A Matter of Heart (3 page)

“You sit so far away,” I
say, because anything else would inspire the possibility of tears, especially
in light of Kellan’s name being voiced. “You and Jonah both.” They sit next to
each other, which I find incredibly unfair.

Don’t think of him
,
Caleb warns.
You’ve been so good lately.
And it’s a lie, and my
Conscience knows it’s a lie, because even though we haven’t spoken in months, I
still think about my fiancé’s twin brother too many times to count in a day.

“Blame Fate,” Karl says, and
I do. More than he knows.

Technically, Jonah and I
live next door to one another, thanks to a “just between guys chat” my father had
with my boyfriend shortly before we’d graduated high school. This was
astounding for several reasons, but the biggest was that my dad and I have the
sort of relationship where the old saying “out of sight, out of mind” is
grossly applicable. My mom and I look like best friends next to what my dad and
I are like. Anyway, as Jonah later reported back, during this chat, which
really was more of a lecture and a list of demands, one of the things my father
basically said was that he expected his “little girl” to be treated like a
lady. “Cohabitating, unmarried eighteen-year-old Council members, first and
second tier, no less, would be unseemly,” he’d informed Jonah, who’d later done
a pretty fair approximation of my dad when repeating it. “I speak for your father
as well as Abigail—this sort of wanton behavior won’t be tolerated.”

Now, this pissed me off
because my father had, at the most, spent two months of time with me over the
last year and—while I was at it—how dare he think he could dictate my life once
I turned eighteen? Furthermore, I couldn’t recall a single time prior to this
conversation in which he referred to me as his
little girl
. It was all
the more ironic since Jonah was actually living under the same roof as me for
the last couple of months of school, anyway; granted, my parents were, too, but
still. They’d invited my Connection to move in once his twin moved back to
Maine and their father started living in Annar full time. So, I called my
father out on his hypocrisy and there was a face-melting argument between him,
me, and my mother, but in the end, it was Jonah who was the voice of reason.

“I promise you we will
maintain separate addresses until we’re married,” he told them, and,
incredibly, that was that. Jonah has this effect on people, which I envy. He
comes across as so inherently confident and trustworthy, so levelheaded that
hardly anyone ever second-guesses him. Even now, with only a month’s worth of
sessions under his belt, he is a respected voice in the Council. As for my
parents, there was nothing they could say when he and I choose apartments right
next to one another because we did exactly as they asked.

Not that I’ve told them
about the open doorway I created between our places or anything. And it’s not
like they actually come over to visit often, so . . .

A sharp, invisible tug
materializes as I ruminate about such things rather than the mind-numbing
amount of paperwork for the upcoming atoll mission I’ve been given. There’s
only one thing this strong sensation could mean. Jonah’s home.

I leap off the couch and
basically tackle him before he can even drop his backpack. One of the nice
things about having a Connection who is an Emotional is that I don’t have to
tell him how relieved I am to see him, especially after the day I’ve had.

He already knows. And he’s
already making it all better.

That’s one of the perks of
having a Connection. They’re your soul mate, created by Fate for you and only
you. Somebody who’ll always love you, no matter what. They’re your best friend,
your closest confidant, and the person who can make everything better. He and I
are highly envied by most of our friends because Connections are so rare and
coveted, especially ones that originate in dreams.

Yes, I met my boyfriend in
my dreams, when we were both four. Yes, I realize that makes me incredibly
lucky. There is not a day that goes by in which I do not thank Fate for Jonah
Whitecomb.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s
incredibly gorgeous: inky black, messy hair and eyes so blue that looking into
them is like peering into the sky reflected on a calm ocean. More than that,
he’s smart and thoughtful and loyal.

After a lingering welcome
home kiss, he leads me back over to my couch. “I talked to Karl and Zthane
while I was debriefing at Guard HQ.”

Of
course
he is
already informed of what went down in session today. The Guard gossip like
they’re high schoolers. Worse than high schoolers. More like PTA moms.

His fingers pull gently
through my long brown hair. It’s heavenly. “How are you feeling about this?”

I weigh my words carefully,
even though I know I don’t need to censure myself around him. “It feels too
soon. What if I mess it up?” Or kill someone?

“I’ll talk to—”

“To whom?” I counter. But
it’s not done angrily. “Jonah, there was a vote. Eighty-seven percent voted
that the atoll needs to go.” Me included, before I knew I was the one who had
to go out and do it.

It’s not that I’m
fundamentally opposed to the mission. It’s just, it might’ve been nice to have
some experience beforehand. Classes. The apprenticeship. Anything.

“What can I do for you?” His
nose swipes my chin line and I melt into the couch.

“Just be yourself,” I tell
him. Because it’s true. Him being him, being here with me, is pretty darn
great. “Just be here for me.”

I
can feel his smile against my cheek. “Always.”

