It's a shame.

The first thing she sees when she steps out of her private jet is his one hazel eye, a lovely companion to the dark blue.

Is it wrong to be envious? she wonders. But she embraces him and kisses his cheek and lightly teases him about his age.

And when they finally sit down to talk about everything that's happened in the agonizingly long three years he was declared missing, she's not surprised to find that all he talks about is his demon. Holly.

Even if he doesn't realize it himself.

Bitterness, like dark chocolate, fills her to the brim. She wishes and hopes and yearns for what isn't—and might never be—hers to have.

It's a silly wish. Childish, really, and yet it won't fade, even after his words have inadvertently crushed it into a million little pieces.

She laughs at the right parts in his story, smiles when she knows he wants her to, inserts a witty comment occasionally to make him grin. But none of it is actually real.

Even though he's younger than she is now, it doesn't seem like it. She wants to hate her—and him, too—but she can't.