adds, “I know you loved him. Not me.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” I whisper.

He takes a deep breath, almost in wonder. I realize that even maybe is more than Paul had dared to dream of. Everything he’s done, everything he gave up and risked for me: Paul did all that without the slightest idea of being loved in return.

“Marguerite—”

“I don’t know where he stops and you begin.”

The train slows as it pulls into its next stop, and apparently half the population of this neighborhood is headed to the airport today. As dozens of people crowd on, hauling their bags with them, Paul and I fall silent, unable to look each other in the eye.

I think about the Rachmaninoff ringtone on my phone. What are Paul and I to each other, in this dimension? We must be very nearly the same, if that one song still reminds me of him. If he was willing to once again give up everything—wreck his own life—trying to protect my parents’ work, and to protect me—

The train slides back into motion, and everyone starts talking or listening to music; the chatter surrounds us, giving us privacy again. Finally Paul says, “What about you and Theo? I thought he was the one who—well. I thought he was the one.”

I care about Theo. There’s no denying that, no setting it aside easily. But whatever it is I feel for him—it’s not what I feel for Paul. “No. Not Theo.”

I fell in love with one Paul. I fell in love with his unchanging soul. Does that mean I fell in love with every Paul, everywhere?

Paul rushes to fill the silence, words tumbling over one another, as if he’d held them back for so long that he can’t last one second more. “I know I’m not—I’ve never been—” He stares down at his own broad hands on his duffel bag. “I’m not good with words. I never know the right thing to say, because with you—every time we talk I seem to get it wrong.”

“You don’t always get it wrong.”

He shakes his head slightly, the smile on his face rueful. “I’m not the Paul from Russia. I can’t speak the way he did. I wish I could.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Everything would be so much simpler if I were sure that I only cared for Lieutenant Markov. But since when did love become simple? “That time you watched me paint, and you told me I always painted the truth—you got that right. Really right.”

Paul’s smile softens, like he’s starting to believe. “You said you don’t know where Lieutenant Markov stops and I begin.”

I nod as I hug myself, and curl down into my seat.

“I remember being a part of him.” His voice is low, and soft. I lift my eyes to his. It feels both like it’s hard to meet his gaze and like I could never look away. “I know we both liked the way you look for beauty in every person. Every moment. He wished he could be funny like you, sure of your words, and I do too. We both daydreamed about kissing you against a wall. Neither of us thought we ever had a chance with anyone as amazing as you. We would both do anything, give up anything, to keep you safe.”

By now my vision has blurred with tears. Paul must see that in my eyes, and he hesitates—like he feels guilty for upsetting me. But he keeps going.

“Lieutenant Markov and I are not the same man,” he says. “Nobody knows that better than I do. But we’re not completely different, either. The one way we were most alike was—was how we felt about you.”

The train rattles into its last stop, at the airport. Everyone starts hauling their bags out, and I wipe my cheeks, then help Paul maneuver his duffel through the doors. Instead of following the crowd forward, though, he lingers on the dimly lit platform, and I know it’s because he wants to tell me goodbye while we’re alone.

As soon as everyone else is farther ahead, I say, “Paul—”

“I love you.”

It makes me gasp. Not in surprise—by now I knew, I knew that as surely as I knew anything in the world. But it still feels like going