Just because we have two
addresses doesn’t mean we sleep in separate beds. This is both a good and a bad
thing. On one hand, I love having Jonah be both the first and last thing I see
every day. On the other, it’s awfully hard to be a good girl when there is a
totally sexy guy next to you in only pajama pants, or, on hot nights, boxers,
and you can’t do anything about said sexiness.

See, yet another thing my
father informed Jonah during that infamous “chat” was that he expected me to
remain a virgin until we got married.

Yes, he said that. My father
actually talked to my Connection about my
virginity
.

I nearly died when Jonah
admitted this part. My father thinking he could dictate whether or not I, a
legal adult, could have sex? It was so excruciatingly appalling and
stereotypical that it was a wonder he didn’t dredge up a wife beater and a
shotgun for the delivery.

So, yeah. Jonah and I
haven’t had sex yet, even though we’re engaged to be married within a year.
Because Jonah is the standup kind of guy who respects fathers and their wishes,
even if they are humiliating and unreasonable. Thank goodness we can get away
with everything else.

“Stop,” he whispers into my
ear. He’s on the verge of sleep, but even now, is just as attuned to my
feelings as he is when he is wide awake. “I can’t sleep if you’re like this.”

I don’t bother with shame.
Jonah knows my view on sex. And a girl can only handle so much temptation
without cracking occasionally. “I must be the only girlfriend who has to
apologize for wanting to make out with her boyfriend.”

Wide awake now, he groans
and chuckles at the same time. “You don’t think this is hard for me, too?”

“Remind me why you offered
my father such a ridiculous promise?”

He turns to his side so
we’re face to face. “Obviously, because I’m a masochistic idiot.”

I press several lingering
kisses down his jaw and onto his neck. “Obviously.” He laughs quietly under his
breath at the same time as his hands curve around my hips. Little streaks of
lightning zing through my body at this touch. “You know, promises are meant to
be broken.”

“Some,” he whispers, and his
hands drift upwards just enough that my mind is on the verge of scattering
entirely. “But some, like how I’m going to love you my entire existence, never
will be.”

I’m going to need a cold
shower before I fall asleep, that’s for sure.

“This is ridiculous!”

A notebook slaps down
against the table, along with a chewed pen, nearly knocking over my iced tea.
My distant cousin and closest friend, Cora Carregreen, slides down in her
chair, her magenta dipped hair drooping just as surely as her good mood. She
issues a long suffering sigh and a masterful example of the evil eye my way.

As to why, it’s a
no-brainer. “Like I asked for a shortened school load,” I offer, setting aside
the snack I’d been enjoying. It’s a true testament of Jonah’s influence on me
when my face remains passive.

Elegant hands are thrown
into the air. It still weirds me out a bit to think how those same hands can
heal a person and unleash devastating diseases within seconds of one another.
“Whatever. It’s just, classes are kicking my butt, and here I am, struggling to
figure out the proper proportions of virus production in relation to population
zones, and you’re sipping iced tea like you haven’t got a care in the worlds.”
She looks me over. “Or classwork that’s due.”

I’ve been allowed a single
class this semester by the Council, since any load heavier might possibly
“distract” me from my work duties. And rather than be something useful, like
Cora’s class in which she’s learning how to properly utilize her craft in the
field, mine is basically a pointless study hall since I’m not really given
topics to study, even if independently. Occasionally the professor, a fifth
tier Council member and thereby, ironically, below me in chain of command, will
encourage me to write up summaries of my missions. I’d asked him if I ought to
talk about the implications of said assignments, but he’d shrugged, murmuring,
“It’s up to you.”

I mean, I know I can boss
the dude around and all, but he’s my assigned professor, and I’m eighteen. He
could offer a little guidance, right?

So, while I understand
Cora’s jealousy over my easy school workload, I envy hers. I’d love to be
challenged, to really get down to the nitty-gritty about my craft. I’d even go
for weekly lunches, or even monthly lunches—heck, just
one
lunch—with
Kleeshawnall Rushfire, but that guy has checked so far out that it’s a miracle
he even makes it to session regularly.

But Cora doesn’t understand
any of this. So I apologize and quickly change topics. “How’s Raul?”

The gloom above her head
dissipates immediately. “I met his
madre
. She liked me.”

Cora is dating Raul
Mesaverde, a Spanish Cyclone on the Guard. He’s a great guy; the two of them
are a perfect example of how total opposites attract. “Of course she did.”

She chews on her pen.
“Lizzie is threatening to move to Texas.”

Well, that’s no shocker. Her
boyfriend Graham, a non we went to high school with, got a football scholarship
to play there. Ever since she decided he was the guy for her, Lizzie has
rebelled against her Fate in a way that I envy.

“And,” Cora adds, “Meg and
Alex are moving in together. They’re getting a dog.” She frowns. “Do you know
what that means?”

I hold back my laugh. “They
like pets?”

She practically barks, “Meg
has babies on the mind! She’s officially bonkers!”