"Standing there like a palace guard isn't necessary." She flips open a magazine. "There's no one here to perform for."
Risky move, talking to me like that. I wonder if this kind of boldness has gotten her in trouble before.
I hesitate.
Then I push off the wall, cross the room, and lower myself intothe chair directly across from her. The row is narrow, and our knees nearly brush. Close enough to catch the soft scent of lavender in her hair.
Fuck.
Her eyes lift above the magazine. Pale blue. The same ones that used to strip me bare with a single glance, dismantling every wall I'd spent years building like they were made of paper.
I hold my breath.
She's studying my face. Tracing the beard I've let grow thick along my jaw. The cropped hair. The brown contacts that bury the man I used to be.
For fuck's sake, Keira. See me.
Her gaze lingers for a moment longer, then drops back to the magazine.
She doesn't recognize me.
I don't know if that's mercy or a knife sliding between my ribs.
Maybe I wanted her to know. Maybe some desperate, self-destructive part of me wanted her to look up and gasp and say my name like it still meant something.
It doesn't.
Not anymore.
"You're different than I imagined."
My pulse stumbles. "Pardon?"
"Without your mask, I mean." She tilts her head, studying me like I'm a puzzle she can't quite solve. "I don't know. I pictured you differently."
I let out a quiet breath that almost passes for a laugh.
She's talking about Henri's face without the balaclava.
"Ah. Sorry to disappoint."
It shouldn't bother me. I'm the one who put the mask on. I'm the one lying to her face every day. And still, the idea of her wanting a version of me I invented grates.
Because Henri is supposed to be forgettable, and she's already thinking about him?
That's a problem.
Her cheeks turn pink. "I didn't mean it in a bad way."
"Non?" I say lightly. "Let me guess. Less hair. Nicer. Less intimidating."
Her mouth curves before she can stop it. "More chatty, actually. But you do look at me when I speak."
I arch a brow. "As opposed to…?"
"The others." She shrugs like it doesn't matter. "They prefer not to see me. Easier that way, I suppose. If I'm not a person, they don't have to think too hard about what happens to me."
I should let this conversation die before I say something that gives me away.
