“No.”
“And I didn’t say what the reward was.”
“No.”
“I could reward you by not trying to stab you for twenty-four hours.”
“That would be a disappointing prize.”
“You’re hard to please.”
“Not impossible.”
Her mouth opens. Then closes. Good.
She heard the sentence exactly as I intended.
The flush that touches her face is faint in the low light, but I see it. I am always going to see it now. That is becoming a problem I am less interested in solving than I should be.
She exhales, annoyed. “You are awful.”
“Yes.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“And arrogant.”
“Yes.”
“And opportunistic.”
“Especially when rewarded.”
Her eyes narrow again, but she is fading. I can feel the fight leaving her body in small increments, her weight settling more heavily against me no matter how much pride tries to hold her upright.
“Fine,” she whispers.
“Fine?”
“You get a reward.”
I look down at her. “That sounds dangerously close to an agreement.”
“It is.”
“Say it clearly.”
Her eyes almost close. “No.”
“Maya.”
“I said what I said.”
I smile despite myself.
That is the moment she loses the battle with sleep again.
