“I’ll order the entire menu.”
“Or, you skip looking at the feeds for the hundredth time, tell Adrian to stop watching us, and fuck me until breakfast.”
“Sold, Mrs.Ashenheart.”My mouth curves despite everything.
twenty-five
My dress is tootight and my heels are pinching my toes.There’s no way I would’ve ever picked this outfit.Cassius picked it.I hope this is for the plot and not because he secretly wants me to dress like this for real.The smile on my face feels like it’s been pinned there with needles.
I see her before she sees me, but only because Cassius sees her before that and points her out.She’s sipping something cold and bright by the pool, sunglasses pushed up on her head.The dress and heels make perfect sense looking at her.Up close, the pretty starts to splinter.Her wedding band is new-shiny but the pale groove beneath it is older, deeper—the ghost of a different ring.Her manicure isn’t long and glossy; it’s practical.She sips her drink and her laughter at whatever the young lifeguard is saying to her seems genuine, like she isn’t married to a monster.
Cassius leans in and kisses my cheek, placing a clear earbud and then pulling my hair over my shoulder to cover it.He kisses my lips and says, “I have a quick meeting and then I’ll grab you for dinner, darling,” loud enough that anyone paying attention to us would hear.After he walks away I stay planted, unsure how to approach this woman without being super awkward.
“Go slow,” Cassius says in my ear.I breathe a slow breath of relief at the sound of his low, steady voice.“You’ve got time.”
I nod, even though I have no idea if he can see me.He’s hidden somewhere, watching.There’s a comfort in him always watching that probably shouldn’t be as calming as it is.His voice is steady in my ear, but there’s a burr I don’t hear at home.Metal under velvet.Someone says something on his end that’s muffled and close.The line hushes like he’s palmed the mic.
I smooth the towel on my lounger in three strokes and align the edges of my tote.Count the slats of the deck as I cross: twenty-one, twenty-three, twenty-five.The ghosts drift with me like chaperones.The alley man with the filmed eye leans on a cabana post.The woman in the red blazer sits on the pool lip and trails her toes through the water.The kneecap ghost lounges on a chair, one bloody leg crossed neatly.Gideon takes the shade of an umbrella.Watch the woman, kid.The silk of spiders is beautiful too.
I cross the patio, heart hammering against my ribs.You’re not doing this for you, I tell myself.You’re doing this for the people this man has hurt.
“Hi,” I say, pitching my voice just right, hoping I sound friendly, curious, someone who belongs at luxury hotels and chats with strangers.She looks up, blinking behind her sunglasses.
“Sorry to bother you,” I add quickly.“It’s just your swimsuit isgorgeous.Is that Dolce?”
Compliment first.I remember Cassius’s prep on the way here.Don’t be a threat.Come off naïve.She relaxes.
“Oh!Yes, it is,” she says, smiling now.“I bought it in France last summer.”
I settle on the lounger beside her.“Do you stay here often?”
“No, this is only my second time.My husband’s on business.”
Right, business.I smile again.Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades.Behind me, past the hedge, past the cabanas, Cassius is moving.I can feel him, a second heartbeat under my skin.
She talks a lot more than I thought she would.She tells me about the spa packages and how fantastic the masseuse is.She asks if I’ve tried the cucumber water in the lobby.I lie and say yes.She waves a server over without looking at her.“Another.But colder.”
She asks if I’m also here because my husband is on business and for some insane reason, I laugh before saying yes.Cassius doesn’t scold me for laughing in the wrong place.Gideon does, with a small shake of his head.She asks if we have dinner plans.
“Tell her we already have reservations, darling,” Cassius says in my ear.
“Yes, my husband made reservations,” I repeat.
“My husband prefers room service,” she says.“I swear that man is gone at the weirdest times for his job.”
I don’t say anything to that, even though it takes me biting the insides of my cheeks not to ask what he does for a living.
“Good girl,” Cassius murmurs.“He’s still in the suite.You’ve got eyes on her.That’s all we need.”
Except it’s notallI need.I need not to throw up.I need not to run.I need not to remember what it felt like to be locked in a room with a man who’s probably not that different from this one.I take a slow breath.
“Do you have kids?”I ask, forcing the question out.
She shakes her head.“No.My husband doesn’t want any.”Of course he doesn’t.“It would be hard with how much we travel,” she adds.“Do you have children?”
“No.We haven’t been married long.”
“So you want them?”
