Page 42 of The Bargain

It’s her turn to smirk. “It’s blue.”

An unexpected flutter catches my heart.

“Really?” I quickly smooth over my own surprise. “I mean, what kind? Dark blue, or⁠—”

“Blue like the summer sky.”

“How cute. Very sweet. And what⁠—”

She cuts me off. “What’s yours?”

Blue, I think. Blue, just like yours, just like that stupid ribbon in your hair. The deep, brilliant blue of distant star fields, the astral blue of nebulae, the blue that makes me think of being so fucking far away that my life shrinks into a microscopic, insignificant dot.

“Black,” I tell her.

She scoffs. “Whose tastes are dull now?”

“Still you. I like the colour black,” I tell her. “You dated Julian Langford.”

“And yet you’re the one who keeps bringing him up.”

I shrug. “What can I say. My intellectual curiosity is tickled.”

“He asked me out, and I said yes. We dated for a year, then broke up.”

“Is that why you went out with him?” I ask, watching her closely. “Just because he asked?”

She hesitates, and for a split second, her gaze drops out from under mine. When she meets my eyes again, there’s a tiny twist to her lips like a grimace.

“I don’t know why I went out with him, alright? He asked me, and I knew I’d need a boyfriend, and that he’d keep asking until I either said yes or dated someone else, so I thought saying yes would be killing two birds with one stone.”

“How efficient of you,” I murmur thoughtfully.

Desdemona’s eyes narrow, and a vein throbs in the pale column of her neck. She speaks in a poised tone, and her words are sharp as the pinprick of a needle.

“And I suppose you slept with Elodie Avigneux because you were deeply in love with her?”

I hold her gaze, which bores into mine like she’s trying to peer into my soul. Little to see there: my soul, as I imagine it, is what space would look like without stars to fill it. It’s dark and still and empty. Truly neutral.

“Just a small favour to a good friend,” I say in amiable tones.

“Not worthless love, no?” she says.

“How many times did Julian make you come?”

“Maybe it’s Julian you should be dating,” she snaps. “Since you’re so fascinated with his sex life.”

“I’m asking about yours.”

“I didn’t keep count of my orgasms.”

“What about the first one?”

“I don’t remember.”

I sit back with a laugh. “Because it didn’t happen.”

“How would you know?” She shakes her head. “More importantly, why would you care?”