“Is it the idea of moving to the countryside? About your fear of the dirt?”
I shake my head. It’s not a lie. That’s only the tip of the iceberg.
But he seems to want to cling to that belief.
“I told you we wouldn’t stay if it makes you feel uncomfortable. There’s no need to worry, my darling.”
At the sound of that name, my throat constricts again. I start to gasp.
“Breathe, Seraphina. Breathe.” Damien puts a hand on my chest and the warmth relaxes me, but only for an instant. The gentle look in his eyes feels unbearable. I can’t stand the thought that one day, maybe soon, that look will disappear, replaced by exasperation, anger, even. I blink, and the vision of Vincent’s bruised, bloody features appear before me. Is that the fate that awaits me, once I fall out of his favor?
He grits his teeth. “Tell me your thoughts.”
I try to look anywhere but at him, but his eyes seem to bore into me. Still, I keep my own gaze averted. There’s no way I’m sharing my fears with him.
At last, he gives up, and stands, still holding me in his arms.“Let’s go.”
He carries me back to the living room, where Logan is sprawled on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone. But when we enter, he lifts his head up.
“Are you really going?”
“Sure. I believe Vincent.”
Logan lifts an eyebrow. “You believe the guy you just pummeled half to death.”
“I found his admissions, under first the threat of violence, and then the carrying out of that violence, to have the ring of truth.”
Logan snorts. “Okay. But three people know exactly where you’re going. He delegated. He told you so.”
“He said he delegated today’s bookings to Alice. Obviously it’s her. She was already on our list of suspects, and this confirms it. But only people we have full faith in have any knowledge of the house. I’ve already changed the bookings, and no one but you, me and Vincent have the address of the house.”
Logan nods, but he doesn’t seem fully convinced. “Alright. But what I don’t get is why you’re not canceling the plane. Or at least booking another flight. We can deal with Alice, you know.”
“Iwant to deal with her,” insists Damien.
“On your wedd—”
Damien glares at him, and he interrupts himself. “Not very romantic,” he comments instead.
“On the contrary, I find killing people to beveryromantic,” says Damien, and Logan snorts again.
I keep my head pressed on Damien’s chest, letting the conversation wash over me. I don’t understand any part of it. Something about delegations, and bookings, and some woman named Alice. My thoughts are still far away, on the happy future that Damien seems insistent on brainwashing me into believing, and on how easily he beat up the guy who was once his loyal assistant, only to laugh it off after.
“Hope you know what you’re doing,” calls Logan as Damien grabs the suitcase and wheels it out of the apartment with one hand while he carries me with the other.
We go downstairs and he settles me into the back of the car that’s waiting there, his arms still protectively around me. I begin to shiver, and he folds a blanket over me.
“Are you up for a bit of a trip?” he asks in a solicitous voice, and the fact that he’s askinganythingof me is so surprising that it startles me out of my apathetic state.
But I can’t manage to say a word.
I find the little nook between his neck and his chest and settle there, breathing him in deeply, hating myself for being unable to resist him for long.
The chauffeur drives off and for a while, Damien’s attention is fixed on his phone. I can feel the movement of his arm as he sends messages, his fingers typing fast. But then he puts his phone away and focuses on me. His hand comes up to stroke my hair and he kisses my forehead. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he says.
His voice is low but there’s a warning behind it, barely concealed. He’s not giving me a choice.
I grit my teeth and shake my head with a touch of that feeble defiance I’m trying desperately to cling to.
