Cellie's POV
Hours later, when the city had gone quiet outside my window and neither of us had any particular reason to move, Demetrio was doing the thing he did when he thought I wasn't paying attention, which was paying very careful attention to me.
His thumb was moving slowly over the inside of my left wrist, the specific place where the old scars lived, faint enough now that you had to know they were there to find them. He had found them in Chapter 38 and said nothing except "someday you will tell me" and I had tucked that sentence away in the place where I kept things I was not ready to open. I kept it there now. The scars were old and healed and belonged to a version of me that this version had fought very hard to move past and I was not going to hand them to him tonight in the specific warmth of my sheets with his eyes doing what they did when he looked at me like I was something that mattered.
