PROLOGUE
“For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.”
-Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
Present day
The Golden Quill Book Awards, New York City
I felt him before I saw him, but that had always been the case. A subtle flush beneath my skin as some unnamed particle that created my being reacted to the same yet opposite part of his. The soaring rise of yearning I’d come to know would always exist within me, regardless of how hard I fought it. My body needed no eyes to discern he was close, the same way you sense your shadow when you feel the brush of the sun. Even so, my gaze swept the room, flickering over women in jeweled evening gowns and men in crisp black tuxes, past tables laden with sumptuous food, and beyond the champagne fountain bubbling and sparkling in the reflection of a dozen crystal chandeliers.
My heart jumped then stalled before picking up an erratic beat. There. There. He was leaning against a marble pillar, eyes fixed on me, his expression somehow both placid and intense. I drew in a breath, bringing my hand to my midsection, my fingers floating over the emerald-green velvet of my gown as though I might somehow subdue those swirling particles still so drawn to the singular man across from me. Why? Why are you here? Why now when I’ve finally begun to find peace? Did you sense it? Have you come to take it away?
Too bad. I won’t let you.
Not again.
His gaze drifted downward to where my hand rested, returning quickly to my face, a small frown marring his features, as though attempting to discern my gesture and expression, and coming up short. Some part of me found satisfaction that he was no longer the expert on my emotions. And another part mourned.
“Are you excited, Karys? The award ceremony is starting soon. We should go back to our table— God, who is that? Or should I say, who is that god?” I heard June say from beside me.
“Zak Klein,” I murmured, without turning her way, the still-unfamiliar name rolling off my tongue, though he’d chosen it what felt like eons ago in a hotel room on the other side of the globe. My assistant’s bare shoulder brushed mine as she leaned around a woman in our way to peer at the man who’d pushed off the pillar and was now moving toward us. Sleek. Purposed.
Oh no. Please don’t.
Her hand gripped my upper arm. “I thought that was him. He’s coming toward us. Holy hell.” As quickly as she’d grasped me, she let go, and I could see her preening in my peripheral vision.
“He is,” I breathed, my muscles tensed to flee, toward him, or away, I wasn’t quite sure.
Whatever June had heard in my tone made her pause and turn her head in my direction. “Do you know him, Karys? And you’ve never told me? Holy shit. His half-naked picture’s all over Times Square. How many ad campaigns have been designed around him? A dozen at least. And you’ve never mentioned a thing about knowing him?”
Knowing him.
I thought I had. Once. I’d believed I knew him better than I knew myself. Or as much as. For we’d been one. Lovers. Twins. Not by blood, but by soul. Entwined.
He moved closer and my muscles drew tighter. Primed. His features sharpened, the light and shadows caressing the peaks and hollows of his extraordinary male beauty, loving his darkness and his light so effortlessly. It hadn’t been quite so easy for me. Then again, he hadn’t really given me the chance. My ribs drew inward, breath stalling.
She looked back in his direction. “You could be related, you know that? Wait—are you related?”
A strangled sound emerged from my throat. Could I do this?
“Hey, are you okay?” June asked. “Karys?”
I drew in a shaky breath, summoning strength. Yes, you can do this. If you must, you can.
“I’ll be back,” I murmured, forcing my feet to move toward him. I will not run. Not this time. I pulled my shoulders back as I wove through the people standing between us, my gaze focused on his. As I drew closer, his expression changed, his mouth parting slightly in surprise, his eyes growing both warm and wary.
He hadn’t expected me to meet him halfway.
“Karys,” he greeted, his voice guttural, both of us halting when we’d made it to each other.
I took him in, a jolt of electricity flashing hotly through me at his sudden close proximity. Oh God. He was standing right in front of me, and it was heart-wrenchingly terrible. And painfully wonderful. My eyes devoured him. Not the image I’d seen countless times on billboards and in magazines, but him, flesh and blood and starlight. My stomach twisted and I felt the familiar shiver of want rush through me. His nostrils flared and his eyes grew momentarily lazy before his expression once again smoothed into serenity. “Karys,” he repeated.
For several seconds we stared at each other, our chests rising and falling in identical rhythm. The room around me faded. For that moment in time, only we existed.
Calm down. Get control. You’re no longer a confused, ignorant young girl.
“Zakai,” I said, relieved that my voice sounded steady. I pulled myself straight, raising my chin, clasping my hands in front of me to hide that they were trembling. “You look well.”
Well. That was an understatement. He’d always been beautiful, even as a shaggy, skinny, long-limbed teenager. But now. Now he was a man, standing before me in a fitted tux, his ebony hair combed back, highlighting the perfect lines of his face, those dark, thickly lashed eyes so much like my own, holding me captive, stealing my breath. I was hungry for him. Famished. And the flash of longing brought grief on its heels. I’d have to mourn again after this and though I still loved him, I hated him for it too.
He gave me a crooked smile. “It seems like forever since I’ve heard that name,” he murmured, pausing. “It’s nice to hear.” His gaze swept over me and in his eyes, I saw a similar hunger. “You look beautiful,” he said softly.
He moved closer and I was tempted to step backward, but I held my ground, even while half expecting him to spring the way he’d done the last time I’d seen him.
You can’t give in to him. It’ll hurt too much.
I forced my gaze from his, the reminder that I was standing in a crowded room of people causing me to jolt at the sudden flood of voices and movement. Zakai put his hands in his pockets and regarded me. Sadness entered his eyes, which shocked me momentarily. Zakai had never been one to reveal emotions like that, not so openly, even with me. I eyed him cautiously, caught off guard by both his presence and his manner.
“I heard you divorced,” he said.
My brow dipped. “I . . . it didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
I exhaled a gush of air. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but this is an important night for me. I’ve been nominated for an award. If you’re here to ruin—”
“I’m not here to ruin your night. I’m proud of your success. You deserve tonight.”
I couldn’t help the small, bitter laugh that bubbled up my throat. “What do you know of my success?”
He shrugged and the ghost of a smile haunted his face, an apparition there and gone in the flutter of a blink. “More than you might think.”