If you met Quentin, you might not like her straight away. She was cold and abrasive when she wanted to be. Work took precedence over all other matters. She often drifted away from conversations that bored her. But in reality, she craved simple things like stimulating conversation and people who didn’t run from her when she exhibited difficult moments.
Fresh coffee.
Deep kisses.
An appreciation of the woman she was.
“Hold it tight,” I instructed and deposited her back on the bed.
She nestled back against the pillows, and I placed the tray in front of her. Quentin crossed her legs, pretzel style, and sipped from the mug, looking content. Sitting down next to her, my hand cupped the side of her face and she looked at me.
This obsession I had with her was infuriating at times. I was powerless against it. Quentin Scott was my first thought from the moment I woke until I finally needed to close my eyes. The smallest things reminded me of her, and I sought her out regularly.
“It won’t be long before this will be our life,” I whispered. “A life you deserve.”
There was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. Quentin lowered her mug and leaned into my palm, biting down on the flesh.
“Tiny feral beast,” I muttered affectionately, kissing her forehead.
She released my hand from her teeth. “I can’t believe I’m excited about the vote.”
“You seem more settled with your divinity.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever fully comprehend it, but I guess it’s not so bad.”
“Oh?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She placed her mug on the tray and picked up a sticky pastry. “It feels like home. It feels like somewhere I belong, even when I know not everyone is happy.”
“Fuck everyone else. Are you happy?”
Moving the pastry from one hand to the other, she raised her sticky fingers towards her mouth. I caught her wrist and pulled them to mine, sucking away the sugary residue while she flushed red and her aura pushed itself out around us.
“Are you happy?” I repeated, moving to the next digit.
“Happier than I have been in a long time,” she admitted in a whisper.
That was what I needed to hear to cement my decision.
* * *
The day had not gone accordingto plan. She was meant to be mine and yet Poppy had let slip to a very specific crowd that Quentin was back home. We’d barely finished breakfast before Dionne, Marcel, Poppy, and Andreas invaded the house. While the three attacked her with birthday wishes and last-minute gifts, Erik’s father-in-law hung back. He had never been the type to openly offer affection to anyone that wasn’t his wife or daughter.
No matter how much I tried to usher them away, and I wasn’t subtle in my attempts, they settled into the house as if they were long-time friends and showered her with attention. A job that should have been left to me.
By the time they finally left, we were due back on Earth for her party, courtesy of Erik.
There was a good reason I hated people.
I pulled on my suit, debating whether I would need to change my plans once again. Sometimes I didn’t appreciate the pure chaos that ruled my life. A moment of organisation would have been admired, but that was too much to ask.
I adjusted the cuffs on my suit, staring in the mirror. Full black attire for the evening, apart from the gold cufflinks at my wrist.
“Darling, are you nearly ready?” I called, aware that Erik wouldn’t be impressed if we were late.
Keeping her hostage here was a tempting idea…
Quentin opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom again, smoothing the fabric around her stomach. The glittering gold jumpsuit left her back bare and hugged her curves.
