Page 88 of Oleander

I was bewitched in the truest sense of the word. I felt his spell hanging over me like a veil, the world hazy and white whenever I was near him.

I loved him. I was as certain of that as I was my own name, both universal truths.I am Jude Alcott, and I am in love with Caspien Deveraux.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. It had dried on his ride and now sat curled and golden on his head.

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

“Don’t all the boys you do that to look at you like this, after?” Maybe it was a pathetic attempt to find out how many boys there were, or maybe it was an attempt to make myself look less...less in love. But his eyes grew very serious as he looked at me.

“No,” He said. “No one looks at me the way you do.”

I felt those words like a burn. My cheeks flooded with warmth.

Embarrassed, I sat up, tucked myself into my jeans, and buttoned them.

“I don’t mind it,” he said obliquely.

“What?”

“The way you look at me.” His gaze was very intense suddenly, his eyes holding my own in their pale grey snare. “Everything you think and feel is in your eyes, you know. When you hated me, I could see it. When you didn’t, I could see that too.” His voice was horribly self-assured. “It’s rare. Most people try to hide what they truly feel. But not you, Jude Alcott.”

He knew, then. How I felt about him. He could see it in my stupid face every time he looked at me. I couldn’t think of anything more humiliating.

“Is that what you do?” I asked him. “Hide what you feel?”

“You think I have feelings? My, how times have changed.” He was smiling a little.

“Oh, I always knew you had them. I just figured they were mainly about how best to murder me and hide my body, how much you resented my entire existence. That sort of stuff.”

A dimple appeared on his cheek as he smirked.

“As if you never had similar thoughts about me. More black and murderous by far.”

I laughed. “Yeah, that’s true. I pretty much wanted to murder you the first time I saw you.”

“Oh, I know.”

“You were pretty awful,” I admitted.

“I still am.”

“You’re not so bad. Or maybe I’m just used to you now.”

“Perish the thought.” He moved to stand. “I’m hungry. Elspeth is making bean crock – it should be about ready.”

I stood as well, swiping up my book and stuffing it into the back pocket of my jeans.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you later, then I guess.”

He turned. “Don’t you like bean crock?”

It was as much of an invitation as he’d ever given me. I nodded, smiling like a fool.

“I do, actually.”

I walked back the way I came while Caspien rode Falstaff. Falstaff, who he’d left grazing near the stream, bridle looped around a low-hanging willow branch while he’d done what he’d done to me in the hut. He’d told me that by the time he’dbrushed him down and fed him, we’d be in the kitchen around the same time.