“No.” Her voice is soft. Like she’s afraid speaking too loud might shatter the sense of contentment in the air around us.
Sighing, I roll onto my back, yanking her with me. She nestles into my side, and it strikes me at how naturally we’ve fallen into this facet of domesticity. If you didn’t know our relationship was fake, you might not even believe it.
I’m having a hard enough time, myself.
“She disappeared on my father and I when I was a kid. No reasoning, no goodbye. We just woke up one day, and she was gone.” My eyes rove over the ceiling, darting around so the memories don’t take root. “It was bad enough being this loner kid with a dad everyone knew was a criminal. Then, she ditched us and everyone wanted to make out like it was my problem. Like I was…”
“The reason she left?”
Sharp pain ripples behind my irises, and I turn my head, pressing my lips into Lenny’s hair. I nod, and she blows out a breath, tracing little designs on my chest with the tip of her finger.
“And you think you’d be betraying your younger self if you listened to her side of things?”
I don’t respond, because in truth, listening to Mileena isn’t something I’m interested in at all. Betrayal aside, I don’t even know her enough anymore at this point to care what she has to say.
Whatever explanations or apologies she wants to wield are two decades too late.
“She called you something downstairs.”
“Sirts,” I say, swallowing over a knot that lodges in my throat. “Armenian for ‘my heart.’ Roughly.”
“Does that mean you know Armenian?”
“No. A few words, maybe, but I wouldn’t be able to hold a conversation or anything. Mileena was born in the States, and her parents died when she was young, so she grew up mostly with native English speakers. I remember, though, the lullabies and bedtime stories she used to tell me. Those were authentic. Passed down from her parents and grandparents.”
Lifting her head, she cocks an eyebrow. “Can I hear something?”
“Lenny.”
Hooking her finger around my nipple, she pouts. “Come on, please? I thought you were into spoiling me.”
“Buying you lingerie I can rip off and speaking in a language that’s dead to me are very different things.”
Blinking, she just waits.
Gritting my teeth, I sigh, fisting the sheets at my sides. Racking my brain for something, anything, to satisfy her. Threading my fingers through her hair, I tilt her head back so she’s looking up at me, and utter a soft, “ցաւդ տանեմ。 Tsavt tanem.”
Let me take your pain.
I’ve been trying to do it without her even knowing.
My throat tightens as the words leave my lips, and I’ve never been so grateful in my life for an interpretive barrier. Not because I don’t mean them, but because I’ve never bloody meant anything more, and the notion that Alistair was right doesn’t sit well with me.
How is it possible that I’ve come to care for this girl, when she represents the very things I despise?
Her eyes hood, lashes fluttering. “What’s it mean?”
Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. The lie tastes like sulfur, but I say it anyway.
“I have no idea.”
36
When I wake up the morning after Jonas’s mom shows up, I’m not at all surprised to find him sitting on the edge of the mattress, lacing up his combat boots.
Water droplets cling to his damp curls, and I see the pink indentations from my fingernails scoring across his neck. Heat rises in my chest like rolling smoke, and I sink farther beneath the duvet, rotating my ankles to work some of the kinks out of my leg muscles.
Jonas turns his head. “Are you all right, love?”
“Are you?”
“Right as rain.”
My eyes narrow. “I’ve never heard you use a metaphor.”
“I hate to say it, puppet, but you might not be the most observant lass on the planet.”
Throwing the blankets back, I sit up, indignant. I’m completely undressed because of last night, but I don’t even care. “Did you just call me stupid?”
“No.” After letting his eyes trail lazily over my bare breasts and pussy, he leans over the bed, pushing the covers aside to reveal a white shopping bag. “I’m saying sometimes you have a one-track mind. Which I don’t mind. Just means you’re dedicated to quality.”
Ignoring him, I peel open the bag, snorting when I see a replacement corset top inside. Running my fingers over the black satin, I shake my head. “What’d you do, get overnight shipping?”
“Where there’s a will…” Jonas comes over to my side of the bed, perching beside me. “There’s more.”
Excitement bubbles in my chest, and I push the top aside to find a pile of black lace at the bottom of the bag. “Oh,” I say, pulling out the suspender belt and its matching thigh-high stockings, bra, and thong. “You… what am I supposed to do with these?”
Amusement swims in his violet eyes. “Wear them, preferably.”
Dropping them into my lap, I just stare at the expensive material for a long time. Hours could pass, and I would have no idea as my thoughts scatter, struggling to collect themselves.
I’ve never gotten a gift from someone else.
Not something I didn’t ask for, anyway. No one’s ever taken the time to seek something out that they think I’d like, and even though it’s obvious he’ll get enjoyment out of the set, I can’t deny that the color and style is identical to the stuff I wear on a regular basis.
A knot forms in my throat, and I clear it repeatedly, trying to alleviate the pressure in my windpipe. It feels stupid getting choked up over something so simple, but my body reacts anyway as my heart swells.
“Thank you,” I mutter, smothering my grin.
Hoping he doesn’t notice how deeply my face is flushed, or the vulnerability seeping from my pores. I stare down at the gift, my heart fluttering like an untamed beast inside my chest.
This certainly doesn’t feel fake anymore.
Jonas chuckles, fingering the edge of the belt. “Don’t thank me for being selfish. I just want to see what they look like on before I shred them off of you.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I started out naked?”
“Easier, but not better.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a little pink envelope and handing it to me. “Besides, you can’t go to this naked. I’d have to murder anyone who looked your way, and they frown on that at these events.”
My face flushes, his possessiveness such a contrast to Preston, who wanted to share and parade me around any chance he got. Unwrapping the envelope, I turn over the card inside and read the black cursive lettering at the top.
“A gala?”
“Political fundraiser. My brother’s a big donor to Aplana’s Art Society, and every once in a while they throw parties in his honor. Personally, I don’t get it, but he got us invited, and it’d probably be good publicity for us, right?”
My stomach twists, because I’ve been to these parties before. Daddy will most likely be in attendance, especially if it means scoping out potential political candidates. He likes to schmooze early so they’re easier to get in his pocket.