Chapter 12: A Very Good Mistake

That afternoon I took the screws out of the bolt on the outside of my door with a butter knife from the pantry.

I put them in my pocket and pushed the bolt back so it only looked fastened.

At eleven that night, someone knocked twice.

I lifted the chair from under the handle and opened the door.

Rory stood in the dark hall in his shirtsleeves with his shoes in his hand.

"Your guard is asleep," he said. "Mine too. The cook gave them each a big plate."

"Is your mother safe?"

"She's eating soup and bossing the cook. She says you should have taken more of the sweaters."

I laughed under my breath and he came in.

I shut the door and turned the key.

For a moment we stood there, three feet apart, and neither of us said a word.

"The vote is at nine," he said. "We need a plan."

"We have a plan."

"Tell me."

"You stay weak until the room is full. I pour the tea. Then we show them the notebook."

"That's half a plan."

"It's the half I have."

He set his shoes down by the wall and looked at me.

"The terms say no touching behind a closed door."

"The terms are stupid."

"That was my line."

"Then I'm stealing it."

I crossed the floor and put both hands flat on his chest.

His heart was pounding under my palm.

"You told me no tenderness," I said. "I'm not going to be tender, Rory."

His eyes dropped to my mouth.

"What are you going to be?"

"Yours," I said. "Tonight. For as long as you want me."

He kissed me so hard that I went back a step into the bedpost.

His hands pushed into my hair and tilted my head, and his tongue found mine.

I dragged his shirt out of his trousers and got my hands on his skin, which was warm and hard over ribs that were still too thin.

"You're shaking," I said against his mouth.

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