Fraser sits opposite me with hunched shoulders, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he picks at his food. While he may have been physically present at family dinners, he rarely took an active part in the conversation. The mardy little sulk. He glances at Roman occasionally, then me, curiosity flickering.
Eliza chats with her effortless grace, holding court amongst the family as we eat, keeping conversation flowing.
At one point, she leans toward me and drops her voice low. ‘Roman’s doing well.’
‘Mmm, and why shouldn’t he?’ I murmur back.
She smiles. ‘Oh, I can think of a few.’
Then Coffin swoops in a flurry of black.
The rush of wings sends my hair fluttering, and the crow drops something dark and gleaming on Priscilla’s plate before pinching her cut of venison in sharp talons.
A beetle. Perfectly intact and very much still alive.
Priscilla looks down, then calmly lifts her gaze to a server. ‘Could I have this changed, please?’
The plate disappeared without comment.
Eliza glances at Coffin, now perched on the fireplace and tearing into his stolen meat. Well, fairly exchanged in his opinion. ‘You can’t say he doesn’t make a fair trade.’
Roman breaks into a laugh. ‘I love him. What a gent.’
Dad grins. ‘He’s one unto himself that one.’
Eventually, the conversation drifts back to Roman and our so-called relationship.
Roman steps in and lies so smoothly it’s almost unsettling, placing an arm around my shoulders as if we really are a couple. I guess his propensity for untruths shouldn’t come as a total shock. I’ve seen his videos. But I can’t say I hate the weight of his arm on my shoulders.
It makes my brain melt when his warmth settles over me. The solidness of his body against mine, the faint scent of his spiced aftershave, leaves me utterly tongue-tied. I lose my train of thought, and Eliza watches with amused interest.
Roman’s arm tugs me closer to him. ‘Alright, Princess?’
Heat pricks my cheeks at the faux-pet name. It sends quivers where quivers ought not to be.
‘I’m fine,’ I mutter, losing myself in a shameful amount of wine
By the time dinner ends and we are heading up the stairs, I’m more than a little sozzled. I trip over my feet, and Roman catches me before I faceplant.
‘Whoops,’ I giggle, before squeezing his biceps. ‘So strong. You must live in the bloody gym.’
Roman lifts me without answering, and I let myself relax in his arms.
‘You smell nice, for a hostage,’ I mumble against his chest.
‘Mmm, and you are drunk as a skunk, for a captor. I could tie you to the bed and make my escape.’
‘Or just tie me to the bed…’ I run a finger over his chest, feeling the solidness of his pecs.
‘I thought you were the one who liked to do the tying?’
‘Only when necessary.’ Halfway up the stairs, my filter gives up entirely. ‘I hear you, you know, through the wall.’
His steps slow down as we head along the corridor. ‘Do you?’
‘Like you heard me. Sometimes I even pretend I’m there. If I close my eyes, it’s almost like I am.’
Roman doesn’t say anything, so I babble on, digging my hole deeper with every word.
