It wasn’t only her speed and work ethic that impressed him, but also the quality of the chapters she’d produced. He was certain the reader wouldn’t be able to spot the transition between the two biographers.
His grandfather was coming to life on the page in a way he’d never anticipated. He’d enjoyed Fiona’s chapters, and had read them almost like a history lesson. But Jo had taken up the story from Theseus’s own childhood. Reading her chapters was like seeing his own life through his grandfather’s eyes, with events he’d lived through taking on greater significance.
His grandparents’ fortieth wedding anniversary celebrations were vivid on the page. He could taste the food that had been served, hear the music of the Agon orchestra, see the dancing couples on the ballroom floor... And, although she’d wisely left it unwritten, he could see his fourteen-year-old self launching at fifteen-year-old Helios in full view of all the distinguished guests, breaking his nose.
He could see his brother’s blood soaking into the royal purple sash, see his grandmother’s horror and his grandfather’s fury. He could still taste his own blood as Helios—never one to shy away from a fight like any good Agonite—had launched himself right back at him.
What he couldn’t remember was why he’d done it.
He remembered hating the stupid penguin suits he and his brothers had been forced to wear, hating the forced small talk with boring old people, hating it that a president’s daughter he’d taken a liking to had made a beeline for his older brother.
Everyone had made a beeline for Helios.
Helios lived under even greater restrictions than he did, but his brother had always taken it in his stride, acting as if going on a date with three burly men with guns accompanying him was natural and not something to resent.
Their rivalry had been immense.
He smiled as he recalled their younger brother, Talos, then only twelve, pulling them apart.
Theseus had been in disgrace for months and confined to the five-hundred-and-seventy-three-roomed palace over the long hot summer.
And then his smile dropped.
He’d ruined his grandparents’ special day. He’d shamed them.
He had shamed them many times with his selfish behaviour. Royal military parades, state banquets—all the events the three young Princes had attended Theseus had treated with an indifference bordering on disdain. He’d wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else, and he hadn’t cared who’d known it.
Reading about these events in the book, even with his churlish behaviour omitted, had brought it all back to him—everything he was fighting to atone for. It was the humanity Jo brought to both his grandparents on the page that made it all seem so vivid again.
Yes. His doubts about her ability had truly been expelled. He enjoyed working with her, their back and forth conversations, the flashes of shared humour. He especially liked the way she blushed when she caught him looking at her. She made his veins bubble and his skin tingle, long-dead sensations blazing back to life.
He found it fascinating to watch her work; her face scrunched with intensity, her fingers flying over the keys of her computer, completely in the zone. Sometimes she sensed his presence and would turn her head, colour creeping over her cheeks when she saw him...
She drove him crazy. It had become a constant battle to keep his hands to himself. He’d been so close to kissing her. So close. He’d breathed in her scent and every part of him had reacted.
And that was dangerous.
He was about to turn away and return to the safety of his own desk when her phone vibrated loudly next to her.
With her earphones still in, she grabbed it with her right hand and swiped the screen in an absent manner. Whoever had messaged her must have been deemed worthy, for she straightened, brought the phone close to her face and pressed the screen.
She gazed at whatever she’d received, brushing her fingers gently over it, before lifting the phone to her mouth and kissing it gently.
His stomach roiled.
He’d assumed she didn’t have a lover. It was easy to tell if a woman was in love—there was a certain glow she carried. Jo didn’t have that glow. But the way she’d pressed her lips to that phone...as if she’d been trying to breathe in the essence of whoever had sent that message to her...
It was a gesture that made his skin feel as if needles were being pricked into it.
He remembered the way those lips had once felt under his own mouth, the clumsy eagerness he’d found there. The innocence.
‘Who was that?’ he asked loudly, stepping into the room, his curiosity burning.