“Just to a place near the dump. They scavenge any useable materials for new pieces.”
We share a smile and I wish I could hold us in that moment, just for a while longer. But time marches along, her attention moves back to her work, and I stand there and wonder how I could make things right.
“What drew you to this job?” I finally ask, just wanting to make conversation.
Crimson tilts her head to the side, lips pursing for a second before she answers. “I asked the job centre for a list of volunteer roles. It didn’t seem right to deprive someone of a paying job when I don’t need the money. It…” She stares down at the floor, frowning for a moment. “When I left the apartment, I didn’t have anywhere to go. I didn’t know anyone. The people I thought I could count on…”
She trails off again, but I understand. The people she thought she could count on were unreliable—and that’s the politest way to phrase it I know.
That I was one of those people, maybe the worst of them, tears me up inside. It’s unbearable to remember treating her like a disposable pawn. She’s a queen, always has been. Earning her love is the only goal that matters.
“Anyway…” She clears her throat. “I imagined what it would be like if I didn’t have millions of dollars in winnings.” She meets my gaze and holds it for a second. “Or if you’d told Stefan not to release it to me. Or told Teodor not to come and help.”
I hold up my hand. “First off, I never told Teodor to do a damned thing. That’s all off his own bat. Second, Stefan would never renege on something he’d said he would do.”
“You might know that. I didn’t.”
My hand goes to tuck some loose hairs back behind her ears, then I catch myself halfway through the gesture and pretend I was raising it to push my fringe back instead.
“I hate this,” she says, and I know what she means.
“I want to apologise—”
“That’s not how you start an apology,” she says, a crease appearing above the bridge of her nose. “They start with the word sorry followed by a lengthy explanation of what it is you’re sorry for and a summary of how you’ll change so it will never happen again.”
I stare at a spot on the counter, my throat working but nothing coming out.
“Or is that something they only teach girls like me in the syndicate because everyone else can do whatever the hell they like?”
“I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” Her face pinches together and I struggle to keep my hands to myself when all I want is to draw her into a hug and comfort her. Except the person who made her need comforting is me and I’m not doing a thing to put the situation right.
“Hey, Crimson,” a woman calls out from the back office. I check my watch and see the three hours have gone. It’s closing time and I still have done nothing to repair the damage I caused. “Are you ready to leave? It’s time to lock up.”
Along with the question, she shoots a concerned glance at me. Considering the charity, I guess I should have expected that. Or perhaps she knows what I did to Crimson. God, I hope not.
“Sure.” She locks off the till and walks over to hand back the key. They exchange a few words in murmurs too low for me to catch individual words, then Crimson comes back to join me. “You want to go somewhere?” There’s a furious glint in her eye as she stares up at me.
I want to cart her back home and make sure she never leaves.
“Don’t suppose you want to see how all your new furniture looks?” Her expression collapses and I add, “No. Don’t worry. Just pretend I didn’t say that.”
We walk outside so her companion can shut up the store, then wander out of the arcade since the rest of the shops are also closing.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, turning on my heel to glance along the street in each direction. “We could go somewhere to eat?”
But she’s stopped walking. The ground beneath her feet holds more attraction than me as her eyes stayed fixed to it.
“What about somewhere private? Near where you live.”
“My apartment isn’t far from here.”
I think she’s about to add something. Name a coffee shop or a restaurant that would fit the bill. But she stays quiet for long enough for me to grasp that’s all of it. That’s the offer.
Far more than I expected. “That sounds good.”
She leads the way and within ten minutes, we’re in the lobby for her apartment building. If I didn’t know Teodor owned the penthouse and had vetted the place properly, I’d be double checking the security right now. Using a passcode to enter the lift lobby doesn’t seem nearly safe enough.
