“And just in case you change your mind, there’s a guard at the door. So I’d think twice about trying anything.”
I want to cringe. Since when have we stopped being partners in this and gone back to being jailer and prisoner?
I press my lips into a tight line. “Right. Of course.”
With a last glacial once-over, he steps out the door.
Then I’m alone.
I look around the penthouse. There are all kinds of supplies, from knives to rope to a stack of getaway cash stuffed at the bottom of a drawer.
If I wanted to leave, it couldn’t be easier than tonight. Guard at my door or not, I’m back in familiar territory now. I have access to a landline. I could call Jemma to come pick me up, set off the smoke detector to create chaos, and slip away unnoticed. Call the cops, even.
The realization that I’m not gonna do any of that slams into me harder than it has any right to.
What the hell am I doing?
I plunge my face into my hands. I’m not supposed to grow complacent. I’m supposed to wait for my window of opportunity—which,hello,here it is!—and get the fuck out of here.
But Petyr’s deal is too sweet to turn down. And aside from that…
I’m worried.
Petyr is dealing with a lot right now. His father’s death, his brother’s coma—do I really want to add “runaway bride” to the list?
Why do you care?
I don’t know how to answer that.
I just know that, for some inexplicable reason, I do.
22
PETYR
I grip the steering wheel hard enough that my knuckles turn white.
This is a fucking mess.The leather creaks under my hands as I take the next turn sharper than I need to. The tires protest against the wet asphalt, but I don’t stop, even as angry honks start chasing me.
I’ve been lying to her since the moment we met. Held back the fact that I recognized her on the spot, that I’ve known who she is all along. That I married her for power and revenge.
It shouldn’t irk me that she’s been lying to me, too.
And yet, it does.
I swerve sharply to the left, cutting off a cab. The longer this thing with Sima goes on, the more tangled up it gets. I’ve been noticing shit I shouldn’t. Small things, like the way she bites her lower lip when she’s thinking, or how her eyesflicker away just before she feeds me another spoonful of lies.
I shouldn’t give a fuck. About any of it. Who she is, who she pretends to be—it shouldn’t concern me in the slightest. All I need for this game to work is her womb and her surname. Her honesty was never part of the deal, nor of my expectations.
So why do I want it to be?
I’m not used to thinking in circles. It drives me fucking crazy. I’m a man of action, not reflection. Shoot first, ask questions later. But I can’t ignore the stone that’s been sinking in my gut ever since Sima lied to me at dinner.
She had no reason to feed me a steaming plate of bullshit.
But she did. Gladly, with a smile on her face.
And that pisses me the fuck off.
