"Stop calling me that. I looked it up it. I know what it means. Just…stop."
"Oh yeah?" he says, faking interest. "What does it mean?"
"You know what it means. You speak French. You use it all the time."
"Just say it if you’re so smart. And say it in French too. I want to hear your cute American accent."
I know he’s keeping this going because it means I give him attention. But fuck, I do it anyway because I’m the stupid woman who loveshisattention.
"Mon trésor." I butcher the word. "Means my treasure."
His mocking tone disappears, replaced by a seriousness I didn’t expect all of a sudden.
"Then you should know how fitting it is for you. You're my source of inspiration. You have the right to do exactly as I say, when I say, and as promptly as I desire. You should stick that in that pretty head of yours once and for all…" He smirks, and I already know what’s coming. "Mon trésor."
"Are you seriously playing this card when I just lost everything because of you?"
"None of this was because of me or you. It was because Chase inserted himself into your life when you were too young and naïve to push him away, and he blew it up in flames. It'shisfault. Now, I'm not saying I'm Prince Charming who came to save you,but it'd be a lie to say I'm not glad you have one less abusive asshole in your life. Two if we're lucky and your dad never shows his face again."
My jaw aches from how badly I'm tensing. I bite my tongue, trying to find a lie in what he said. It's harsh, and it hurts, but fuck, it's true. He's not victim blaming, but he won't take the blame either. He's putting it on the real perpetrator, and that man is dead, which makes it too hard for me to take it out on him.
I hang on to his gaze, not dropping mine like I usually would, and a smirk spreads on his lips.
"Look at her," he purrs. "Getting tougher by the minute. Strength looks good on you, baby."
"This is not thanks to you."
"It's not," he confirms with blatant sarcasm.
"It’s not," I repeat with conviction. "And I might have been too young and naïve when Chase made his way into my life, but I'm not now. Maybe I can avoid one more asshole."
His smirk transforms into a full-on smile, and I try my hardest to ignore the way my stomach melts from how beautiful he is. It's so unfair and destabilizing. Achilles is the kind of man whose beauty would make any woman’s heart stutter when he walks past them. Having his attention? That’s not a fair fight.
"Oh no." He leans down, his lips brushing my right ear. "You're not getting rid ofthisasshole. Don't even try."
The kiss on my cheek is so brief I feel like I imagined it. I don't even get a chance to retort anything because Miss Rivera calls the violinists on stage for our rehearsal.
"Now go show everyone what you're capable of with the right violin in your pretty hands."
I don't. I'm pathetic on that stage. Our conductor notices the many times I'm the one who makes a mess and takes others down with me. Harmony is the most important thing, and one person failing can affect others. I'm that person many times today. By lunchtime, I'm biting my lower lip to not explode into sobs from the glares I'm getting from the other players. What’s worse is Miss Rivera's silence. She looks at me intently, and that's all I need to feel her deep disappointment before the break.
I stand up, watching her speak in whispers with Achilles before she nods.
We're all packing our instruments when he says loudly, "Nyx, stay behind."
No "please." No reason. Nothing but a bored look anyone would expect of him but one I haven't seen my way in a while.
"Uh, sure," I reply, feeling like I have to save face in front of everyone and pretending like I have a choice to agree or disagree.
Josh walks to me, confidently asking, "Do you want me to stay?"
"She doesn't," Achilles's voice rings out in the room. "And don't play with the kind of authority you don't have."
"It's fine," I murmur to him. "I'll see you after lunch."
Josh walks away with concern in his eyes, and I stay on stage, my violin in its open case, on the floor right next to my chair. Achilles is in the audience, and the stage lights are the only ones on, so I can't see him bar a shadow standing there.
The last student exits, leaving us alone, and I shift from one foot to another awkwardly as I put my hand in front of my squinting eyes, attempting to see more of him.
