She holds my gaze, and she doesn’t look away.
“You went to your meeting this morning,” I say.
“Mmm.” She tips her head just slightly this time, not in surrender this time, in consideration. “Mandatory. Annoying.”
My stomach tightens, a slow coil of recognition when danger is imminent. I’m well-versed in the feeling.
I keep my face steady. “You were very unhappy about it.”
“I was,” she says. “Because I missed something last night, and I’ve been kicking myself all day for it.”
My thumb drifts a fraction higher, absent-minded now, because my mind is working. “You missed your people,” I murmur.
“I did,” she confirms, and her eyes don’t blink. “And when you miss people, you have to catch up.”
My pulse ticks. Once. Twice.
This isn’t small talk.
This is a line leading somewhere.
I force myself to breathe evenly. “Who are you catching up with,dolcezza?”
Her lashes lower, then lift. “Careful,” she says, almost gently. “You’re asking questions now.”
“I like knowing things,” I say.
“Oh, Iknow.”
A warning.
My hand tightens on her thigh, not to hurt—just to anchor myself. “Tell me,” I say, voice low. “What are you doing right now?”
She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t move away.
She tips her head back again and offers me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I’m having dinner,” she says.
Then, as if it’s nothing, as if she’s discussing the weather, she adds:
“And I’m deciding how much it’s going to cost you.”
My breath stops.
Not because I don’t understand the words.
Because I do.
And because suddenly, the surrender doesn’t feel like surrender at all.
It feels like she’s letting me get close enough to bleed.
I keep my face inches from hers, my mouth hovering at her throat, and I make my voice smooth and controlled when I ask:
“Cost me for what, Elsa?”
Her smile doesn’t shift, but something in her eyes does—cold glazes over them.
