Page 59 of Serpent & Saviors

“She’s twenty-two. Which reminds me, how old are you?” My eyes grew wide. He wasn’t supposed to hear that part.

“Twenty-four,” I offered.

“I’m going to browse the sketchbooks. Take your time.”

He moved off to the side, but his eyes kept flicking back to me. I picked up a winter-themed journal and ran my hands over it lovingly. Of all the girls, Winter had an American accent: Southern to be exact. She and I both took ASL classes together. There were so many times I wanted to communicate with her that way, but was too frightened.

“I’m sensing a theme, Tori,” Andrew said. He’d made his way back. I quickly put the journal away.

“It caught my eye, is all. It looks like a beautiful winter day, with the snowflakes falling all around the ground.”

“You should get it.”

“No, really, I only need a poetry one. I shouldn’t have even asked you for more. You’ve done so much already.” I touched my dress.

A quiet unease crept in, curling around my ribs. They’d spent a lot of money on me already. There was the auction, the fancy restaurant, clothing—all of it. Suddenly, an uncomfortable feeling settled in my core. I stared at the shelves for a long time and then realized I’d stopped seeing the titles altogether.

Was I being hasty here? Too trusting? What if this ended badly?

Yeah, like his little pixie going off on you?

That thought lingered too long. My chest tightened.

Overthinking things as usual. How about for once you don’t ruin everything?

“What do you think of this one?” he asked, completely unaware of the battle I’d just overcome.

Without really thinking about it, I took a half-step closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne again—warm, familiar now. He pulled out a beautiful, light pink journal, and along one side was a bouquet.

It screamed spring, and my heart lurched. I had one similar for Mischa. It almost looked like it could have been done by the same artist. I blinked rapidly, trying to still my racing heart. This was not the time.

I gave myself a small shake of my head to dislodge the spiral before it got any deeper. “What kind of sketchbook did you find?” I blurted out, pointing to what he had in his hand.

He put the pink journal down and turned the large sketchbook around. I laughed loudly at the saying on the cover. I’m a whole lot of sass heavily seasoned with sarcasm. “Is that for your friend who draws?”

“It is. And heavily seasoned would be an understatement. She’s working on the piece we talked about last night. This is how I’ll repay her.”

“You must be filthy rich, spending money on girls left and right. Are you a player, Dr. Marcel?” I teased, lifting a brow.

A low chuckle left him. “Not even close. That role belongs to Bash.” He glanced at me. “Don’t worry—you’ll meet him soon enough. He’ll probably tease you. Be a little flirty.”

I sucked in a quiet breath before I could stop myself. Meet his friends? Tease me? Be flirty? The thought landed heavier than it should have. Would I be expected to flirt back? God, had I misread this man entirely?

“Don’t worry,” Andrew said, as if he’d sensed the shift. “It’ll all be in good fun.” Then, more casually—almost offhand. “And I’ll make sure he knows you’re off limits. All mine.”

Relief hit, and so did warmth. It spread through me before I could reason it away. My pulse stuttered, and that familiar heat crept up my neck. Suddenly, the floor seemed like the safest thing to look at. Possession had never felt like this before.

“Well,” I said lightly, even as my voice wavered just a touch, “thank you for that, I suppose.”

This man confused me to no end. He watched me for a beat, amused by my sudden shyness.

“It’s your turn to answer. Are you a player, Tori?”

“You know I’m not,” I huffed.

“Liar. You play the piano. Technically, that makes you a player of sorts.” He mimicked playing the piano.

“Well…um…you have long fingers.” I grabbed his hand and murmured, “They’re impossibly enormous compared to mine.” I continued to fixate on them. They had caressed my entire body last night. I traced his palm and fingers.